Two pickup trucks stopped in quick succession.  The drivers tumbled out as quickly as they could, offering their help.  I gladly accepted, asking them if they could take us home.  One of the men bent over and began to slip his arms under her, she fluttered her eyes open and muttered that she was OK, but as he helped her to her feet, she collapsed against his shoulder.  The driver of the closest truck, obviously a postal worker on his way home, opened the door and helped pull her semi-conscious body inside.  I quickly climbed in beside her and gave directions to our home.  She seemed to almost regain consciousness in the cool air-conditioned cab, although she continued to sweat profusely.  She stammered that she was just tired, couldn’t breath and needed to rest.  As the truck pulled in our driveway, the man said “Get that girl to a Doctor”.  I said “Don’t worry, I am”!  She shrugged off his offer of help saying rather forcefully “I don’t need a Doctor” and then stumbled into the house very much like someone that had been on a long drinking binge.  She staggered the short distance across the living room falling onto the couch, asking for a drink of water. As I filled a glass for her, I blurted out to Drew “Charis collapsed on the road!”  She was writhing in pain on the couch, continually complaining that she couldn’t breathe.  Drew and I hurriedly made arrangements for the evening.  I would take Charis to the hospital, while Drew would head the opposite direction, picking up Hannah on his way to my sister, Rhonda’s house, and would meet me whenever I called with details.  Rhonda and I have the kind of relationship that is beyond sisters, we are best friends.  I knew she wouldn’t hesitate to take the two kids in an emergency.  I made sure I had insurance cards, and grabbed a book, assuming I would have a long evening in a boring emergency room.   

            Charis stumbled out to the car, again refusing my assistance.  I climbed in the driver’s seat, mentally considering which choice of hospitals would be best to take her to.  Walls Regional was the closest, only about a 10-minute drive.  Huguley was closer to the big city, and closer to my other family members, but would take 20 - 30 minutes to get there, and finally Cook’s Children’s in Downtown Fort Worth, but that was probably at least 40 minutes.  Glancing over at Charis in the passenger seat, she had her knees drawn up to her chest, then she would stretch out in pain.  She kept thrashing around complaining that she couldn’t breathe.  She continued to sweat and her complexion was a ghastly indescribable pasty color.  I decided that closer was better, as I just wanted to hand her over to a medical professional to be taken care of.  My fear mounted as I drove and she continued to deteriorate. I was relieved that I decided to take her to the closest Emergency Room.  I pulled as close to the ER door as I could, and ran around to the passenger side.  This time, she allowed me to help her walk inside.  Upon entering the waiting room, she immediately lay down on the floor.  I ran out to move my car to a proper parking spot, fighting panic, knowing I was who she relied on.  By the time I got back inside, the other patients waiting had decided amongst them selves that she needed to go first. One of them went to the window and demanded that someone come get this girl, she needed help now.  Within seconds, two nurses appeared with a wheelchair.  With a little assistance under her arms, Charis was able to get up and slump into the chair.  As they wheeled her through the doors, they fired a few questions at me.  I told them of her collapse, and of her recent bout with anemia, and lack of allergies.  I was instructed to go sign her in.  When I returned from hastily completing the paperwork, the nurses were attempting to draw blood.  They had already stuck her twice, and were in the process of a third try.  They informed me that when they got in the vein, blood would only momentarily spurt, and then refuse to flow.    Charis in the meantime complained of shortness of breath, and her heart hurting.  The Doctor came in and looked her over and ordered tests.  I remarked, “We’ll be staying, won’t we?”  He looked at me over his glasses and said, “Somewhere, yes”.    Charis was begging for a drink, and the Doctor told her she could have one after the tests were completed.  An IV was immediately started, and soon another was started in her other arm.  I excused myself to go call my family.  When I returned, they had her undressed and into a hospital gown.  She was writhing in pain and begging for a drink, constantly complaining that she couldn’t breathe and her heart hurt.  An EKG machine was brought in and connected.  Charis tried to lie still for it, but had a difficult time staying motionless for even the few seconds it took.  A tube was inserted to clear the contents of her stomach, which caused her to vomit.  She would watch the heart monitor that was still connected, and panic when she saw that her heart rate had gone so high.  She kept telling the nurses “My heart is too fast, make it stop”.  She begged me to take her home, tears in her eyes.  I felt so helpless telling her I couldn’t take her home until she was well again.  Different technicians kept coming in and trying to draw blood, and all were unsuccessful.  When the Doctor came back in, she looked at him and pointed her finger and said in a forceful voice “You!  Can I have my drink now?”  He said, “No, not yet” so she promptly turned her whole body away from him and said “Then I’m going home!”   The Doctor told me that they were trying to determine what her problem was, and explained the different tests they were going to do.  A catheter was inserted, a chest x-ray taken, and a sonogram of her abdomen was done.   In between, they kept doing EKG’s, explaining that they thought the leads were placed wrong, and then saying that she wasn’t lying still enough.  I got right up in her face with another nurse, and had her breathe with me like someone in labor.  That seemed to help a bit, and they seemed satisfied with the results.  I asked a nurse what the problem was, and she told me that the Doctor was calling Careflight to have her flown to Fort Worth.  I still hadn’t entirely grasped the severity of the situation.  Because of her anemia problem recently, I assumed there was a problem with a cyst on her ovary, and figured she would have abdominal surgery.  I again went outside to call my family.  I was unable to reach Drew on his cell phone because he was passing through a dead zone, so I called my sister and asked her to relay to him that she was being transferred, and for him to head to Fort Worth instead.  As I returned inside, I was horrified at the number of people around her, and the buzz of activity. I heard them mention morphine, and other drugs that I was unfamiliar with.  Several nurses were doing nothing but restraining her.  She was fighting wildly and screaming “Let me GO!  They’re hurting me!  Help me!  Somebody help!!”  I asked a nurse again “What is wrong?”  She looked at me and said, “Go over there, get the Doctor and ask him, he will explain”. 

