You know the scenes in TV shows where people come bursting
through the emergency room doors dazed and searching frantically for their
family member? I would say it’s pretty accurate. You feel like there should be
a big neon sign saying “This Way”! The nurses couldn’t get me to Chris fast
enough; I was terrified to see Weston – to see what we were really dealing
with, praying that he was alive. They didn’t take me to Weston’s room as it was
very crowded and not something that I needed to see. Chris was already in the
other room, and I could tell how bad things were by the look on his face. The
doctors were STILL working on Weston, and we were told the doctor would be in
to talk to us as soon as she could. It had been at least half an hour since the
ambulance left – I don’t know how they decide when someone is gone but I’m so
grateful they gave it a few extra minutes. They had taken Chris to the room
where Weston was when he got there; Chris had said that he still didn’t have a
heartbeat and looked to be in pretty bad shape. We sat in that room for an
imagined eternity and prepared for the worst while hoping for anything better.
Finally, the doctors came in. They had gotten his heartbeat
back. Worst scenario avoided. He was being moved to the Pediatric Intensive
Care Unit (PICU) and this was the beginning of the roller coaster in my head.
We couldn’t have gotten any better news yet I knew that we were not walking out
with that sweet little boy that I had put to bed the night before.
They took us up to the PICU waiting room; thank goodness there
was no one else there, and we said a prayer; we were in complete shock – how
was this happening? They said they were getting him stabilized and would bring
us back when that happened – time didn’t move. And we waited and waited. My
friend, Amy, who works at the hospital came and found us. It was nice to have
someone there to break up the silence and to have someone that knew the medical
side of the conversations and could decode the medical language we were being
given. Then the detectives showed up and needed to speak with us. They split us
up (no matter what the situation, still makes you feel like you’re in trouble)
and started asking a thousand questions that seemed to have no relevance to
anything that was happening; although I couldn’t really tell you what any of
them were. I was sitting there, but I was not there; all I was thinking about
was my baby.
Shock is the strangest thing – it consumes your entire body
and gives you an unusual amount of control while still having no control at the
same time. It’s like you’re watching yourself from the corner of the room. When
you hear of something like this happening, you think that the parents would be
heaped unable to function. For sure, I was terrified, devastated, distressed
yet I had this incredible strength; I don’t know where it came from, but I must
have had someone on my side guiding me through. It gave me the courage to ask
the tough questions, to demand what was right, and to face this nightmare head
on. I’m pretty sure that it set the tone for the rest of my life…
Lesson #1:
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