The Worst Minutes of My Life, Part 1

"Mike, she's not breathing. Her lips are blue!!"

"Get her out of her seat, Get her out of seat!" Mike frantically shouted.

I felt deranged as I struggled to find the release button to pull the straps loose. We've only had Cayman's car seat for a short time and its differences compared to her infant seat have not become familiar to me yet. My shaky hands worked quickly though and got her unstrapped. I reached under her body and lifted Cayman out of her seat. Her head plopped backwards and her arms and legs just hung there. My little toddler has never been more heavy and awkward to move. Twenty pounds, 34 inches of complete dead weight. It was in that minute when I felt my body begin to shiver.

Mike took her from my arms and ran for the revolving doors to the hospital. It was not the smart route for us to take as those doors automatically move at a speed much too slow for such an emergency. It was the most noticeable, most obvious entrance and in our panic we did not see the regular doors next to the revolving ones. I stepped into the next compartment behind Mike and Cayman. I pushed the revolving doors with all my might, unsuccessfully trying to move them faster.

When in the clearance Mike ran with Cayman down the hallway to the E.R.

He disappeared quickly from my sight as I was still caught within the revolving doors. Out of breath, I put my head down and pushed with all my might, formulating plans to break the glass if the door would shut down against my force.

Once in the clearance I felt flustered by the construction's plastic tarps all around. We've been in this hospital's emergency entrance before but since the remodeling it seemed different to me and I felt lost.

All the people around watching our frantic scene began pointing and shouting to me, showing me the direction to go.

I ran - I ran with a mighty strength that I have never felt and did not even know my legs were capable of since my spinal cord injury 16 years ago.

I turned the corner passing by the window's view of the emergency room. I caught a glimpse of Mike's face. Cayman was not in his arms.

In my mind as I had been running I was thinking Cayman would just start breathing again on her own with ease as if she had only been voluntarily holding her breath. She would be okay.

The look on Mike's face - terror! And I knew everything was not okay.

"Where is she?" I asked Mike.

He pointed to a doorway straight ahead. I could hear Mike's wailing sobs become faint as I ran toward Cayman's room.

The level of fright I felt at that moment when I saw her nearly paralyzed me and I stopped running just a few steps from her.

Blue.

Blue all over.

And completely pale.

"Is there a heartbeat?" I asked.

"No." The nurse responded quickly as she turned toward the intercom and called out "I need a crash cart in here." She started performing CPR on Cayman.

The necessary force of the compressions were hard to watch - the brutal movements, Cayman's lifeless body.

I left the room.

Mike and I fell into each other's arms and just sobbed.

Nearly fifteen people appeared in Cayman's room almost instantly.

There was so much noise and commotion. I had to break out of Mike's tight embrace and walk just enough of a distance away to muffle the sounds coming from Cayman's room.

Praying, hoping, wishing.

Realizing that in the next few minutes we would be hearing the final words of pronouncing Cayman dead or that she's been revived.

Time stood still.

We were told it was less than a minute -around 45 seconds- that they performed CPR. It seemed so much longer.

And then we heard the most beautiful words ever -

She's alive!

*The Worst Minutes of My Life, Part 2