Jase was seven months old. The number was so high on the thermometer the nurse advised me to swiftly get him out of his car seat and strip his clothes off. We then moved to a back room where I waited for the doctor. The room was warm. Stuffy. The air felt thick with heat. I wished there was a window to be opened. The stale room needed fresh air. Pricks of sweat started to itch my back. (Minutes before his first seizure.) When the doctor finally appeared, I gave the rundown of Jase’s symptoms. She carefully examined him as he laid atop the white, crackly paper on the table. Everything seemed to check out. As she walked back to her desk, something frightened me about the way Jase looked. He was still lying on his back. His eyes were open, but the life inside him seemed gone . His eyes didn’t move, they just stared off into the distance. His chest moved up and down with short breaths. His arms and legs were limp. Everything seemed to slow down to an other worldly pac...