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 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.