Part 5: The night we could've lost Brody

Click here to read parts 1, 2, 3 and 4.

When we got home things stayed pretty calm. We were all tired and in desperate need of a shower or two, but we tried to keep things as relaxed as possible. I fielded some phone calls from family to assure everyone that things were alright. We didn't make it home till about 5 or 6 that evening.

Moo Moo and Papa!

Primarily I needed to talk to my grandma, Moo Moo, because we were supposed to go to her house the next day. This woman is a top-notch cook, so every year we look forward to eating her homemade (all from scratch, ya'll) dressing.

Delicious is an understatement when it comes to her food, especially her Thanksgiving spread. It's the hovering-around-the-kitchen-waiting-for-her-to-give-us-the-green-light-so-we-can-pounce-on-it-like-a-bunch-of-hyenas kind of good. Needless to say, it takes a lot of preparation.

I helped her make the dressing about eight years ago and then made it in Alaska a few times too (or attempted to). Every year I tried, it seemed to get better and better. I even made it the year before last for Klay. Making it at home helps Klay and I not get into a pushing match with my cousins and the rest of the fam who are literally fighting for leftovers. OK, we don't literally fight, but we joke about it. When we are waiting for the "green light", we have our elbows out attempting to block others from the yummy spread that lays before us and our utensils and plates in-hand ready to chow down like crazed animals.

Anyway, no one else in my family knows how to make it or has attempted to, so I know how tough it really is. She makes like 12-15 pans of homemade cornbread for the dressing to feed our whole family, and of course, she makes a few extra for my grandpa, Papa, who likes to eat some plain with some good ole buttermilk. YUCK! I'll never understand the strange combinations of things that man eats. 

The reason I'm telling you this is because I talked her into passing a few things on me this year--which she's never done before--so it was a really big deal. She normally cooks two turkeys. I offered to cook one to try to take some of the stress off her.

Well, the day all of this went down I made a turkey (meant to be for Klay and I). It was my practice turkey; I planned to cook another turkey early Sunday morning or Saturday night to take to Moo Moo's.

I didn't want to send a few days old turkey to our family Thanksgiving. We weren't too sure if we'd go or not, but the doctors said it would be fine. So I stayed up late Saturday to cook a second turkey hopeful this one would be fresh and juicy for the trip! The turkey turned out incredible. YAY ME! But I was exhausted.

After all of that, Klay and I decided Brody was going to sleep in our bed--we didn't have a talk but it was obvious he wasn't going to leave our sight anytime soon.

Let me take you back to Part 1 for a sec...

In it, I talked about how I contemplated putting Brody in his bed that night. It runs through my mind all of the time... and haunts me. What the HELL was I thinking? He was running fever for a few hours, but it hadn't really went much higher than 100, so I'd hoped this sickness would be a fluke thing. I just can't imagine how things may have turned out had we put Brody in his bed. I know we probably would have let him sleep with us (had the seizure not happened yet) anyway, but it's hard for me to think about how I contemplated the other option. If he'd have seized in his bed, we may not have heard him... and he choked and stopped breathing when he had the seizure. Thinking about him in his bed seizing is unbearable... That's something that will stay with me forever and therefore change my decisions from here on out when it comes to him having a fever and how I will handle it.

I know allowing him to sleep with us is an overall bad parenting choice. Trust me, we faced the consequences the weeks after (and it wasn't pretty). But we'd had the most traumatic experience of OUR lives and Brody wasn't completely over his illness. 

He didn't run a high fever since we'd been home from the hospital, but it did go up to 99.8 or so an hour or two after we were home. We gave him Motrin/Tylenol and it stayed down the rest of the night.

Klay and I woke periodically through the night feeling Brody's head and checking his temperature with the thermometer. Brody stayed asleep, his body finally at rest from this crazy, emotional weekend. His poor, little body had been through so much.

The next day I called Moo Moo again and told her I was sending the turkey and juice from the turkey (used for the dressing) with my sister. They were bummed because they thought we weren't coming; at that point we were still deciding. 

After some talking with Klay, rehashing what the doctors said, we decided we couldn't be afraid to go beyond our house in fear of something happening again. We could tell Brody was feeling better and he hadn't run fever since the day before. So we had to move forward with our lives and try not to live life around these possible seizures.

My grandparents live about an hour away from us--in the country--(don't worry they have a nearby hospital or as Brody would say "HA-STI-PULL") so it was a little bit of a drive.

We made it there, all in tact, with no car-seizures. I was really happy we decided to go. I started helping Moo with the rest of the food. Everyone started to eat, but I continued making the second batch of dressing (which required the turkey juice I sent). I let Moo Moo eat, asking her questions along the way, making sure I was doing everything right.

I was still cooking about 45 minutes or so after everyone had made it back for round 2, piling their plates again.

Klay checked on me several times, trying to make me a plate, but I had to keep moving to get my mind off of all that happened. It was replaying over and over in my head and I was still on edge afraid Brody would run more fever. My heart just wouldn't relax. I was still so tense from it all. I needed to get those images out of my mind, so I cooked and cleaned, cooked and cleaned.

I answered questions from family members about how he was doing and how it all went down. I could talk about it, I just couldn't let my brain visualize what he looked like during and post-seizure. But if I sat there thinking, not doing anything, those images would flash in my head like it was happening again before my eyes.

I was the last one to eat that day, which has never happened on Thanksgiving--ever! This fatty fat likes her food mmmkay. The hubs made me sit down and finally eat. The food was incredible but I just wasn't hungry.

Afterward, I sat for a bit and watched my son play and act his normal self. I was happy to be watching him do the simple things. Whether it was eat, cry, talk, walk, or point, I was admiring the little things he did and had some hope we were finally getting back to normal.

