“Does time ever seem to get away from you? You know, you’re watching and then all of sudden it’s time for bed or time to leave. Does that ever happen?”

“Sometimes. Is that bad?” Sarah asked.

The doctor shook her head. “Happens to all of us. Have you felt disoriented lately? Are you more forgetful?”

“I don’t know.”

“Ever forget where you are? Feel lost for a second or two?”

“No.”

“This is going to sound like a strange question: Can you remember the last thing you forgot?”

Sarah laughed.

“I told you it was a weird question.”

“I forgot I had a flute lesson.”

“Ever done that before?”

“I can’t remember.”

That made me laugh. Meg shot me a glance.

“Very good,” the doctor said.

The doctor went through many of the same tests again.

“Repeat after me: La fa ta.”

“La fa ta.”

“La la la fa ta ta.”

“La la la fa ta ta.”

“La la fa fa ta ta.”

The incongruous, ironic part of the exam was that, though I was completely, absolutely invested in watching, though I was bothered by worry, agitated, and perhaps near panic, I actually experienced what might have been the kind of small seizure I was afraid my daughter had suffered through as I became aware that some minutes had passed without my regard. I came to or awoke to find the doctor holding a sheet of paper towel in front of my child’s face. She was attempting to induce a seizure, I could see that, and I wanted to object but of course did not.

“Okay, Sarah, I’d like you to blow on the paper here and make it move. Do it until I tell you to stop. Big breaths.”

Sarah followed the instructions. The paper towel moved away and fell back four times, eight, and then Sarah stopped blowing; her head dipped, she seemed to fall asleep, and her head cocked to the right.

“Sarah? Can you hear me? Red. Blue.”

“Red?” Sarah asked.

“So you heard that.”

“Mom?” Sarah looked to her mother.

“It’s okay, baby.”

“Everything’s fine,” Dr. Gurewich said. “I’d like to run an electroencephalogram. And we’ll do the bloodwork. The seizures might be absolutely nothing. They could be environmental and might go away. It could be associated with her diet. I’d like you to chart everything Sarah eats for a week. And let’s get rid of all perfumes, scented soaps, and shampoos. Is that okay, Sarah?”

Sarah nodded.

“What kind of science are you doing in school right now?”

“Biology.”

“Any lab work? Dissecting anything? Any things that have a strong or disagreeable odor?”

“No lab at all.”

“Good. Sarah, why don’t you go out and wait in the other room. I want to schedule that test and talk to your parents about our next appointment.” The doctor called the nurse and let her take Sarah down the hall.

“Well?” Meg said once the door was closed.

“Everything I told Sarah is completely true. But there is a possibility we’re dealing with epilepsy.”