The Worst Minutes of My Life, Part 2

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

"What? What'd they say? There's a heartbeat?" I spoke quickly through heavy breath as if I had just finished running a race.

Mike motioned for me to come closer. "I guess so, I think so." He seemed nervous as he spoke.

It was unusual for me to see Mike so frazzled. It's usually me that is falling apart while he holds things together so well. His natural strong, optimism in him had grown faint though when he carried his little girl's lifeless body through the E.R. doors.

I peeked into Cayman's room reluctantly but yet with an earnestness to find permission to hope. The last image I had of her terrified me. The appearance of her blue, lifeless body made me shiver and I wanted to forget it. I could not look at my little Cayman like that again. I wanted to erase it. Pull it out from my memory bank.

Standing just outside of the doorway, I slowly lifted my eyes toward Cayman. I could see only her legs and feet through the pack of medical staff surrounding her bedside.

She was pink.

Beautiful pink!

There was a brief parting and I caught a view of Cayman's face. They were in the process of intubating her.

I turned away again.

The nightmare continued.

At that moment I just wanted her to wake up, smile, show me signs that I hadn't lost her. Just one tiny glimpse.

Time continued to stand still. I felt like I was apart of a dream or a movie scene. It didn't feel like this could really be happening.

I slipped into a part of time that felt as though my existence became separated from the present and all the movements occurring around me. There were voices, questions, people - it all continued. I knew time was passing but I couldn't figure out how to be present with it. I watched it all from a blurry lens.

My mind is a little fuzzy on the next few minutes. I do remember dialing my mom's cell phone number. I didn't talk for very long. I was making such a conscious effort not to pass out and retelling our reality was too much for me to try and hold it all together for that moment.

I knew the race for Cayman's life wasn't over, but the joy that its final end had not come yet, gave my legs strength to continue standing.

A nurse guided me by my elbow toward Cayman's room. I was being given permission to be with her. That's all I needed to snap out of the haze I was in. I found myself appearing next to Cayman's side nearly instantly as I moved quickly. I picked up her cool, lifeless hand and held it in mine. She laid there sleeping. With my other hand I rubbed her head in the same familiar way that I do at home when we cuddle in the rocking chair.

As I sang to her beautiful pink face, a few tears trickled down my cheeks. It was hard to tell if they were tears of joy or of sorrow. A mixture of both I suppose.

Desperate to find solid ground for my thoughts to lean on in the midst of this chaos, I searched in my memory of scripture, for anything that could give me peace and assurance that God was still carrying out His promises in our lives.

A small smile appeared on my face as I recalled an earlier memory of that day before all this went down. God had already given me that morning what my heart was needing - the scripture that would sustain me.

I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go..." (Genesis 28:15)

(Earlier that day) When we left our house, all our bags packed, in route to Ann Arbor, we first made a stop at Mike's work. He had left his laptop there and wanted to have it for the time away. While Cayman and I waited in the van, I felt such an urgency to find a scripture that voiced God's promise of watching over us. I pulled out my Bible that I packed in my purse and found Genesis 28:15.

God knew the storm was about to hit and He began to provide our shelter from it.

Mike and I stood at Cayman's bedside holding on to each other. My mom arrived at the hospital. I felt grateful to have her there.

Cayman was in critical condition. Her heart rate was holding on in the low 60's.

Orders for her to be air lifted to Ann Arbor were put in and then we waited. Waited for what seemed to be an insane amount of time for such a critical situation. Communication with the flight was put through again to make sure they were on their way.

I continued to pray and remember...

I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go.

"And Lord, if you will, please pull that helicopter out of the air and set it down here safely. We have got to get to Ann Arbor!"

*The Worst Minutes of My Life, Part 3

8 Showin' Comment Love:

Sue said...

Life....what a will never, ever take it for granted again. You went through every parents worst nightmare....and you had a happy ending. Cayman's life....what a gift she has been to you!!

Cayman's Daddy said...

I still don't know how to comprehend this. It all feels like the worst dream i have ever had.

Zoe said...

Every one of your posts leaves me tearful...... I could not even begin to imagine the emotions of the last week that you and Mike have processed. Praise God is all I can say!

Beth said...

I must stop reading these at work!!!! I still cannot believe it (and I don't even 'know' you - but I feel like I do)!!!

Praying for Cayman's continued recovery!!

Lisa said...

I think that this experience has allowed you to feel every emotion on the spectrum; from the deepest sorrow, to the most brilliant happiness. To have lost her and then have her restored to her sweet little self...what a blessing!

Casey and Jayson said...

I'm so sorry to hear about all the issues in the past couple weeks. I'm glad to hear that Cayman is doing well and is home. ;-)

Colette said...

Life is so so precious! I cried reading this post, I could relate to so much of it being in similar circumstances, but I was the one who was giving my parents their worst moments! Am so happy you are all home and enjoying being with each other and being a family again! Keep strong for God is good! Thinking of you all and keeping ye in my prayers! Sending a big cyber hug to Cayman! :)

Tiffany said...

These are hard to read...I can't imagine how hard it must have been to live through it. Thinking and praying still...