The roads were supposed to get pretty slick that evening so a few people left early. I stayed and helped clean the kitchen and made my grandparents leftovers, shoving them in the fridge, before all of the food was gone. They won't do it till everyone has leftovers, letting everyone take all the food and THEN save any that may be left for themselves. But the past few years, the leftovers have dwindled down to almost nothing. Maybe the older everyone gets, the more we want to pack on the pounds so we take as much as we can! LOL. Or maybe it's because our family is growing, adding more kids every few years and then they get older and want to pack on the pounds too!

After cooking for four days, we all knew Moo Moo deserved to kick her feet up, relax and enjoy her hard labor. So along with a few others, we cleaned the kitchen so there wasn't anything left for Moo Moo and Papa to do. (Yes, Papa helps. He's her dishwasher, seriously. They don't have one of the "fancy" machines at their house. Papa does it all the old fashioned way! But his hands are as soft as a baby's bottom y'all!)

It was after 7 or so when we finally left and past 8 when we got home.

We gave Brody a bath and Klay put his--Brody's--diaper and PJ's on.

Because of this life-changing weekend we had, we thought we'd give Brody an early Christmas present. I'd been shopping for presents already for the 349839 kids I have on my list for Christmas. It's not that many, but it's around 20, which is still a lot.

I'd been buying them at Walgreens (cheap, ya'll!). While I'd peruse the aisles, Brody would carry on about this $20 dinosaur that roared and walked (though you couldn't see it walk, cause it was in a box... DUH!).

"DIN-A-TOR" he'd say and laugh. He loved that thing. After the third trip to Walgreens scoping out the toys, I finally caved and bought it for him.

I handed the box to Klay and asked him to open it.

While I'm in the office doing something I hear "SHIT!" Yes, we cuss a lot. We're not proud.

"Oh My God, WHAT!?" I said to Klay walking back to the living room.

MY HUSBAND was hunched over (head to the floor) holding the towel Brody had just been dried off with. He sat there for several seconds, not saying anything.

"What happened?" I asked again, knowing he'd hurt himself.

When he looked up, his face was white. It had lost all its color. 

I'd seen that face before. This can't be good. I knew he was hurt. I had a flashback to the time he came in from playing basketball with some buddies when we lived in Alaska; his face was ghost white. Immediately noticing his face when he walked in the house, I asked him what was wrong and he told me he thought he broke his wrist. He tripped over his own feet and landed on it wrong. Then we sat in an ER for four hours, and about three hours in, I was hoping it was broken. I didn't want to have wasted four hours in an ER for a sprained wrist. It was broken, but don't feel sorry for him, he used it to his advantage later. Then another flash of the time he hit himself in the head with a 20 MIL can at work. How'd that happen? He bent down to pick something up while pulling the heavy metal box off the table, not thinking about physics and the pull of gravity aka how the box would swing and hit him the head as he PULLED it off the table. He had a golf ball-looking lump on his forehead for a while. Good times. Or the time a garbage disposal fell on his head when he was installing my new sink. I saw the same ghost white face every time. He's sort of like the real-life version of Tim Taylor from "Home Improvement." He's not that bad, but I wasn't surprised when I saw that same colorless face again.

"Oh My God, what happened!?" I yelled.

"I cut myself," he moaned. "It's deep. I need to go the hospital."

"Well come over to the sink so I can look at it," I said helping him stand and move to the kitchen. I was worried, but I just told you this wasn't the first time this guy had been injured like this. I scurried to get him to the sink and off my pretty light gray and white rug--which already endured some throw up from Bro Friday. Thank God my Dad has a carpet cleaning biz! Shout out to the company Amazing Results, ya'll!

Leaning over the sink, he took the towel off, dark red blood seeped from the deep wound. It was bleeding quite a bit and he was definitely going to need stitches. We were both worried he may have hit a bone.

I quickly put Brody's jacket on, grabbed his diaper bag, my purse, a few blankets, Klay's jacket and opened the door to instructing the troops to the car. I got all the bags in, Brody in his carseat buckled, Klay in the front (buckling him too) myself in and buckled, and off we went to the ER--again. This time, we went to a nearby ER only ten minutes away.

It was starting to sleet some, so I had to drive slow. I called my mom and Klay's parents on the way, letting them know where we were in case I needed some help with Brody. Their reply? "Are you serious?"

So you thought this post was going to be about Brody going back to the ER? Nope, it's about this accident-prone husband of mine. I really can't talk much. I tend to have bad luck when it comes to medical stuff too. If the docs tell me there is a 5% chance, something will happen... I'll be in the 5%. All I can say about our countless trips to the ER... thankfully we have good insurance, other wise we'd be living in a box on the side of the road.

Klay was in a lot of pain so I knew it was going to be tough when getting stitched up.

Klay trying to be dramatic. Ha. My poor men.

I was afraid Brody would freak out immediately when we entered the hospital thinking we'd be there for him, but surprisingly he wasn't phased. Instead, he kept saying "Dada hurt. Dada boo boo. OUUUCH!" when he'd look at Klay's hand.

Brody kept us entertained and I filmed him talking, playing and straining to fart. I know, we're a classy bunch... (Update: as I reread this draft, I read this part and heard a loud poooooot, from my hubs. Ahhhh... Love my life!)

After being there for close to two hours, we finally got to go home. Since we really spent more than $20 bucks on this dinosaur (because of the recent added expense of an ER visit) we were going to play with Brody's toy, the "DIN-O-TOR" he loved so much.

We turned it on to walk, and guess what? That kid screamed and cried--he was terrified. AHHHHHH!!! Seriously kid? Your daddy just bled over this toy for you. But Brody could care less; we had to put it away.

We were just about to go to bed and were checking to make sure all of the doors were locked, when Klay spotted some blood on the walls. "Cass there's blood all over the walls!" he said.

