We were at part two of her autism evaluation.
I was watching her play with the psychologist and then she stopped.
She looked up and she stopped responding.
She whined and rubbed her eyes.
I stopped breathing.
She looked at me and whined again, but then her eyes danced away.
She put her head on the table.
My heart raced.
"I think she's having one of her episodes."
We watched her, unsure, as always. Is this really it?
I heard people talking, "Did you see how eye contact completely changed?" "Yes, her whole demeanor changed."
I watched her, tried to engage her. She responded, weakly. She pointed at the toys, but she was too weak to even raise her head.
We left with promises of rescheduling.
As we walked to the car, she whined and retched.
I tried to ask her questions, reassure her. She tried to respond, but all that came out was gibberish, mumbles and groans.
The ride home was uneventful, a bit of groaning and moaning, more retching.
We walked in the house, I went for her medication.
After giving it, I put her in the sick seat.
She cried, vomited bile from her wee empty stomach, and fell asleep.
She's resting now, beside me in her sick seat, occasionally stirring and crying out, letting me know that she is about to vomit again.
I go to her quickly, hold her head over the basin and whisper soothing words to her. I don't know if she understands me or even hears me.
I worry and I wait, willing her to return to me, always hoping that this might be the last time I have to watch her slip away, the last time I have to watch her tiny body be wracked with pain* that threatens to swallow her whole, the last time I have to wonder if she truly will come back to me.
* Thankfully, this one is not that painful. She is resting comfortably in between bouts of illness, but I'm always worrying about the next time.
ETA: It's over. 8:45am-5pm. About 8 hours.