Five years ago today was the worst day of our lives. It was the day we almost lost Samantha. For us, 5 years isn't really any different than 4 years was or 6 years will be. It will be a day that will stay with us forever. But 5 years is a milestone of sorts. Today is the day Samantha is no longer considered medically high risk.
And while that is amazing, it doesn't really change anything for us. To us, she will always be considered high risk. I don't think you can ever come that close to losing your child and ever feel that things are normal. I've talked about what happened to her
one or
two times before, but never in one full story, so I'm going to try to do that now. I'm not sure how I'll do, since I can't think about that day with crying, but I'll try. I can tell you, it will be a mix of jumbled thoughts and I'm sure I will leave out some important facts.
That day started out as any other. We were up visiting my dad and stepmom and decided to go out to lunch and then to see Burney Falls. Samantha seemed fine, ate like normal and was in a good mood. After we returned to their house, I put her down for her nap and went to talk to my grandmother. We listened to her talk over the monitor for awhile and eventually she quieted down, with me assuming she had finally fallen asleep. Which she may have. A while later my sister came over with her 3 kids and I decided it was time to get Samantha up to play with her cousins.
What I found when I walked in, I will never forget. Her neck was at the most awkward angle, her eyes were open but rolled back and she was barely breathing. Thinking maybe she had somehow broken her neck, I called for Nacho who came running. He picked her up and told me to call 911. Somewhere between the bedroom and the phone I panicked and I walked into the kitchen and asked my stepmom to "please help me." She says it was the combination of the look on my face and the tone of my voice that made her realize she needed to call 911 - thank God she did. By this time, Nacho had brought her out to the family room where we gathered around her and waited for the paramedics to get there. She was still barely breathing. I'm sure it was only a few minutes, but it seemed like an eternity before they got there and when they did it became a world-wind of activity. The equivalent of an emergency room triage was set up on their family room floor while all I could do was look on helplessly. When it came time to transport her, they wouldn't let us ride with her. I don't why they changed their minds, but they finally agreed to let Nacho ride, but up front. It wasn't until we had time to rethink the events of the day that we realized the reason they wouldn't let us ride in back with her, or me at all, was because they didn't think she'd make it to the hospital. Something to remember - I was 6 months pregnant with Lexi at the time.
My dad drove me over the hospital and I remember when I walked up to the desk to tell them that my daughter had been brought in by ambulance, they told me she already had a family member with her. My dad lost it on the guy and I was immediately shown back. Right as I saw her for the first time, my little baby hooked to up wires and tubes and a bed way too big for her, I was met by the chaplain. I knew it couldn't be good. I wasn't in a place to be able to talk to her - I needed to find out what was going on with Samantha, so my dad talked to her. By this point the rest of the family had arrived and she put them in a special waiting room in the ER and told them to expect the worse and to be prepared to catch us. Again, they didn't think our little girl would make it.
My family is amazing and phone calls were made, prayer groups were started and even though Nacho and I were alone in that ER with Samantha, we had a world of people fighting right beside us. A world of people who, in that moment, loved our daughter like their own.
Most of that night is a blur to me, but there are things that stick out so clearly. I remember the respiratory therapist hand pumping air into her little body for hours because she was unable to regulate her own breathing. I remember the nursing staff trying desperately to get me to eat something - because they were terrified I would lose Samantha and then in turn lose the baby I was carrying. I remember when they wanted to run the CT Scan and we asked what that would show them and their response was they wanted to rule out a brain tumor, how my husband, who had been my rock up until that point, dropped to his knees like he had been sucker punched. And in a way he had. I have never doubted Nacho loves for any of our children, but it was in the moment where I truly understood a father's love. I remember our baby girl turned 16 months old, in an ER, far from home, hooked up to more tubes and machines than I could count.
Eventually, they got her stable enough for transport to a PICU. Unfortunately, that hospital didn't have one, so it meant they were going to have to airlift her. After much paperwork and insurance issues and many changed transport hospitals, it was decided she would be transported to Kaiser Oakland. They of course wouldn't let me fly with her because I was pregnant. They didn't want to let Nacho fly either, but I begged them to let him go and they finally agreed with one major stipulation. He was not allowed to get out of his seat no matter what happened. Again, they weren't sure she'd make it. Later in those quiet nights next to her bed in the PICU, Nacho finally told me he didn't want me to fly with her because if something had happened to that plane, he would have lost his whole world.
As Nacho waited with Sam for the flight details to be worked out, I left to start the 4 hour drive down to Oakland with my dad. I still don't know how I walked out of that hospital not knowing if I would ever see her alive again, but I knew I was doing it for her. It was a quiet drive down for us, with me mostly lost in my own thoughts and the what-ifs. About half-way through our drive, Nacho called to say they were still at the hospital because they were having a hard time finding the right size intubation tube for her (I'm not sure why they were changing it out since she had been intubated since her arrival in the ER), but that for a brief moment, while she was extubated, she woke up, she recognized Nacho and she said "dada." The first moment where we had hope our little girl would be ok.
As it was, my dad made record time and we beat the airlift down there. Finally they arrived and she was whisked right up to the PICU. By the time they let me in, they were getting ready to do a final extubation, but warned us they might have to intubate again right away. To our sweet relief, our little girl who hadn't been able to breath on her for hours, was breathing regular, sweet breaths. That night they ran a multitude of tests and about 5am, finally made me go lay down in the parents' room. I think I lasted 45 minutes before I was right back at her side. After 3 days, as the tests were coming back clean, they finally decided she could be moved to the pediatric floor. And by the time she got there, she had her spunk back! What a sweet sight for us. After a total of a week in the hospital, she was released. She was on medication for a year and is now a thriving, happy 6 year old. We never did get any answers to why this happened, but they tell us that's better because it's more likely to be a one time thing.
We later learned that she was down to 3 breaths a minute when she admitted to the ER. We learned her seizure never stopped on it's own and that it lasted over 2 hours before they were able to medically stop it. We learned that the ER doctor didn't know if was a seizure and took her best guess. We learned that had I found her 10 minutes later, we would have lost her.
So here were are 5 years later, finally able to not let this consume us. But still ever so aware of what happened and still so eternally grateful for the people who where there with us. I've thanked them all before, but when they are a part of the fight to save your daughter's life, I don't think you can ever thank them too much. So to my dad, my stepmom, my grandmother, my sisters and my brother-in-law - thank you for being there that night and holding us. For having the answers when we didn't. For thinking of the small, but important things, like driving our car down to the hospital for us. For being strong for us, when we knew your hearts were breaking into a million pieces as well. To my sister-in-law and brother-in-law, who drove to three different hospitals while they were trying to figure out where they were airlifting to her to - thank you for being the rock that Nacho so desperately needed and I couldn't be for him. To my brother-in-law and sister-in law, thank you for driving all the way down to the hospital, even when you knew you wouldn't be able to see Samantha, just to sit with us for a few minutes. You have no idea how nice it was to see familiar faces. To my uncle, aunt, cousin and his wife - thank you for coming to see us. Thank you for bringing us our first taste of non-hospital food and thank you for sitting for hours with us as we held our baby girl. Thank you to my mom, who stayed overnight with Samantha, who held her tight all night, even when Sam had leaked out of her diaper, for being there for me, so I could get some sleep to continue to safely grow the baby I was carrying. To the hospital staff at both locations - thank you for taking care of our girl and for fighting for her life like we would have. To our other family and friends...and strangers - thank you for your love, your understanding, your prayers and your fight to save our little girl's life. We are eternally grateful for all of you.
5 years....it can be a a lifetime.
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