I thought he was joking because this guy loves to cry wolf all of the time. "Whatever," I replied.

"Come look," he challenged.

I walked over and spotted the sprays of blood on my tan walls. I looked around the room and blood was everywhere. It was in places that were more than four or five feet away from where Klay sat on the floor. It was on my picture frames, my turquoise table, my candles, the TV, the walls behind my bookcases by the TV--it looked like a scene from CSI. It was about to be a scene from "Snapped," if it was on my gray and white rug. If you've never seen that show, it's about women kill their lovers. And I was about to "SNAP" if my pretty rug was ruined.

Klay was lucky. NOTHING on my rug--not one single drop. I don't know what he did to get it everywhere... Our theory: he swung his arm in the air after it happened slinging blood on the walls, and he covered it quick enough with the towel that it didn't land on MY carpet.

After our third trip to the ER in three days, I was just hoping it would be our last for a while. I'm glad all of my boys were OK, but it was too much for one weekend--and my poor rug had had enough! I'm kidding... kind of.

I look back now and think how lucky we are that nothing worse happened. How lucky we are that we didn't put Brody in his bed that night, that Klay was home with me when it happened, that Klay didn't cut a finger off or injure that pretty face of his again. I feel lucky to have these accident-prone men of mine.

So, what have I learned from all this? Hmmm.... to have 911 on speed-dial and a first-aid handy at all times. 

For real though, I learned just how deeply my love for my child goes. Sometimes I question my ability as a parent or how I'm doing as Brody's mother. I've even wondered if this should be the only kid we have. After this incident I was definitely wanting to put the idea of another kid on hold for a bit. I'm not sure I want to have that kind of scare with another child again... BUT the love I feel for Brody, makes me want to have another one--eventually (hold your horses, folks).

If my life is this crazy with one, can you imagine what a second would do? Scary thought...

At the end of the day, I am a mom. Therefore, I will always worry, my heart will not rest when Brody runs a fever, and I hope I will not panic should it happen again. All I can hope for is that it doesn't so I won't ever have to see him like that again. That was the absolute hardest, scariest moment of my life--well, that and skiing.

But that story is for another day...

Part 4: The night we could've lost Brody

Read part 1, 2 & 3 first.

I scrambled up to the hospital's ambulance entrance only to be stopped by a door that requires a code to get in.

Remember when I said I'm directionally challenged? I banged on the door knowing my husband got through there, but the people in white coats pointed and motioned for me to go around. Seriously people, I was just here! 

Mind you, it's freezing outside and I look like a mess. I'm wearing sweats and a t-shirt, no makeup and my eyes are red and swollen from crying for what seemed like a few hours now. I'm sure the hospital folks who denied my entry thought I looked similar to a criminal or a crazy person, so I can't say I really blame them.

I walked around finally finding another entrance. I come up on a waiting room overflowing with sick kids and parents. A lady with a computer granting entry to the ER sat at the desk looking alarmed when she saw my nutty-as-a-fruitcake (are fruitcakes nutty?) ass walk in.

Our first night back home.

I was so overwrought, I'm surprised I managed to get anything out.

In between tears and gasping for air, I told her my son was discharged minutes ago, and my husband carried my son back to the ER after another seizure episode in the car. She walked me back asking a few folks about Brody and where he might be. We bumped into the doctor who dismissed us, eyes widened as she saw me distraught once again. She followed us to where they probably were--in the critical rooms.

I saw my husband standing outside of a door, staring into a room. His arms where crossed. He was distressed.

"What's going on?" I said looking into the door.

"He's twitching like he did after the first one at home," Klay said. He grabs me and hugs me.

I look into the room and see a flurry of people surrounding him moving things and putting things on Brody. They talked back in forth quickly to make sure his vitals were OK. At least 7-8 people swarmed our son lying on the stretcher in the room. His body shuttering and twitching.

The doctor who dismissed comes out of the room to tell us the twitching is a sign that he's in his post-seizure state.

Before we were discharged, she informed us that there are two categories for febrile seizures--simple and complex. Brody was in the simple category prior to our discharge, but because he's had two seizures in a short timeframe, he was now in the complex category.

They gave him Motrin, again, to try to lower his fever, but now they wanted to figure out what is causing the fever. If it's treatable, they want to treat it. Obvi.

Standing there watching all of the motion around him didn't seem real. I've seen TV shows or movies where people watch a loved one swarmed by doctors and nurses trying to save their life or figure out what's wrong. But actually having it happen to your kid was difficult and physically painful.

Eventually Brody was moved from a critical room back to a standard ER room. His temperature went down, but now he had an IV and was going to go through a series of tests done to rule out illnesses.

They tested for strep and the flu first. If you've never had a flu test before and you're sick, it's pretty painful, at least it was when I had the flu. It requires sticking a long Q-tip straight back into your nose and sinuses. I don't recommend it; it's not pleasant.

The nurses had trouble getting his IV in. It was a pain in the ass, and as if Brody wasn't tired enough, he was scared and this was making it worse. It took about an hour for them to do, changing places from his arm to his hand. They called several people to help or give it a go before it actually worked. Once they finally got it in, the machine wasn't working right; they had to call in more people for that.

By this time it past 3 a.m., we hadn't slept and my mom had arrived witnessing all of the IV-difficulty. Brody was really tired, whining and couldn't get comfortable.

Next, they had to get a urine sample from him to make sure it wasn't a UTI. To do this, he had to have a catheter. This was hard for all of us to watch, but harder on Klay than anyone. He started to tear up. He held Brody's hand, but he couldn't bear to watch.

I know for any parent watching your child go through sickness or injuries, or any type of pain for that matter, is heart-wrenching. Klay and I would have happily stepped in his place if we could.

