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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The Never-Ending Pursuit of Teddy…..

It was a regular Sunday night, the Summer Olympics were on.  Women’s Gymnastics, their favorite.  I had just shelled out $350 bucks earlier in the day for fees and 10 weeks of gymnastics classes.  Alyssa in particular had become obsessed with gymnastics since we saw an ABC movie one night one TV.  She was gonna be a natural.

One month in, our new house was starting to feel more like home.   Before bedtime when Carly remembered Teddy was left downstairs in their basement playroom, Bryce announced, “I’ll go with her.”  They began their descent.  Alyssa flew out of my lap off the couch to follow and no sooner than she rounded the corner out of my sight, the sounds began.  The tumbling from the top of the stairs induced an immediate heart sinking feeling.  The nauseas pit in your stomach swallows your heart whole.

“God damn it!” Is the first thing out of my mouth as I bound off the couch, throwing the remote.   Even then I already know I shouldn’t be damning God at that exact moment.  I had a feeling I was going to need him. I knew immediately it was a bad fall by the long duration of sickening thuds and bangs and muted whimpers.  I think it’s Carly who has lost her balance, but then I see her and Bryce standing at the bottom.   Lyssa is lying at the bottom like a pile of laundry.

Everything from here on out happens simultaneously, all at once, like watching a movie.  Bryce is crying out to me in his panic voice, “Momma Lyssa fell!  Momma Lyssa fell!” as I’m crying out, “Don’t touch her!  Don’t touch her, I’m coming, back away!”

The mother in me is already multi-tasking because I know I need to remove them from the scene.  I expect blood to be everywhere, but as I reach her, she’s face down.   I’m aware I’m not supposed to move her, but I also know I need to see her face.

I pick her up to turn her flat on her back and she gives me one, wide-eyed, gaping mouth glance that is the image burned into my mind.  Like a fish out of water her mouth moves to breathe but no oxygen is circulating anywhere, her chest is still.  It’s the most horrifying gaze, the recognition in her eyes that she’s hurt, can’t breathe, the shock of the fall, it’s all there in a millisecond stare….  I think maybe the air has just been knocked out of her until she slumps backwards, body totally going limp as her eyes roll back in her head. 

I make my second irrational plea with God and think, “I don’t care if she never walks again, God please just let her breathe.”

“Call 911!” I order Kenny who magically appeared at the bottom of the stairs somehow.  We discover later in the night he has practically broken a toe getting down there so fast.

The seizure begins, her tiny body jerking softly as she curls to her side on the concrete.  She seems so fragile at that moment, her 32lbs frame infantile in her duress.  I usher the other two kids upstairs with my voice, as I block their view of her body.  Bryce keeps repeating over and over Alyssa fell, flipped over twice and then rolled and flipped over again.  I realize he witnessed the fall.  Carly is laughing.  A nervous, ill-placed giggle and I wonder if she’s gonna be like how I cry at totally inappropriate times.  Maybe she’s one of those people who laughs at funerals.  I push the disturbing, random thought out of my mind and continue calling Alyssa’s name as if my voice alone can bring her back from wherever she’s gone.

Kenny is yelling frantically, searching for the phone upstairs.  I know his cell is on the kitchen counter and there is a landline at my desk, but he’s frantically hunting down the cordless receiver.  I suddenly remember there’s one two feet away from me in the basement and grab it. 

My lifelong reoccurring nightmare doesn’t present itself.  For 15 years or so I’ve always had this series reoccurring dreams where under different scenarios I’m required to call 911 and when I pick up the phone to dial, I am riddled with panic and fear and fumble the numbers.  Then the phone won’t hang up or the line goes dead or I can’t dial the right digits and the panic rises as the need to call for help isn’t met.

In real life there is no room for panic, but plenty for fear.  I am the most scared I have ever been in my life, but it doesn’t paralyze me and I feel everything might just be alright when I hear, “911 what is your emergency?”

Kenny is back and I follow the directions of the really calm lady (What throws a 911 operator if it’s not a baby who isn’t breathing?)  Roll her to the side (she already is) don’t stick anything in her mouth, she won’t swallow her tongue.  She is whimpering now, the best, most pitiful whimper I’ve ever heard, even better than her 1^st cry that came too long after she was delivered. 

