Results are coming…

January 31, 2017

We had an eventful evening last night. We had an impromptu family talent show, right after all my bonus kiddos went home. It was Adylaede’s idea. She gathered everyone up in the living room, to sing, dance, play guitar, play harmonica; we even had some pogo stick action!

Adylaede won, her siblings voted. The best part was the victory speech that the winner gave; Giddeon took a video.

I tell you this to show you how normal our evening began. After the speech, we all sat down to eat dinner. It was about 7:15. I made the kids plates and placed them in front of them. I stood up to make my own.

I hear Adylaede say, in a bit of a panic, “mommy ooooooowwwww.” I look back thinking she had taken a really hot bite of mashed potatoes, yet her plate seemed untouched. Instead, I see her leaning her head to the left onto her arm and very slowly her head and arm fall to the table. I see her eyes roll back in her head. I see her skin start to loose color.

I panic.

We swoop her up and look in her mouth. We see nothing.

She is not breathing.

She is blue.

Very blue.

Her eyes are closed. She is as limp as a cooked spaghetti noodle.

I am on the phone with the 911 operator. My voice is trembling. Tears are about to spill from my eyes, but somehow, I hold it together to relay the information to the operator, while her older siblings, Giddeon, Sophea, and Malikhi watch.

They are scared.

I can see it. I am too terrified to comfort them. I pray. I beg Jesus to let us hold her longer. We aren’t ready to never again see her smile.

The operator has all the information.

Adylaede opens her eyes. She asks for mommy. Mike, more worried than I have seen him, reluctantly passes her from his arms to mine. She is slowly getting some pinkish color. She is very lethargic. She can barely hold her eyes open. It is a struggle for her to look at me.

The operator assures me that the medics are on the way. She asks if I need her to stay on the line. I tell her I am ok. Adylaede is sort of awake, and only blue around her eyes and mouth now. She is breathing normally. I hang up.

A few seconds later the medics are here. They take her from my arms. She cries softly. She wants mommy. She doesn’t want to be poked and prodded by strangers, yet she is still too lethargic to give a good cry, to put up a little fight. She just lays there. A little less limp, still unmoving. She isn’t even reaching for me.

We are in the ambulance enroute to the hospital. She is holding my hand. She is getting pinker.

We are halfway to the hospital and she is talking up a storm. She is scared. She doesn’t want to get a shot. I assure her she will not need a shot. She is asking about what happened. Why is she here? I tell her her skin turned all sorts of unnatural colors, such as blue. She exclaims, “Oh, like gecko on PJ masks!” She is excited about that. She is talking about her doggies. She tells the medic that she has 3; 1 big Luna and 2 small, Chloe and Pyper. As she holds up her three fingers she says, “both of my doggies are clumsy.” It makes me chuckle. She means, “All of them.”

I watch her being so outgoing and talkative.

It takes my breath away. Literally, I have to catch my breath.

How blessed am I? How can we go from this blue, lifeless ‘gecko’ to this social butterfly in about a half hour?

I am blessed. I am scared. I am confused. We all are.

We are at the hospital, explaining the events. They do a chest x-ray just to be sure she didn’t aspirate; it was clear. They check her heart with an EKG; it was normal. They meet with a team of doctors. They call doctors that aren’t there. Collectively, they agree that it was most likely a seizure. She has had 5 episodes in the last 2 years. Each one, before today, brought on from a fall and bump to her head.

Not today.

They are changing. Before, I was scared, knowing any time she fell it could happen. She could pass out. She could turn blue. She could stop breathing. Now, I am terrified. It can happen anywhere. At any moment. We could be having a family talent show or sittting down to eat or be laughing together at the dinner table. There is so much unknown.

Jesus bring peace to my soul.

I need you.

13 thoughts on “Results are coming…

  1. Even though I know what happened, reading it made me cry. I’m sorry for your worry. It’s so scary. I love you guys tons! She’s a tough tough cookie. I will keep praying for all of you.

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  2. Prayers for her and your family. My brother had seizures as a kid and it is a very scary thing to have to experience. Keep us updated on how things are going.

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    1. I think the scariest part is that Adylaede stops breathing and her skin gets dusky. I never know if she choked on something or what is happening. Her seizures are certainly not typical. Thank you for your prayers. We appreciate them!

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