I can't imagine the fear Brody felt. All of these people coming in and holding him down to poke him, swab him and take his vitals; this kid was terrified. He had probably cried for four hours straight, calming down when the nurses left only to be poked again or bothered minutes later, reactivating his fear and tears.

That was the most exhausting part--trying to make him feel safe and secure. Looking into Brody's eyes as he's reaching for me and screaming for us to save him from the strangers who are doing things to hurt him brought me physical pain. I just wanted this night to be over. I wanted him to fall asleep so his poor body would relax. He strained so much during his seizures and when people were holding him down to get the things they needed from him. I wanted to explain it to him, to take away his fear, and his pain, but there was nothing I could do.

By the time things calmed down, it was 4:30 in the morning and we finally got in a room to stay overnight. Mom left and headed back to our place to check on the dogs and let them out to potty. She also had to wrap up the turkey I'd left out in a hurry (remember I cooked that earlier that day, seems like forever ago now, huh!?). She also cleaned up the house for us too (which we were surprised and grateful for when we got home the next day). Thanks, Mom!

When we got back to the overnight room, they moved Brody into his bed/crib. There was a futon-like couch that pulled out for Klay and I to sleep on. Brody was passed out, and it didn't look like he was going to wake any time soon.

I stared at him for most of the night. I did fall asleep, here and there, but I got up to check on him several times, especially when the nurses came in every couple of hours. They checked his temperature and talked to us, which kept us from getting actual rest. It looked like his fever broke, because he was sweaty around 6 a.m.

Every time someone would walk in to talk to us, I'd wake up all blurry-eyed trying to focus on where they were in the room and what they were saying. I could feel my eyes going around and around, up and then down, trying to get a clear image of who they were. I know I must of looked delirious. Hell, I was.

The doctors came in around 12 or so that day to check on him. They reiterated it was febrile seizures and what to do in the situation. Here are the ways we are supposed to react:

• Lay him on the floor and place him on his side
• Make sure no objects are around that he can choke on
• Make sure he has no objects in his mouth he can choke on
• Do not stick our fingers or anything in his mouth
• Call 911 if it lasts longer than 5 minutes (if it lasts longer than 5 minutes, it can cause brain damage). If it happens again, I'm calling if he has one regardless.

There is nothing we can do to prevent Brody from having more seizures. The only thing we can do is monitor his fever, and if he's running fever, alternate between Tylenol and Motrin. They warned us not give him Tylenol or Motrin every night to try to prevent him from running a fever because it can cause liver damage and other medical problems. And, like they say, he will grow out of it by age 5-6. Another 3-4 years of this? Greeaaaat... (that's sarcasm, yall!)

When Brody woke up that morning I was so happy to see him in a better mood. He was smiling and no longer afraid. He talked to the nurses and the doctors when they came in and even made a group of doctors laugh pointing and showing them who we were "mama" or "dada" or other things in the room. 

His eyes were extremely swollen and puffy from all the tears shed the night before, but he was happy and that made my heart and body relax. Here is a video right when he woke up. I had to send this to our parents and family who needed to see that he was OK!

Later that day, my BFF Cami and her sis Sarah came up and brought us some lunch and goodies, which included toothbrushes and toothpaste. I LOVE THOSE TWO! They wanted to take Brody down to watch the big train display in the main entry of the hospital. After clearing it with the nurses, we headed to watch the "choo choo train." Brody was definitely the most excited. He loved watching it go around and around and it definitely cheered him up, but lifted Klay and I's spirits too. Seeing Brody so happy and back to his usual self we were ecstatic.

)

Cami and Sarah left and we were discharged an hour or so later.

Ya'll, this kid couldn't of been happier to get out of that place. He didn't want us to carry him; he was going to walk himself out there.

We went to see the train one last time before leaving and then headed toward the parking garage. Brody waved to everyone and said "bye". We soon taught him to say "bye hospital" which sounded more like "bye HA-STI-PULL". Um, my favorite word by far that he says; this kids' cuteness is unreal.

I sat in the back of the car with him, again hoping this time to make it back home without any issues. Klay was waiting to back out and for cars to pass in the parking garage when Brody shouted "GO GO GO!!" He's never said that before. We laughed and we knew this kid high-tail it out of there.

Our bodies were finally relaxed. Brody hadn't run fever in several hours. It seemed like things were on the right track.

Little did we know, we'd make one more trip to the hospital before the weekend was over...

Click here for FINAL PART of this story.

Part 3: The night we could've lost Brody

Read part 1 & part 2 first.

"Da da," Brody said looking at Klay who is standing in front of him.

A few gasps of relief fell out of Klay and I, along with the strangers in the room. Everyone stopped talking; all focus was on Brody.

"Hey, buddy," Klay said immediately moving down on the floor to be close to Brody.

Brody looks around examining everyone, rolls over and sits my lap. I can't imagine his confusion. Last thing he knew, it was the three of us. Now there's a room of at least 10 people.

Everyone is talking to him. "Look at all of these people who came to see you Bro. Can you say hi?" I say trying to see if he would talk.

He responded by smiling; that was a good sign.

The paramedics explain that it was most likely a febrile seizure caused by an illness and a sudden spike in fever. "I just don't get it. He wasn't shaking like a seizure," I said to them.

The police officer advises us to take him to Children's Hospital in Dallas to get checked out. Klay and I scramble to get our things together as they place Brody on the stretcher. Now, he brings out the water works. He doesn't like being strapped down and taken away from the house with these strange people.

Since they only allow one person in the ambulance, Klay said he'll follow in my car and make the calls to our parents.

The ride in the ambulance was loud, bumpy and cold. There was a chance of sleet that night, and it was sprinkling while we were en route.