The seizer is over, lasting maybe 20-30 seconds in this dreamlike world I have been thrust into.  My mind still works.  I instruct Kenny to stay with her and not move her while I run upstairs.  Bryce & Carly sit on the couch in the living room and now he’s pleading for Alyssa to not go to the hospital.  He asks if her eyes are going to pop out of her head.  He has heard me say her eyes rolled back in her head and his 4 year old interpretation is her eyes are going to pop out.

The dispatcher releases me from the line and assures me the ambulance will be there soon.  I start dialing my parents, thankful they are just across the street.

“I don’t want Alyssa to go to the hospital!” Bryce pleads.  I usher them down the hallway into his room.

“Buddy, she’s hurt and they’re gonna help her there.  Remember when we talked about emergencies and how it’s important to listen to Mama?  An ambulance is gonna come and me & Alyssa get to ride real fast to the hospital.  I need you and CarCar to stay in here and watch TV until GaGa & PaPa get here.”  They listen.  I want to spare him anymore scary images, like the paramedics carrying his sister out on a stretcher.  My mind is already evaluating what’s coming next and what needs to be done.

I reach my parents on the phone as I grab the 1^st available garments off my bedroom floor.  I am in a gown and know I need clothes and shoes for the hospital run.  In record time I am dressed and back downstairs.  It is me who needs to be by her side.  I send Kenny off to wait outside to guide the ambulance to the right house.  I remember at one of my birthday parties as a kid my cousin flipped over a rail and fell headfirst onto the concrete at the bottom of those basement steps outside.  A crowd of family members ran down the street chasing the ambulance that apparently got lost.

Her eyes are not open, but I am assured by her shallow cries.  And thankful for the lack of blood, but I also know this can be a bad thing if she has head trauma and her brain is swelling with no place to go.  My parents arrive and are peeking over the steps with Bryce and Carly again and I shoo them away with orders to distract the other kids.  I send my Mom outside to get my purse from the car, I know I will need my wallet and maybe money for vending machines depending on how long we are stuck at the hospital.  I’ve had enough hospital adventures in my 4 short years as a parent than I cared to remember.

My Dad is coming down the steps and I stop him.  Panicked a little now because I don’t want anybody else to see her like this.  I am afraid she’s going to have another seizure or even worse stop breathing again, and that seems like my burden to bear, no one else’s.  I think another seizure is happening as her small body shakes, but then I realize she cold lying on the basement floor and I grab a blanket conveniently nearby and wrap it on top of her.

Finally EMS is there, it seemed like a short amount of time and I am grateful.  They take too long getting the neck brace on and securing her to the all boards.  I wince when he tapes her hair with reckless abandon around the board because I know how she will scream when I have to remove it.  But I assume they are not worried about ripping out little girl’s hair when they  are trying to save her life.

I follow them up and out, talking to her constantly and trying to reassure her I am still there even though we’ve lost contact.  I point out the moon when we walk outside, remind her how much she loves the moon, tell her we’re about to ride in an ambulance.  I look back at the house as I step off the porch and see the lights of the rig reflecting off Bryce’s face on his top bunk peeking out the window.  He doesn’t make eye contact with me, but I see his panic has kind of shifted to curiosity and admiration at all the commotion.  A police car suddenly pulls up as I notice Teddy fall from the blanket I carried  from the basement.  I give him the crazy mom instructions to take the Teddy back inside to the other twin, she doesn’t sleep without him.

Off we go into the night.

 

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Alyssa’s Fall

How do you ever get the image of your daughter lying crumpled at the bottom of the basement stairs, not breathing, out of your head?  How do you delete the mental playback of those wide eyed, terror filled blue eyes rolling back into oblivion before the seizure began?  Ban the thought of blood trickling out of her mouth from biting or injuring her tongue in the fall?

I’ve been haunted by the images and horror of the experience since my 3 year old fell down an entire flight of basement steps landing on a lightly carpeted concrete floor.  She came out of the hospital 3 days later with no physical ramifications from the event, but the mental and emotional impact on our entire family is evident today and probably will be forever a part of our psyche. 

I will never forget the terror of the reality that my daughter’s life was in danger, real, physical, immediate danger.   I am not an overbearing Mom and some people even called me paranoid before this happened, but my children are just so precious to me I will go above and beyond to protect them. But accidents are called accidents for a reason.  I have also come to believe that to some extent they can be prevented.  The purpose of this post is not to criticize anyone’s parenting styles or decisions, but to just raise awareness about accidents that can possibly be prevented. 