            A walk of 8 feet takes seconds.  Precious few seconds, the last few seconds of innocently believing that they would fix my daughter and I could take her home.  The last few seconds of having a beautiful, vibrant, spunky and whole girl.  The last few seconds of being an ordinary family.  I touched the Doctor on his arm and asked him, “Can you tell me what is wrong with my daughter?”   He pulled me to the edge of the hallway and took a deep breath.  His words changed my life.  “In all my years, I’ve never seen anything like this.  Your daughter is having a heart attack”.  On TV, Mothers faint, or collapse in tears, or begin to yell at the Doctor.  In real life, this Mom just put her hand to her mouth and gasped and moaned, fighting back tears.  I was being sucked into a dark and terrifying tunnel and was helpless to stop what was already in motion.  I had to remain strong, no one was with me, and SHE needed me.  He explained that each successive EKG had been progressively worse, and she was being flown to Harris Hospital in downtown Fort Worth.  It still didn’t occur to me that she was so gravely ill; I just knew in my heart that she would be fixed.  I went into the room swallowing tears, and forcing a smile on my face.  Above all else, I didn’t want to frighten her.  She was still screaming and fighting everyone.  One nurse had Charis’ arm trapped between her legs as she tried to get a blood pressure.  I saw Charis grimace with determination, and suddenly the nurse screamed in pain, and yelled, “She pinched me!”  Charis had grabbed a large chunk of her inner thigh and given her what most people refer to as a “horse bite”.  I’d be willing to bet she had a colorful bruise for days afterward.  What a testimony to her spunky determination.

I again stepped outside and called Drew.  This time I reached him and just blurted out the words - “She’s had a heart attack!”  His disbelieving “WHAT??” filled the silence.   I repeated the horrific sentence, and he told me he was on his way downtown.  I was stunned and numb.  I called my sister and told her the devastating news, asking her to locate our minister.  She instructed me to come get her so that she could drive me downtown.  I went back inside and watched in horror as my daughter slipped into a coma and the Doctor said what no Mother ever wants to hear.  “We have to tube her”.  I’ve seen the procedure done thousands of times on TV, and practiced it in my EMT training a few years ago.  Never did I expect to see it done to my own child, lying so still and innocently on the bed.  As they rhythmically squeezed the bright blue bag to force air into her lungs, an ivory colored froth would ooze up through the tubes, spilling down her face and neck.  The Doctor explained that since her heart wasn’t pumping adequately, fluid was collecting in her lungs, and she was essentially drowning.  I could hear the thumping of the helicopter as it touched down outside.  Nurses were frantically scribbling information down, even writing doses of medications given on the bed sheets.  The Paramedics with Careflight asked for a quick history, and hurriedly prepared to whisk her off.  I must have looked like a very scared, lost soul.  The lady paramedic put her arm around my shoulder and in a soft and comforting voice told me “Go ahead and kiss her and tell her goodbye, she can hear you”.  I was scared to touch her, and yet didn’t want to let her go.  I squeezed her cold, limp hand, kissed her forehead, and urgently whispered, “I love you”. Then I watched as they literally ran out the swinging doors with my sweet princess. 

Chapter 3 Lifeflight to Harris

Introduction