Brody became a little restless and anxious, but fell asleep just before we arrived. In the meantime, I answered all of the paramedic's questions and called our parents and my sister to update them and ensure he was OK. They ask if they should to come out to Children's but I told them to hold off because of the bad weather and I'd keep them posted once we talked to the doctor.

By the time we got there it was probably 11:30 p.m. or so. We were exhausted and Brody's diaper needing changing. His pants were soiled and it seemed he suffered from loose bowels during the seizure.

The doctor agreed it was a febrile seizure. Even though he didn't shake, he was rigid which is less common, but that's what they diagnosed.

Apparently, febrile seizures are hereditary. What I didn't know then is that it runs in my family on my mom's side. Febrile seizures is mostly common among kids, and there is a chance he may have more until the age of 5-6. It normally phases off then. They also said this may be his only one; he may never have another.

I've always heard from people through the years that high fever can cause seizures. I think this is misleading to those who don't know much about febrile seizures. They are much more common than you'd think, according to doctors. Take a look at these facts from the National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Strokes:

• Approximately one in every 25 children will have at least one febrile seizure, and more than one-third of these children will have additional febrile seizures before they outgrow the tendency to have them. 
• Febrile seizures usually occur in children between the ages of 6 months and 5 years and are particularly common in toddlers.
• Children rarely develop their first febrile seizure before the age of 6 months or after 3 years of age. 
• The older a child is when the first febrile seizure occurs, the less likely that child is to have more.

If you take away anything from this story, let it be this: It is not how high the temperature gets, but the sudden spike in fever that causes them. I'm not saying high fever won't cause them to convulse but what I've been told, the sudden spike is the primary cause. The fever is accompanied with illness, obviously; it's the illness though that lowers their threshold for seizures. And a sudden spike either up or down can cause someone to seize. That's why doctors say never put them in a cold bath, don't keep them covered if they're warm, etc.

OK, back to that night:

The nurses and doctors had been in and out checking Brody's fever with a temporal scanner (aka head thermometer). I have a beef with these devices. In my experiences with these devices they are more than a few points away from an accurate reading. Remember when I talked about Bro being sick two weeks prior to this incident? Well, while I was at the doctor's office with Brody, he was running fever and we could tell from touching his forehead. The nurse used a temporal scanner to check it and it came out normal. She voiced that he felt feverish to her, so she wanted to double check. She went to grab an ear thermometer and it read 102.1. That is a ridiculous difference, people! He had woke up running fever the night prior to that, and it read 101.5, but he felt really hot to Klay and I. We used a temporal scanner, which probably meant it was much much higher than that. Later that day I went and purchased an ear thermometer for better accuracy.

Because most doctor's offices and hospitals use these thermometers, we carry our ear thermometer wherever we go.

When I asked Children's to take it another way, they said they didn't have anything else (except for rectal). That was either BS or laziness; I think both.

We had ours on hand and checked it, I mentioned this to the doctor and nurses, who disregarded it. Brody still had a fever, but it wasn't quite as high (around 100ish). But by their records it was 98, so he was in the clear.

They discharged us at 1-ish a.m. and Klay brought the car around front so B and I didn't have to walk far in the cold.

Leave it to me to get lost on my way out of the hospital (while still inside, mind you), calling Klay on his cell to come and find me. I'm directionally challenged.

Once the hubs rescues us, we walk out to the car, covering Brody with Klay's jacket and strapping him into his carseat. He is awake. I sat in the back with Brody just in case something were to happen on the way home. I wasn't letting this kid out of sight anytime soon.

Unfortunately, I'm wedged between two carseats. I watched my niece that week and needed the extra seat in the car.

I call my mom to let her know we were on the highway headed home. She asked all of the questions and I explained to her the docs said.

We're about to go under Klyde Warren Park (which is on a bridge for those who aren't from Dallas) when I see Brody convulsing.

"Oh my god. He's doing it again! No, no, he's doing it agaaaain," I sob.

Mom: "Get him back to the hospital. I am on my way." Click.

Klay turned on the light speeding to get off at the next exit.

This time Brody's hands are balled in fists in front of him like he's ready to box. His head has fallen on his right shoulder. His teeth grinding against each other. A small groan and hum comes from his tiny mouth.

"Whyyyyyy is this happening?" I bellowed while Klay tries to find his way back to the hospital.

"His lips are turning blue! I need to take him out!" I say trying to undo his buckles. It was too bumpy and too crazy to actually pull him out in all this chaotic driving. We were stopping abruptly, and picking up speed quickly downtown.

"I can't while you're driving!"

Klay pulls over swung open the door rushing to the passenger side back door where Brody is. I've got him out of the carseat, Klay grabs him turns him on his side and pats him on his back.

The icy, wet air is making me shiver. I'm watching Klay pat Brody in horror. I look at the clock to check the time 1:19 a.m.

Brody's lip is no longer as blue, but he's still shaking. His teeth still grinding. The slightest groan sneaking out between his clenched jaw. I'll never forget that sound, that moan.

"I'll have to hold him the rest of the way," I say to Klay who handed him to me.

Hauling ass back to the hospital, unsure of where to go, Klay managed to make it back in less than 3-4 minutes. Thank God, he was driving and not me.

I cradled Brody talking to him in his ear, still sobbing. We arrived back at the ambulance entrance, I instruct Klay to run him in. I'm wedged between the two carseats, my fat rear will have trouble enough getting out alone.

I pass Brody over my console back to Klay who parked the car in the entrance. Carrying Brody, Klay jets back into the hospital.

I crawl into the front seat to park the car, but I can't move. I'm alone now, and I can't control the crying. I've never felt pain or fear like this before.

I sit there for a few minutes weeping unable to function from fear that something else might be wrong with Brody.

I just cried and cried.

