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Part II  – Continued from yesterday’s post

Fortunately, I am extremely level-headed and “all business” in crisis situations.  That was the one and only thing I had going for me at that point. My husband continued to help the EMT complete the form and I called my mom to get a detailed account of the events that happened that day because I knew if we couldn’t provide that information to the professionals they would be shooting in the dark.

As I was waiting for her to answer the ringing phone, I saw the medical team putting oxygen up to my daughters face. I also heard the head nurse say, “Her breathing is lapsing.”

I stepped off to the side to give room to the six or so people all trying to do their part of the job.  I kept one eye on the table.  She wasn’t moving. My mom answered.  According to her, the events of the day went something like this:

8:00 AM – Kids woke up and ate a normal breakfast

11:30 AM – Lunch followed by a nap

3:30 PM – My daughter said she felt sleepy and volunteered to go up to her bed (this was   NOT normal but grandma assumed she was coming down with the flu.)

4:00 PM – My daughter vomited in bed. (Grandma discovered it when she checked in on her.)

4:15/30 PM – My husband came home and gave her a bath.  (She only answered “yes/no” questions.)

5:00/30 PM – My daughter stops speaking and stares up at ceiling.

I started to think.  Had anything else happened to us recently that could bring on a severe illness or reaction? Could a flu shot be the cause?  Our daughter had just had one the day before, but she’d never reacted to vaccines in the past. I told them everything my husband and I knew and then the ambulance arrived. I am not sure how much time had passed at that point. It felt like an hour due to all that had gone on it such a short period of time but I assume it was only 10 minutes.

I strided quickly along side the gurney as the men pushed her bed outside and toward the back of the ambulance.  Once she was loaded in, I got in the front seat.  My husband got in his car to follow us. The drive to the main hospital downtown should’ve taken us 20-25 minutes.  I called my mom back to give her the update.  When, my mom heard what had taken place I think the severity of the situation finally set in. I had time to text a friend of mine and let her know we were having an emergency.  I don’t know why now that I did that but I think I just wanted as many people to know as I could think of and to ask them all to pray. Whatever your belief system, my thought was if there was a higher power and if the power of unified prayer really worked, I sure as heck needed it right then.

No sooner than I had drafted the message, I was interrupted by the driver telling me they couldn’t stabilize her all the way to the downtown children’s hospital and we were making a detour to the nearest adult hospital. WHAT?!!!!!

I hit send on my text.  Then, it was officially scary. At that moment, I prayed to God  that if he had to take someone, please take me and not her. I would’ve been alright with that.  I’d had a good 34 years on this Earth. I remember hard trying to hold myself together at that point.

The sirens were so loud.  My daughter is very sensitive to noises and I could only think of how scared she must be.

We pulled up quickly but there was an emergency team awaiting us at the door. I thought My daughter was quickly wheeled into another room and I was asked more questions to complete more forms. At one point, a man told me they were going to try to give her an anti-seizure med but I don’t remember the name. Pretty soon, I was being told that I couldn’t stay with her because she had to be intubated.  (I guess that’s not something good for a parent to see.)

We sat in a waiting room for about an hour or two.  Time was slipping away by that point.  I was drinking bad coffee and repeating the day’s time table then by heart. My husband and I kept reviewing the timeline that day to make sure we hadn’t missed something. Finally, we got word that we could get back into another ambulance and proceed with her stabilized to downtown. My husband and I were taken back to her room and handed a plastic bag of her personal effects. In it was her Dora the Explorer pajama top, which had been scissor cut down the front when they had to work on her, socks, and a hair bow.  That made me sad and my stomach queezy—not the intubation.  It was as if she was already gone. I kissed her on the cheek but she didn’t move.  The machines were helping her breath.

Round two in the ambulance was not as rushed but somehow more stressful.  After two stops, our daughter was no better off than she was when we brought her in.  No one knew for certain yet what was wrong or why this had happened.  I called my mom again and asked her to call our Pastor.  It was then that I began to prepare myself that our daughter may not live.  And, if she did live, she may already be a vegetable.  It was a horrible, sickening feeling.  I was 80/20 on bad news versus good.

After a 30-minute drive, we pulled up at the children’s hospital. Again, there was a team waiting. Again, I got out and answered more questions and filled out more forms.  My husband arrived shortly after but couldn’t find us because we went straight to the emergency room.

I was asked if she could’ve gotten into something in the cabinet that was poisonous.  I didn’t think so.

I was asked if she started to show signs of paralysis setting in from the feet gradually up the body. No.

I was asked if she was allergic to latex. I didn’t think so.

I was asked if she’d ever had an MRI or CT Scan before. No.

I was asked if she could’ve been exposed to any unusual bacteria.  Well, she goes to daycare.

The physicians drew blood, monitored her breathing, watched the heart monitor and my husband and I faded off into the background.  I thought I saw her eyes twitch. I was just relieved they let us stay and tried to stay out of their way as much as possible in hopes of showing that I wasn’t the type of mom to freak out or be overbearing.  All business.

