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.

Brody's Birth Story Part 3

Read part 1 & part 2 first.

Soon after our first few wonderful hours together, Brody was off to the nursery to get examined, poked, measured and watched by daddy, who was standing with a camera in hand eyeing Brody and his nurse's every move; he wasn't going to leave his side any time soon.

Meanwhile back in L&D, I was getting the treatment--getting cleaned up via sponge-bath which made me feel much better despite still experiencing the migraine.  Before I realized it, it was midnight and I was beyond delirious.

I had a new visitor--my dear friend Cami. She arrived just after her shift ended at work--Dodie's Greenville--, and bumped into Klay at the nursery.

"Brody's so cute," she said as she sat down and asked how I felt. The light was dim in the room to help ease with the sensitivity to light from the gruesome headache. Honestly, I don't really remember much of our conversation because I was so exhausted and OUT OF IT. I remember talking, though it could have been about politics, baby Jesus, who knows?



After Cami left, my nurses prepped me to move to a room upstairs. Lauren and Brandy, my two nurses of the day, were truly spectacular. I'd gotten so attached to them I was crazy sad to move upstairs. I felt like they were sending me off into the wilderness to fend for myself. It was almost as if they were my parents sending me to live in a new home with a new family. At least that's how I felt. They guided me through the most incredible, scary, up and down rollercoaster ride of my life and I didn't want to let them go. Through my labor I discovered one was from Forney and even got her contact info to meet up. I was attached.

But it was time for me to take my leap, start walking on my own and for them to let go of me, wave goodbye and let me  figure this thing out called motherhood. But I was so afraid that my next nurses wouldn't take as good of care of me as they did. But if they were so great, surely the hospital has more great nurses right? WRONG.

After our move to our newest digs, the nurses brought me my baby boy. I was so eager to hold him despite my exhaustion. I didn't mind feeding him, I was just happy he was with me; I didn't want him out of my sight.I looked back at Lauren as I lay on the portable hospital bed, grabbed her hand, and shifted my focus to Klay who was walked beside us.  Whisked me out of L&D, we were on the move, I closed my eyes opening them to only see glimpses of walls and florescent lights that skated above me.



While I was holding Brody once more, I felt my nausea resurface. Looking at the new night nurse in my room, I said "Get me something I'm about to get sick. I'm about to sick. Take him, take him." She just stood there looking at me like I was speaking a foreign language. Maybe I was? Thankfully, Klay stood up took Brody from me and handed me a hospital barf bag. Why they make those bags so small?!?

After getting sick again for the millionth time, I started to dose. Every three or so hours people would come check my BP. Then, my nurse came in and said my oxygen levels were low. Down in L&D, they'd put this thing on my finger which is supposed to monitor my oxygen levels. Well prior to delivery, Brandy (my L&D nurse) had trouble getting a good read on my finger. I'd gotten the shellac or gel nail polish (navy blue) and it wasn't reading through my nail. So, after trying it on my toe (which had gray polish), and that didn't work, they moved the monitor to my ear. When we got upstairs, they placed it back on my finger.

I told the new nurses this a thousand times, but they didn't listen, they continued to ignore me. I kept dosing off intermittently between nurses shuffling in and out of this tiny room.

Around 4 a.m., a specialist came in to check on me. I told him through the oxygen mask--feeling sort of Darth Vadarish--that'd I said 500 times to check it somewhere else but no one would listen. He simply took the clamp, opened it and turned it sideways so it was on my skin rather than the nail, and voila! it was normal. Thankfully that was the end of that.

We were eventually moved to a third room later that morning. Brody's tests were coming back normal with the exception of one--his jaundice test. With rising jaundice levels higher than normal,  we were going to keep good track of it, which meant more pokes and blood test on this heel of his foot.

Despite everything, he seemed to be taking to my breast well and everyone told me I was doing a great job breastfeeding. The lactation nurse even told me my milk was coming in. I was hopeful. I had this dream that I would be the mom that traveled everywhere with her kid in a baby bjorn, popping out the boobie when he got hungry like his very own milk vending machine. I was going to be the source of his food. It was my responsibility to be his one-stop shop for the goods. That was me, the milk-making mommy machine. I could see it.

What an idiot, I was...