I muddled up the last bit of strength I had to park the car and run into the hospital to be there for my son. I had to stay strong for him. I needed to know what was happening to him. Was this febrile seizures or was it something else? And why had he had two in less than 4 hours?

These were the questions I needed answered.

I knew one thing though--I could not watch him go through that again.

Click here for Part 4...

Part 2: The night we could've lost Brody

Read Part 1 first.

A few days after this nightmare.

Klay lays Brody on the floor in our living room. I swipe my phone, mistyping my password twice, forgetting about the emergency feature on the iphone. My heart is beating fast; thoughts racing in my head. Everything was fine. His temperature was high. Is it a seizure? He's not shaking. No, he's not shaking. 

Tears pour down my face as I begin to take in the reality of what's happening. I dial 911. It rings for what seems like an eternity. I start screaming before they answer.

10:13 p.m.

Dispatcher: "911, what is your emergency?"

Me: "My son, my son... he is unresponsive... he was running a fever today. He's almost 2, he's 22 months and he's not responding to us... He's 22 months. He's not 2. He's not responding to us. Get someone here!" I said as I ramble off my address.

I remember getting caught up on how old he was, saying the wrong age the whole time.

Dispatcher: "Ma'am I need you to calm down so I can understand you."

HOLY SHIT WOMAN. Seriously!? I said it plain as day, I thought as I tried to collect myself to repeat the address. Ok, pull it together, don't be one of those frantic people on the 911 tapes who can't calm down. I breathe in and out.

I'm on my knees a few feet from my nearly two-year-old son staring at his tiny body. He's much smaller than an average kid at this age; only in the 25th percentile. He was wearing a size 2T green Mavericks t-shirt that was too big for him. His pajama pants don't match his shirt. I rock back and forth staring talking to Brody and the dispatcher.

He wasn't moving, he wasn't shaking, he wasn't blinking, he was still--he just stared. There was no light behind his pretty blue eyes. He was fading.

Back to me being the crazy 911-caller...

I'm screaming, "You have to get someone here!"

Dispatcher: "Someone is on their way. What happened today? He was running fever? Is he shaking?"

"Yes he ran fever... It was 103.1... I gave him Motrin and he's not responding... he's just looking up. He's not moving. He's not moving. Oh, God...," I say turning my attention back to Brody.

"Brody, Brody it's mama. Brody! Get someone here now." I cry out.

Dispatcher: "We have someone on their way, OK? Just try to stay calm. Is he breathing?"

Klay is talking to him and trying to see if he's breathing. And then, things take a turn for the worst.

His color began to change; he turns blue.

I've never seen someone turn blue in my life. His lips were the first sign he stopped breathing. Then his whole face and body started to change a bluish-purple I'd only seen in movies.

Klay: "Oh my God, Brody, Brody, buddy. NO, NO, NO. Brody! He's blue!"

Me: "Oh my God, he's turning blue," I sob. "He's not breathing, you have to hurry. He's blue. Why can't I hear you? They aren't coming, they aren't coming... Why I can't hear youuuuuu..." I cry out.

I should hear sirens, it's been at least 10 minutes...

I hysterically rock back and forth, not believing what I'm seeing. How is this happening? 

While I'm the crazy, inconsolable, panicking mother, Klay is being a savior.

THERE IS A REASON WHY I MARRIED THIS MAN. But that night he showed me just how strong and how reactive he is. Klay is a problem solver and a quick thinker. I'm on my knees distraught, but this man turns Brody on his side and starts patting his back, patting and patting. He's doing something. I'm just a sobbing mom kneeling a few feet away... paralyzed.

"C'mon Brody. C'mon," Klay says.

Pat, pat, pat, pat.

Brody throws up.

"He threw up, he's coughing," I said into the phone. "Brody. Brody. Brody? It's mama."

I hear the dispatcher talking on the radio to someone, clearly not me.

Klay and I continue to talking to him as the dispatcher tries to talk to us to see what's happening. I put her on speaker, so Klay can listen to her instructions (now, she wants to give me directions or maybe I was too hysterical to give directions to).

I pick up the dogs and toss them into our bedroom slamming the door. I knew the paramedics would arrive soon and we wouldn't have time to tend to the dogs. I open the front door and the cool, icy air whisked threw the house. I finally hear the faint sound of sirens.

I'm still holding my phone trying to direct Klay on what to do, but when I move I accidentally hit the 'END' button. OMG, seriously? Stupid touch phone. WTF.

I wait for them to call me back and nothing. Finally I call again, they transfer me and then I'm talking some more.

"Ok, he's coughing," I say to the dispatcher. "But he's not looking at us. Brody, look at mama, Brody it's mama. Brody, baby, it's mama."

I see the bright red and blue lights flashing through our open front door. A police officer bursts into the house. Loud and clearly in a hurry. His urgency made me think he knew this was a child. Keys and tools jingling at his waist as he kneels on the floor to assess Brody.

"He stopped breathing and threw up," Klay points to the rug showing the officer where it was.

Klay starts to tell the officer what happened. Dispatch asked if the officer needed them to remain on the line for medical instructions; the officer said no so we hung up--this time on purpose. Since Brody was breathing there wasn't anything we could do but wait for the paramedics.

Meanwhile, Klay looks at the throw up to see if there were any items in it that may of choked him. Nothing was there, besides some dark forest green strands of goo. I now think this is what blocked his airway--drainage from the previous weeks.

Brody's body starts to shiver. It's actually more like a jerk rather than a shake, but it looks like he's cold, not seizure-like.

The cop asks if he's ever done this before, meaning the jerking motion.

"No, never." I say.

The cold air is flowing through the house giving us all a bit of a chill. About six or seven Forney firemen suddenly jog into the house.