She seemed to be fluttering her eyes a bit and although her eyes were closed, an arm tried to raise up purposefully and appeared to be reaching to pull out the tube in her mouth and nose. I prayed my baby was still in there THINKING of how to get out of the straps she had holding her limbs down.

The nurse put something in her I.V. (I assume another dose of sedative) and they continued working.

To be continued tomorrow for the final of three posts.

This time of year marks the anniversary of a very difficult and emotional event.  I repost this blog in honor of my daughter, now age 5 years.

 (Due to the length of this post, it will be a three-part series. I preface this by saying in no way shape or form is this going to be humorous.  But, this really did happen.)

This week will mark the anniversary of a very scary and intense day in our family’s life. October 23, 2009 was the day I almost lost my daughter.  I don’t mean “lost” as in she wandered off in a store.  I mean “lost” as in we called the pastor in the event our baby had to be read last rites. The events of that day are still surreal.  But, I can speak about them now in such a calm, rationale way that it is almost detached.  Reiterating your story to thirty-or so doctors and nurses will do that to you, I suppose.

This time last year, nothing interesting or out of the ordinary was happening.  I was working the same job that I had been for three years.  My husband was too. It was a crisp but sunny autumn Friday. My mom was home watching our son and daughter as she normally did on Fridays. I only thing really on my mind then was that our son’s baptism was scheduled for that Sunday, October 25, and therefore I had to get out at some point in the next two days to buy his soon-to-be Godparents a thank you gift.

The day progressed normally. My husband called me around 4:30 p.m. to tell me he was off work and headed home. That sounded great to me because I figured we could do steaks on the grill, have some red wine and enjoy and early night. When five-o-clock hit, I figured I’d better scoot to the store to buy that gift for the Baptism. The drive home took me past the mall and several shops so a quick stop wouldn’t have been any big deal—normally. As I was pulling into the store parking lot, I got a call from my husband.  It was about at about 5:15 p.m. He told me that our daughter didn’t look well and was possibly getting the flu. He told me I should come home. I told him I would but didn’t mention that it would be after I purchased that gift I was hunting.

My mom was there.  My husband was there.  What could I do for her that they couldn’t?

About fifteen minutes later, I got another call. I was standing in a looooong line waiting to check out. This time, he sounded more serious but yet I wasn’t particularly worried.

Our conversation went something like this:

Husband: “Something is wrong with her.  She’s not answering me when I talk to her. I just gave her a bath because she threw up.  Her eyes won’t focus and she’s limp.”

Me: “What do you mean her eyes won’t focus?  Like, they’re glassy? Does she have a fever?”

Husband: “She just keeps staring at the ceiling now. Even Grandma is worried.”

(This last statement is what finally got me to understand that we must’ve had a serious situation on our hands because my mom does not believe in going to the doctor.  You have to be on death’s door before she thinks seeking medical help is absolutely necessary. In this case, it was.)

Me: “It’ll take me another 15 minutes to drive home.”

Husband: “ Just meet me at the Urgent Care.”

Me: “You think it’s that bad?”

Husband: “Yes, I gotta go.”

Click.

The place he was talking about was a satellite branch of our city’s main Children’s Hospital which is brand new and only about a five-minute drive from our home.  I was ten minutes from there.

Once I’d left the store, hopped in the car and driven to Urgent Care I was pulling in at the same time as my husband.

I turned into the first parking space I saw and threw it in park. I hurried over to my husband’s car and he was already unstrapping the car seat from her shoulders.  When I saw her face I was taken aback. There was a child that look like my daughter. But she was as limp as a rag doll, head cocked to the left side, her eyes were almost fully rolled up in her head (but off to one side) and her mouth was gaped open. I thought she was brain dead.

Scooping her up in my arms, I hustled all 21 pounds of her into the facility with my husband following behind.  At check-in, a woman in nurses’ scrubs looked at me and asked what was wrong with my daughter. I said (and I quote), “I don’t know but LOOK at her!!!”

That nurse turned over her shoulder and yelled, “Call 911!” Three others standing nearby came from behind the registration desk and escorted us quickly to a side room and instructed me to lay my daughter on the gurney.

Panic hit me at that point.  First, because we thought we were coming to a branch of Children’s Medical where our daughter could be helped. But, when “Call 911!” was uttered, it was clear they could not. Second, because as my child lay non-responsive on the table.  A nurse, EMT and some other person all started talking—to each other—to me—to her— all at the same time. Then, the EMT started running through some questions on a form attached to a clip board that were directed at me to answer.  Although, I had only entered the situation seven minutes ago. So, I was as clueless as he was.

He explained to my husband that this branch is mainly for minor Urgent Care issues, like flu or stitches. They weren’t staffed to treat a case like this. An emergency transport team was on its way to take us downtown to the main children’s hospital.

“Which one of you want to ride in the ambulance?” he said.

To be continued…