Lifeflight – to Harris

How ominous the empty ER room looked.  The bed was gone; the floor was littered with medical trash.  The small caps for the needles, the paper wrappings for tubes, empty vials, all thrown down in the flurry of saving the life of a 16-year-old girl.  One nurse came in carrying a bag with Charis’ clothes in it.  She insisted on walking me to my car.  I tried not to cry when I saw the helicopter sitting out on the pad, knowing the precious cargo they were carefully but quickly loading on board.  The concerned nurse asked me if I had someone to ride with me.  I told her I was going to pick up my sister.  She whispered, “I’ll pray for her, please let us know how it turns out”.  It was the first offer of prayer, with thousands more to come. 

I choked back tears as I carefully backed my car out of the parking space.  I knew I had to drive to my sister’s and get there safely.  I pulled over by the helicopter pad and watched as they lifted off.  One part of me was so relieved that she was there, going to a better-equipped trauma center for help.  Another part of me felt like my child was being ripped from my arms, and there was nothing I could do about it.  How helpless I felt.  I wanted to call her back, take her home, and turn back the clock.  A small sob escaped my throat as the helicopter turned and headed into the dark night.  I tried to concentrate on driving and watching the helicopter at the same time, but soon lost track of it.  I pulled out my cell phone and began dialing.  I needed to connect; I was so afraid and so lost.  I reached Drew who was flying down the interstate as fast as he could.  I could tell he was panicked, too.  Rhonda said she would be ready as soon as I arrived, and her girls would watch the baby.  Then it occurred to me to call Charis’ Dad.  We had been divorced for a number of years, and they weren’t close, but he kept in contact.  I had his family wake him up and informed him.  He was heading there, too. 

I pulled into my sister’s driveway, and climbed out of my car.  Rushing into her house, I wrapped my arms around her and dissolved into tears.  It was the first time that night that I actually allowed myself to cry freely.  I had someone else to lean on, and didn’t have to be strong for a few moments.  We were in the car and driving as fast as we could up the interstate within minutes.  As we reached the exit for the hospital, my cell phone rang.  It was our minister calling me.  He was letting me know how to locate them.  He said in a very serious tone “Robyn, she is still alive, but HURRY”.  At that moment, it hit me that she actually could die.  I didn’t repeat that to Rhonda, somehow believing that if the words weren’t spoken out loud, then it wouldn’t happen.  Rhonda pulled into the lot near the ER, and I could see Scott, our minister, standing by the door.  I rushed over to him and his first words were “The helicopter just landed, the hospital chaplain is with Drew”.  He steered me inside and through the ER to a private room they had assigned to our family.  They had politely worded it a “consult room”.  As we gathered there, a Doctor soon came in.  His first words still haunt me.  “We really don’t expect her to make it”.  I just sat there.  No reaction other than nodding my head.  I was watching it happen to myself, not feeling, not thinking, just existing.  My sister and niece immediately dissolved into tears.  Drew threw his arms tightly around me and sobbed.  The Doctor explained that she was barely alive and that a cardiologist would be looking at her soon. 

Charis’ Dad, Rich, his wife, and our older son, Jared arrived within a short time after that.  Drew and I jumped up as he walked in the room, and we formed a three way hug, and just held each other and cried.  Then I proceeded to describe the evening to them.  The music minister from our church, and his wife came in the room.  What a joy to see the support and love shown to us.  She was a nurse in this hospital and began to help us understand what was happening.  She went off and convinced the Doctors to let us see her.  Soon we were being led down the twisting, quiet corridors to a curtained off area.  I almost didn’t want that curtain pulled back.  But we eagerly gathered around her bed.  She was so still, even more so than when sleeping.  So still that I wanted to reach out and shake her awake and make the nightmare go away.  We were at the mercy of these Doctors, and all those machines.  We watched the lines on the heart monitor as they scrawled little green peaks across the screen.  It was a rude introduction to the life saving process.  We each took turns squeezing her hands and whispering our love to her.   All of us gathered around her in that bed, holding hands, praying for this little lady.  The angry, bitter feelings of divorced parents and their new spouses set aside, all four joining with a devastated aunt, a distraught cousin, and a concerned brother, drawing strength from each other.  Our minister prayed with us, then stood back and observed.

Rhoda, the music minister’s wife, lurked outside Charis’ curtain and eavesdropped, every once in awhile coming and reporting to us what she had learned.  She was such a comfort, taking away the uncertainty by translating the Doctor’s various reports into terms that we could understand.  Eventually a Doctor came in and told us that there was a problem because the cardiologist on call couldn’t work on anyone under the age of 18. Cook’s Children’s Hospital across the street had been called, and the pediatric cardiologist on call there didn’t have ER privileges at Harris. They were in the process of trying to locate a cardiologist to care for her.  Time dragged as we sat and prayed and worried. 

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Introduction