My main lesson has been just because they can do something on their own, doesn’t mean they should. 

Sure, my three year olds are not babies anymore who have to be followed each move they make.  We do not have to hover over step by step as they go up and down stairs.  Sure, they can do it alone, but if I had better safe guards in place, maybe this whole ordeal could have been prevented.

I also wrote the following documentation of a near death tragedy because I want Alyssa to know one day what a fighter she is and all she has overcome, but mainly so others will hopefully read the heart wrenching words and remember them.  Remember what we went through and maybe do an inventory of your own house and habits and put in place a few new safety measures to prevent simple accidents such as falls and head trauma from happening. 

I just saw a story come on TV about a mother who’s 5 year old died from falling through a screen in their 2^nd story house and I just cried and cried.  A spilt second accident can take away the most precious things in our lives, so if there’s anything I can do to prevent that from happening in mine, I will do it.  Whether it be installing a hand rail on the steps, putting back up a baby gate so they don’t have free reign access to the steps, not allowing them to ride bikes or scooters without helmets, no playing in the street, not even checking the mail alone (there was a 12yearold boy in the trauma room next to us that night who went out to check the mail and was hit by a truck and his entire face was smashed in).  There are simple things we take for granted that we let our children do that can just be modified a little to provide them more safety.  I don’t think it makes me a bitch to tell my kids no to some things, or watch over them more closely even though they are growing bigger and more independent. 

Just because they can do more things on their own doesn’t mean they should.

So many people expressed concern over what happened and wanted to hear all about it, for the first time understood what it was like to suffer Post Traumatic Stress.  Especially right after it happened, ‘Alyssa’s fall’ was all anyone wanted to talk or ask questions about.  I avoided talking about it much on Facebook and began avoiding social situations because I knew it was going to be the 1^st and sometimes only thing people wanted to talk about. 

Most people were just genuinely concerned, but others, the blood hounds, were like the rubberneckers on the expressway about causing another wreck to see the damage of the mangled cars on the side of the road.  People asked specific questions about her not breathing, the seizure.  And every time I was forced to re-encounter the event, my heart felt squeezed with pain and that  image of her lifeless, limp body on some plain of consciousness in between our world and another was all I could see and I just wanted to crumple in the middle of the party or grocery store and cry.  Sure she was OK, but all the ‘What Ifs’ or alternate endings is what got me.  I came so close to losing my baby and it was the last thing I wanted to talk about.

My life has forever been changed by what happened, and it’s not all bad.  I hug my children tighter, I have more patience with their toddler ways, and I love them even more, if that’s possible.  I know how frail they are even though they seem so grown, such Big Boys and Big Girls who will always be my babies.  I am more scared, life is viewed through a rose colored glass of danger.  It’s hard for me to go to the playground because all I see is a deathtrap.  Actually everywhere I go; every situation we encounter is quickly evaluated through my jaded eyes for potential danger, and let me tell you, potential danger is everywhere.  But I must still let me kids be kids and have fun and be independent, but not at the cost of their lives or safety.

So without further ado, here’s the first installment of our ordeal in all its gory details.  Some of these experiences I have never even told my closest friends or family members, but it’s my hope this story will prevent another family from losing a child, or at the least prevent an accident from happening.

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Cracking the Egg

I’ve been inspired by two of the random things I saw recently on daytime TV.  DVR’d shows and movies to be enjoyed in peace and commercial free when the kids are at Parents Out and this parent’s trying to chill out.  Get some daunting domestic shit done like sorting, folding & putting away the family of 5’s dirty-again-too-soon drawers.  I’ve been enjoying the mental distraction of TV and hey, wouldn’t you know something inspiring came out of the tube wasteland.

First favorite new viewing habit is the MTV adolescent series ‘Awkward’ about the modern day trials and tribulations of the classic American teen girl.  I am totally a 15 year old girl on the inside.  Mainly it’s about her ‘blog’, such a 21^st century phenomenon in itself, freedom of the press to the fullest.  No censors, no filters, the freedom to announce and express any ‘ol thing to the world without suffering consequences of saying it to their face.  Beautiful.

