Sarah McGee fell backwards, collapsing into the red armchair as her mind suffocated under the pressure.
Having just returned from yet another brutal doctor’s appointment, her husband, Kelly, was finally trying to get their 2-year-old son, Evan, to bed. The clock had just struck midnight, and the rapidly-declining child had no desire to sleep.
As the cries echoed through their small ranch home in Rockford, Michigan, Sarah’s heart was ready to snap.
These cries were in the place of words, these tears a substitute for communication.
Their baby boy who could once speak, walk, and eat, now couldn’t even support the weight of his own head.
All they wanted to know was why.
And as Sarah sat in that armchair, dissecting the words of the countless doctors they had seen in a desperate search for answers, the reality set in.
“All of a sudden I realized: what they were ruling out were the best possible solutions,” Sarah said, eyes growing distant as she sat in a different red armchair 17 years later. “What was left was going to bring me to my knees.”
Little did she know, then that was putting it lightly.
In 2004, when they rushed 2-year-old Evan to the hospital after an intense seizure, there was much that Sarah and Kelly McGee did not know.
They did not know that this moment would change the course of the rest of their lives. They did not know that this seizure would be the first of hundreds.
They did not know that this day would change their son forever.
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