Death Trap

The ambulance ride was the worst.  I sit in the back with her where she’s strapped to the stretcher intermittently whimpering and then going silent.  Those are the worst moments.  I try to keep the panic out of my voice as I yell her name, demand her consciousness.  Shake her as if to jump start her breathing again. Her eyes eventually flutter open, unfocused, pinpoint pupils.  One eye appears to be going a different way than the other, she can’t focus them both on me at the same time. 

“That can’t be good….”

My relief at help appearing has vanished.  I am no longer comforted by the paramedic’s presence.   The fear she won’t make it to the hospital sets in.  What if I lose my baby in the back of this flying metal box?   It seems unfair for us to have made it this far in life and go out like this. 

 I can’t fault them for not being friendly because they have an important job to do and I doubt its to comfort scared parents or paitents.  The EMT barely says a word to me, he just shouts medical jargon to the front.  He seems as alarmed as me when her crying and breathing periodically stops.

 He jabs a needle into her arm to start an IV.   I welcome the shrill sound of pain she produces.  The needle is bigger than the ones they use at Kosair and as the bus rocks, he digs and digs for a vein.  I pray for blood flow and finally turn away when it doesn’t come. 

I remember the Grey’s Anatomy episode with the baby and ambulance crash.  Could God be so cruel in real life…..?  I know it happens.  How unfair for my family to lose both of us in the same night.  I feel clausterphobic in the back of this death trap, traveling at warp speed.   I am aware my mind is running away from me and I can’t allow my thoughts to start down the slippery slope of ‘What Ifs’.   Positive thoughts, prayers and pleas are imperitive right now.

 I glance out the window and see my friends and I favorite Mexican resterraunt.  We’re still on Bardstown road, not close enough to the hospital.  I send a mental message to my friend.

 “I’m so scared, Friend….”

I always call her during the worst of times.   Hospital breaks from testing or other traumatic events we’ve already endured are made more bearable just by my monotone reiteration to her of whatever crazy event has happened this time.  She never seems to worry when I call, no matter the severity of the situation, and maybe her comfort to me lies in the fact she’s not a mother yet, so she doesn’t fully understand the severity of my fears.   The heart stopping thought of the loss of a child, or the pain of their pain when there’s nothing you can do to make it go away.   

 Its too bright in the ambulance.  I can tell Alyssa’s scared too.  I hold her hand and continue my ramblings, explaining what’s going on, telling her stories, reminding her how strong and brave she is.

“We’re going to the hospital Baby, they’re gonna help you there.  Remember when we were there last time for all those kidney tests, how brave you were?  Mommy’s so proud of you.”

I am determined to keep it positive.

She utters one of the only two sentences I will hear in the next 10 hours.

“I wanna go home…” Before she falls silent again.

“Me too, Baby, me too…..”

“She’s my strong one, you know,” I talk to the paramedics.  Maybe if I brag on her she will get a boost of confidence and fight harder. 

“She was born blue,” I tell them, as if they care.  “She’s a twin, but she’s always been my fighter.  She’s the smaller one, but she’s such a strong girl.”

I remember the Kelly Clarkson song they like to sing to on the radio “Stronger”.  They say “Strong Girl” instead during the chorus and pump their fists in the air like they’re doing an overhead press.  It’s the cutest thing ever.  Alyssa prides herself in her Strong Girl persona.  She’s the most proud of her mini-Crush It workout shirt her Daddy designed and she begs to wear hers whenever she sees me sporting mine.

She’s fallen silent again.

“Alyssa baby, show Mommy how strong you are.  Squeeze my hand.  Its Ok baby, just squeeze my hand if you’re scared.   Mommy’s right here.”

And with that, she shows me just what a Strong Girl she is and locks her tiny hand in mine with the forceful  iron handshake grip of a grown business man. 

For the 1^st time I allow myself to believe she really is going to be OK. 

 

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