The other movie muse I stumbled upon was the B flick ‘Julie & Julia’ a cheesy fake-umentary about another once upon a time washed out wanna be blogger getting rich off some stupid shit.  Presenting Julia Childs’ recipes from her famous cookbook as a challenge and writing about it daily.  I could do that.

The cooking part was intriguing to me; I can barely follow a recipe.  I just don’t think certain things are really important when cooking like which order to add in certain ingredients, or stuff like timing and temperature.  So to watch a master (Meryl Streep) playing the role of a master, not bad… and it gave me an idea.

I can do that shit.  Write and blog and inspire the masses.  I already have a blog, even if all of …. ummm let me check..... 13 people following it might possibly be reading my rants and ramblings.  But I needed to do that, follow through with something, especially if it involved doing something for me!  What becomes of the writer who doesn’t write??? 

I have a voice other than one that yells “Bryce!  Carly!  Alyssa!”  and she needs to be heard!

My blog hasn’t been updated lately, but there have been occasional writings I never posted or published.  I got all caught up in the public ‘blog’ idea sharing thing again.  It kind of turned me off.  I began writing more journal-like entries I never quite felt comfortable sharing with the world.  But what’s the point of having a blog then; I might as well just ‘Dear Diary’ it up and leave massive amounts of chicken-scratch filled spiral notebooks for my kids to decipher someday when I’m dead.

But else something was also missing from my life, the public forum of sharing my thoughts, the regular rush of writing for a deadline, the idea what I have to say matters.  For most of my adult life I’ve had a public forum, my own column in the high school newspaper “Leah’s Lines” (how creative).  I commented on the likes of Princess Diana’s death and the intrusive paparazzi years before it was a trending topic.  I paid tribute to my friend on the anniversary of her death.  At UL, I was the editor of the whole Features section of our college newspaper and had a weekly outlet for my expressions.

Lately, nothing.  It’s like I don’t exist to the world outside my 3 kids and a few friends and family members.  I still have shit to say and I have been reminded that my story matters, my insights are valuable and my experiences still help people.  So I’m getting over my fear of blogging bullshit and challenging myself to a new writing regimen.  This is actually just one step of many in my new lifestyle overhaul, but more on that to come. J

On the writing front I am committing to a 90 Day Challenge to write AND PUBLISH one new blog entry daily.  Can you handle that much Leah!?  It doesn’t have to be a new blog entry, I would love to go back and actually publish online some of what I have written in the past, and quit over analyzing and editing to death my other blog entries that never saw the light of day. 

I learned through some work with a Life Coach last year that in order to be authentic to Leah and in turn others, I need to stop hiding behind myself and crack myself wide open.  So here it goes, me in all my honest essence, like it or not.  Would love to hear comments.

Let’s crack this egg wide open.

 

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Wow, my last blog post was kind of depressing, huh? And so last year. Literally.

Cancer sucks. We got it.

Has it really been so long since I last posted!? People are panting for an update, I'm sure.
Let me tell you, there is SO MUCH positive change and awesome vibes flowing through our family right now I can barely contain the excitement!

Here's a few quick updates....

A simple idea spawned from the minds of some of the most badass chicks I know has turned into an exciting new adventure! From the requests for a CrossFit-meets-Charlie's-Angels themed shirt to an entire line of workout clothing and apparel, I introduce to you, "Crush It"!

Our first printing almost SOLD OUT on the first day! New designs and shipment coming soon, visit our fan page in FaceBook and place your order!

In other news on the homefront, Alyssa and Carly are potty trained!!! This statement can't have enough exclamation marks. Parents of toddlers know the daunting task of getting your little person to shit and piss on the pot can be daunting. From three kids in diapers down to one... almost seemed too good to be true. But it wasn't. We were so close to being RICH.

Little Miss Independent woke up the day before Thanksgiving and simply stated, "I don't wanna wear diapers anymore." Alrighty then!


Sans a few accidents here and there and an occasional bedwetting incident, Alyssa was declared.

Carly, in traditional Carly fashion, took a while longer. She has always done things at her own pace. Rolling over, crawling, walking.... Carly takes her sweet time. She COULD do all of those things before she actually did, I know it, she just opted to do things on her own time.


After a few months of her claiming, "I'm a baby!" she got on board and its been two weeks since I purchases a pull up! Whoohoo!

And in the spirit of the day, here's some pics of my girls and our family celebrating Valentine's Day.