I'm not sure if I've gone this long without writing to you.
It's not due to lack of thoughts and feelings, in fact the opposite.
I cried the other day while driving for the first time in a while. It just hit me out of the blue, that ache, that missing of you.
So many things have been happening, and each probably deserves its own post: Michael and Daddy and Matthew's birthdays. There was a huge announcement in the Trisomy world that AAP (American Academy of Pediatrics) no longer considers T18 and T13 "incompatible with life." Such a significant blessing for families!
And then there's the house stuff. Holes in walls for stabilizing piers, broken water main, and yesterday a massive flood in the basement from a broken sprinkler joint. Sometimes this just feels like too much.
But on Thursday, I saw a notice about a Go Fund Me and funeral for the man who saved your life almost 15 years ago. And just about everything else recedes a bit into the background.
The day after Thanksgiving, 2010 (can you call it a day if it's still the wee hours of the morning?) you were struggling, big time. I didn't know enough yet to have recognized it earlier, but the signs were there. Dad was in St George with some of the boys for a soccer tournament and as I lay in bed hearing your alarms, I wondered if there was a problem. And I remembered hearing Dad say that I had never been wrong yet when you needed help, so I got up and went out.
I asked our nurse how you were doing. She said, okay, but maybe you needed looking at. (I also had no idea she wasn't the "experienced" nurse she and the company had represented her to be.) I wasn't yet confident in my ability to get you to the hospital on my own so I figured I'd call for help. But the nurse didn't seem worried, so I went down, woke your sisters and went to get dressed before calling.
A few minutes later, one of your sisters was at my door asking if I'd called yet because the nurse said we needed help. I hadn't but quickly did so. You were decompensating so fast!
When the guys walked in, Brian Dowd took one look at you from the doorway to your room and turned to his partner and said, "Get me the chopper!"
Oh....
He then proceeded to quickly assess you and ask for information. He involved me. (Much later I learned that one of the biggest protective factors against PTSD is the ability to do something in a situation; to not feel helpless.) He asked if I'd ever changed your trach. Yes, in fact the day before.
"Okay, so you prep it, I'll pull the old one out, and you put the new one in." He then proceeded to bag you up to 100%. He could feel your lung compliance (or non-compliance in this case) and was able to use the bag to help reinflate what I didn't realize was severely collapsed lungs.
As the chopper arrived and Lifeflight nurses came in, he gave report. Even so, by the time you landed at Primary's you were crashing again.
He later told me that while working part time and waiting for a full-time position at Lone Peak, he'd been at South Davis, a long term facility for people, and especially children, with trachs and vents. He was super familiar with trachs and vents and all the "fun" stuff that can happen with them. That doesn't happen often with paramedics.
Had Brian not been on duty that night, I'm sure you wouldn't have survived. I suspect you would have gone Home right here, with your sisters looking on, Daddy and the older boys in St George, and Michael asleep upstairs.
We would not have known a Christmas with you. You wouldn't have gone to school, met people, influenced so many others. You are part of the reason the "incompatible with life" label was changed. You are the reason many babies have lived. You are the reason I went back to school and now help others with their trauma.
And without Brian that night, it wouldn't have happened.
Over and over I've said that Father knew the number of your days. He knew Brian would be on duty that night. Details were arranged so you could stay, stay for just over 13 more years.
My heart aches for his family, his wife, the community. We will never forget what he did for our family.
Were you there when he showed up ten days ago? I suspect you were. Please thank him for me. What he did cannot be repaid.
I love you, Aaron.
Still miss you so much.
Love,
Mama
No comments:
Post a Comment