All of them asking questions:

"What happened?"
"He was running fever?"
"Has he ever done this before?"
"Has he ever shaken like this before?"
"Does he ever not respond to your voice like that?"

Klay and I answer as best as we can. They explain that it's common in febrile seizures (caused by a sudden spike in fever) to be disoriented after an episode. "It usually takes some time until they snap out of it," one of them says.

10:37 p.m.

Twenty-four minutes later, the paramedics arrive. They walk in, kneel down and I give them some space. They encourage me to keep talking to Brody to see if he will react.

"He's breathing so there isn't much we can do. If it was a seizure, it will take him a bit to return back to his normal state," one of them says.

Just an hour ago, I was enjoying cooking a homemade dinner with my son. It was just the three of us. Now, we're surrounded by ten or more men with my little boy on the floor still not responding--voices, men moving about the room, the blue and red lights that still shined through the open front door--but he remained unaware of it all.

I just wanted my vivacious little Brody back.

The officer asks Klay to stand and talk to him re-explain what happened. Klay is now in Brody's eyeline. Brody is still staring up toward the ceiling, but if he were to move his eyes down just a bit he would be able to see his dad. His eyes were moving but never landing on anything, just swaying side to side gazing at the ceiling. He doesn't look like he's actually looking at anything. He doesn't turn his head toward my voice even though I'm near his ears talking to him.

Then I heard the sweetest sound... a sound, a voice, and a moment that will forever be etched in my memory...

"Da da?"

Little did I know this roller coaster ride was far from over...

Click here for Part 3.

Part 1: The night we could've lost Brody

When you're a parent, you hope and pray for the best for your child. You don't imagine becoming a news story or a tragedy-stricken family, so instead you let go of being the overly cautious I-have-to-take-my-kid-to-the-doctor-cause-he-sneezes-parent and ease up on worrying about your kids in certain places or certain situations.

I think that's natural. I can't count how many times my child runs into things and hits his "nog nog," as my husband calls it, and I think one day this kid is going to bust his head open or cause some permanent damage.

You can try to prevent these things all day--and yes, the thought of making your son wear a safety helmet crosses your mind at each kerplunk!--but then you think that's a little much, right? Or is it? At what length would you go to protect your child?

Napping earlier that day.

Let me start this story by clearing things up a bit. No, we've never made Brody wear a helmet just cause he's bumped his head more times than I can count. And no, he's never had a concussion. But we HAVE joked about how all these bumps and bruises may affect him one day. Honestly, sometimes I feel like Brody is Billy Bob from "Varsity Blues" or in "Not Another Teen Movie" and he only has X number of times left where he can hit his head without causing a major damage.

So this post isn't about Brody hitting his head; it's about a night that I'll never forget and that will forever make me a crazy, cautious mom that takes their kid to the doctor when her child runs a slight fever. I will forever going to be 'that mom'.

It all started on Friday, Nov. 22, 2013.

 I'd been at home all day with Brody cooking some Thanksgiving goodies. I was making a turkey, homemade cornbread and homemade dressing to help with our family Thanksgiving at my g-ma's that Sunday. I noticed Brody felt warm around 5-6 p.m., took his temp and it was 100.7. I gave him Tylenol and it went back to normalish. Despite having a cough, he'd been acting more than his usual rambunctious self.

BUT, he had been coughing for two weeks.

OK, OK hold the judgements, folks. I know what you're thinking... Why the hell didn't you take him to the doctor?

Two weeks prior, he'd had strep throat and ran 103+ fever. He was given an antibiotic shot, clearing up his strep but started running fever again only two days later due to a newly-developed ear infection. He had a cough and we had made four trips to the doctor in a week and a half. With the weather changing and allergies, the doctors said he sounded clear in his chest, but to monitor it.

The cough would come and go. He may not cough all day for a few days, and then it would start up again. It really varied and it never sounded like he was congested, until the Friday before this horrific night. Here's a video of how rambunctious he is and how clumsy. This is from the night before...


So, Brody played and acted normal all day and the day before the episode. As a matter of fact, he was better than normal and was more playful then he had been in weeks. He did take a nap though--in the middle of the day--so I knew he didn't feel good and was extremely tired. This boy hardly naps any more.

Making homemade cornbread.

When Klay got home from work, I started to make the homemade cornbread and enlisted in some help from my lil' chef. Brody was still doing ok, playing and happy as ever. Nothing seemed odd or off. He helped me pour, stir and pour again. This kid loves to cook!

Around 9 p.m., Brody started to get tired. Soon after, his fever started to rise and was at 100ish. It wasn't quite time to give Brody more medicine yet, so we continuously checked his temp in the meantime.

I was trying to figure out where he was going to sleep. We'd had a strict 'no kid' policy when it came to our bed, or at least we tried to. Brody has slept in our bed before, at various stages, but we never made it a routine. When he's been sick, we've had the pack-n-play out and laid him in that, which stayed in our room or I camped out with him on the couch, but we just moved it out of the house. So as all this was going on, I was trying to decide if he would sleep with us or if one of us sleep on the couch with him. At this point it had been low-grade fever so I even contemplated putting him in his room instead of with us.

Around 10 o'clock, I gave Brody some Motrin. He was whining and couldn't get comfortable on the couch. I held him while Klay checked his temperature again. This time it was at 103.1.

I laid Brody down on the couch and then got up to get a wet rag, and when I was coming back Klay was talking to Brody. It was dark in the living room and Brody was laying flat on his back staring at the ceiling.

I sat down next to Brody's head on the couch (Brody was wedged between us; Brody facing Klay). It was dark, so I couldn't quite see Brody's face.

"Brooody. Hey, bud," he said touching his head.

"Brody. Hey, Brody. Brody... Brody... Brody!" Klay yelled.

"Oh my God, Cass, Cass! Call 911 or get in the car!"

