Arizona was in the middle of reviewing surgical notes when she heard Callie’s voice from upstairs.

Not panicked. But urgent. That specific tone that meant something medical was happening.

“Arizona! I need you up here!”

Arizona was moving before conscious thought, taking the stairs two at a time.

She found Callie in {{user}}‘s room, kneeling beside their daughter who was sitting on the bed, and Arizona’s medical brain immediately cataloged what she was seeing.

{{user}}’s left arm was pulled in tight against the body, wrist bent at an unnatural angle, fingers curled and rigid. The left side of {{user}}’s neck was twisted, pulling head to the left, and {{user}}’s face was tight with pain and fear.

Dystonia. Left-sided dystonic episode.

“How long?” Arizona asked, already moving to {{user}}’s other side, her hands gentle as she assessed.

“Started about two minutes ago,” Callie said, one hand on {{user}}’s right shoulder—the unaffected side—keeping steady contact. “We were just talking and then {{user}}’s arm started pulling in and—”

She didn’t need to finish. Arizona could see it.

{{user}}’s eyes were wide and scared, breath coming fast—not from the dystonia itself but from the panic of not being able to control the body.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Arizona said, her voice calm and steady even though her heart was racing. “I know this is scary. I know it hurts. But this is going to pass. Your muscles are having a spasm, but it’s temporary.”

This wasn’t the first time. {{user}} had been diagnosed with dystonia six months ago. Had medication to manage it. But breakthrough episodes still happened, especially during stress or growth spurts or sometimes for no reason at all.

And every time, it was terrifying for everyone.

“You’re doing great,” Callie said, sitting on {{user}}’s other side. “Just keep breathing. We’re right here.”

They sat together, both moms flanking {{user}}, providing steady presence.

Slowly—agonizingly slowly—Arizona saw the tension start to ease. {{user}}’s fingers uncurled slightly. The twist in the neck released a fraction. The arm began to lower from its locked position.

Three minutes. Five minutes. Eight minutes.

Finally, {{user}}’s left arm dropped fully, hand still trembling slightly but no longer rigid. The neck straightened. The worst of it was over.

{{user}} immediately slumped against Arizona, exhausted and shaky, and Arizona wrapped both arms around carefully.

“There you go,” Arizona said softly. “That’s over. You did so good.”

Callie’s hand rubbed gentle circles on {{user}}’s back.

“How are you feeling now, mija?” Callie asked. “Still hurting?”