My heart started pounding from the urgency in Klay's voice. I snatched my phone and turned on the light and swung around to look at Klay who is now standing and picking up Brody.

Brody's head falls by Klay's shoulder and arm, and then away from Klay when Klay tries to get a better look at him.

Brody's eyes rolled up toward his forehead; Klay supported his head with his hand.

His arms and legs dangled. The rest of his body went limp.

We yelled and said his name, but got nothing--just a blank stare with no signs of our sweet boy behind it.

He was unresponsive.

That's when I could see why Klay reacted as he did.

My son looked as if he was no longer in his body. 

He was lifeless.

Click here to read Part 2.

Mommy Mistake = 911

Ok, guys. I've not posted lately because I've been trying to decide whether or not I wanted to blog about my most recent major incident with Brody.

I struggled with the decision to post or not to post, because of the pure humiliation and embarrassment of what happened over two weeks ago. Plus, I needed a little time to try to begin to forgive myself.

As parents, we are all bound to make mistakes. We are only human and aren't perfect, no matter how hard we try. So before you read this, I want to express how embarrassed I am to share my story. However, I chose to write about this incident because I have some dedicated readers out there (and on my best day, I had nearly 260 views on my blog from all over the world) and I do feel an obligation---a good obligation---to write about my trials and triumphs as I explore my new life as mommy.

I started this blog so people can read, laugh and share our journeys as parents. But I also decided to start this blog, because I wanted people to really learn from my mistakes. So, here it goes...

About two weeks ago, Klay and I met my mom at Walmart to buy flowers for our garden. We are no experts on plants, so we inquired mom's help. We were about to check out when Brody got fussy; it was time for him to eat. Klay told me to just head out to the truck and feed him because we had to get home ASAP to drop of the plants before heading out to Dallas for my doctor appointment.

I complied and took Brody out to the truck. I unlocked the door, put his car seat in the truck (but not in the base) facing toward the driver's side passenger door because I was going to walk to the other side to feed him.

I'd forgotten that Klay's new truck has an autostart. So proud of myself that I remembered, I started it up to get the truck to cool down a bit faster. I grabbed my bags and sat them in the truck and shut the door.



Uh-oh, I thought and started yanking on the handle to the LOCKED door.

Ok, so I've NEVER once locked my keys in my car, and the first time I do it, my three-month-old is in the backseat.

I immediately start panicking. What do I do? My phone is in the car. I can't call Klay or anyone for help. Decision time: do I leave my child in the locked car that was running, though the keys weren't in the ignition, to go get Klay and get help or do I stay there until Klay and Mom get out to the car? Luckily, I turned around and saw Klay heading out the doors and over to the car.

I start hollering at him to hurry and get over there and then quickly tell him what happened. His immediate reaction: "I'm breaking the window."

A week before, when Klay first got his truck, he was looking at the manual and found the number for OnStar. He told me, "OnStar can unlock your car remotely, if you just call this number." I said, "Put that number in your phone cause it'll be good to have."

I told Klay to call OnStar first. The car is still running, and Brody has AC, but it's not going to last forever. As some of you probably know, autostarts eventually shut off if you don't put the key in the ignition.

Mom comes out, with a Walmart associate who's helping her carry out five trees she bought, and I run over and tell mom what happened. I ask the Walmart employee if they know if they have someone in the auto/mechanic department that has something they can jimmy the car door open with. She runs in to seek help.

Meanwhile, I'm bawling and hysterical. I can hear Brody crying and I can't get to him---THE WORST FEELING EVER.

Klay gets mad because OnStar is no help, saying something like we aren't in the system (it's not a new truck, we bought it used). THEN, the truck cuts off.



I'm saying "call someone, call someone!" Mom, then, dials 911.

Now I really have the water works going. I'm sobbing and so distraught, I start throwing up in the parking lot. Klay starts looking around for a rock to break the window to his new truck, when four managers from Walmart come outside, along with a Walmart mechanic. They immediately start working on jimmying the lock.

A few minutes later (I'm not really sure how long this took cause it seemed like forever), the fire department arrives and they give it a go. Brody is now calm and looking around like what's going on guys? He's interested in watching all the people surrounding the windows trying to get into the truck.

Finally, they are successful and unlock the truck. I'd say it took them at least 7-10 minutes to get in the truck. I told mom that the whole ordeal had to of lasted 30 or more minutes, but she seemed to think it was less, saying it just seemed longer to me.

When I got in to my baby boy, he was cool as a cucumber. Smiling at me as though he wanted to let me know he was ok and not to worry.



Klay and mom hugged and thanked everyone for all of their help and rapid response. I tried my best to pull myself together to thank everyone, but I was still a mess. Felt like I deserved and earned the title as the "Worst Mom of the Year." So, special thanks to Terrell Walmart staff, managers and employees and Terrell Fire Department. We are forever grateful!!!

I did end up making it to my doctor appointment and my blood pressure was 142/108. That should tell you what kind of state I was in.

So, here I am, telling all of you about this horrific incident. I never want anyone to have to go through that. I've been so upset with myself for allowing that to happen. I could have understood if I'd been rushing, but I wasn't. It's taken me a while to truly TRY to forgive myself. But I figured the best way to start forgiving myself is to write about it and try to prevent others from doing the same thing.

As a parent, brother, sister, grandparent or friend to any child, please learn from my mistake. Every time you buckle a child in, think of me and Brody, and ask yourself "where are my keys?" If your rushing to get somewhere, slow down, make sure they are buckled in right, and that you have the keys on you at all times. Thankfully, it wasn't crazy hot outside that morning, but summer is almost in full-swing, and it's getting hotter by the day. So, keep your keys on you!

Wishing you many more successful days as parents/grandparents and no days like this incident,

Cassidy