Miracle, Part 1: The Accident

On March 12, 2013, our then-13-month-old daughter, who is called Rosebud on the blog, was injured in an accident in our home. This is Part 1 of the series in which I relate the story of the injury, our subsequent 4-week hospital stay, and the ongoing recovery process. This story is very difficult to write and relive. If you choose to comment, please be kind. I promise you that there is no judgment or condemnation or blame that you can place on me that I haven't already placed on myself. The index to the whole series can be found by clicking this link.

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March 12, 2013

7:30 pm

Husband is at work, as usual. It is time for the kids to get ready for bed. We gather in the living room to read the scriptures together, as we do each night. At ages 3 and 1, they don't have very long attention spans, so we only read 5-10 verses a night. It is enough.

We read, then we kneel together to pray before bed. Jeric prays. Rosebud sits on my lap and folds her little arms, something she learned to do not many days ago. I am so proud of my little ones. My heart is full.

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8:00 pm

We go into Jeric's room to get ready for bed. Rosebud is playing with the toys on the shelves while I help her brother brush his teeth. He gets his pajamas and his overnight pull-up out of the drawer. He does not shut the drawer, I think. Rosebud sees the pull-ups in the drawer and kneels beside it, playing in-and-out. I help him put on the pull-up. As he reaches for his pajamas, I see movement out of the corner of my eye. I am too far away. I scream.

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8:02pm

I dive toward my baby girl, my only instinct to save her. In retrospect, I understand that she has used the still-open drawer as a lever to help herself into a standing position. I don't know why she needed the assistance. She has been able to stand from the floor without using her hands for months. My brain struggles to catch up with what is happening. It is a small two-drawer bedside table, and it topples forward. But the real danger is the television -- one that we were planning to give away. It has never been plugged in. We put it on the table, and believe it is stable. We shake it, try to move it, every time we are in the room. It doesn't move. We believe it is safe.

We are wrong.

It was secure, within its center of gravity. But we failed. We failed our baby. We overlooked one thing: What happens when the drawer is pulled out, what happens when downward pressure is put on the drawer? It falls.

And that is what happened to my precious girl, just thirteen months old, because I was too stupid to realize the danger.

I knew it wasn't the best idea to have it there, but I told myself it was only a couple of weeks. I told myself I had tested it. I told myself that if I couldn't pull it down, there was no way that one of my kids could.

But I see movement out of the corner of my eye. I am too far away. I scream. It falls; Rosebud is knocked down. I dive. It flips over her, and I pull her out before the full weight settles on her.

I am crying. "No, no, no no no no no no nononononononono. NOOO!"

She seems surprised. She cries out, weakly.

Then she goes limp. She turns blue. She is not breathing.

My heart breaks.

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8:03pm

I need an ambulance. Where is my phone? Jeric is scared. I am screaming. I don't know where my phone is. I yell to J-eric that it's going to be okay help me find my phone help me help me, Father don't let my baby die, I've killed my baby, I'm so sorry, please help me, help me, help me.

My phone is nowhere to be found. I run out the back door, still carrying my baby girl, who is still not breathing. I run across the yard to the neighbor's house, but halfway there I see that their car is not in front, so I scream HELP and hope someone will come outside from another house. No one does.

I am praying, hysterically praying, out loud, with every bit of faith I can muster.

Something tells me where my phone is. It is in my bedroom, plugged into the wall.

I run back inside. Jeric is crying, what is going on? I tell him Rosebud is hurt, I tell him she needs a doctor to help her, I tell him it is going to be okay.

I believe I am lying. I believe she is gone.

I begin to trip and almost drop her as I cross the yard, but I catch her just in time. I am so lost. My brain is sluggish, and so is time.

I am praying as I run: Father, I know you can save her, please save my baby, I am so sorry, I was so stupid, please don't take my baby, she is so perfect, we need her so much, please don't take her, please save my baby, I have faith that you can heal her, please heal her, please....

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8:04pm

I have reached my bedroom. I hit the power button on my phone. My baby still isn't breathing.

CPR!!! DO CPR!!! IT ISN'T TOO LATE!!! This thought explodes in my brain.

I am not trained in CPR. The last time I practiced on a dummy was at least 10 years ago, at summer church camp. I have never practiced on an infant/child dummy, only the adult. But, I remember to tilt her head to open her airway. I remember that on children you only use two fingers to do compressions. I know that the compressions need to be pretty quick, because her heart beats at over 100bpm. I remember to cover both mouth and nose with my mouth when I do breaths.

I don't even think to listen to her chest to see if her heart is beating. I begin compressions as I am dialing 911 with the phone on the floor beside me. I breathe for my daughter. I begin a second set of compressions as the 911 operator answers. I beg him to send an ambulance, I tell him our address, our daughter was in an accident, she is only 13 months, please help us, I am doing CPR, we need an ambulance now.

I know it will be too late. The ambulance dispatch is nearly 20 minutes from our house.

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8:05pm

I breathe for her again as the call goes dead. I don't know if the operator understood the message. I finally think to listen to her chest. Her heart is beating! It is a miracle! She still isn't breathing. I continue to breathe for her.

She gasps. Another miracle! I call 911 back to make sure an ambulance is on the way. They are coming!

I can tell she isn't breathing well enough, so I continue to assist. I wait until she initiates a breath (she is breathing quickly, too quickly) and then I add my air to hers. She is not responsive.

Jeric has been watching. He is naked other than his pull-up. I tell him to go get some clothes and get dressed. He doesn't hesitate. I am so proud of him.

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8:06pm

Jeric returns. I don't know how to tell Husband what has happened. He is without a phone, as we believe Rosebud threw his in the trash 10 days ago...but we didn't realize it until the trash had been taken to the dump. I ask Jeric to find my nook tablet, so I can send a message to Daddy. Again, he obeys instantly.

I send the message: "Hospital [Rosebud] quick. Ambulance." I pray he sees it quickly. Then I remember, I have his co-worker's cell number. I call Joe's number. Husband answers.

A miracle, again. Several of them had been having dinner together. Dinner hour is supposed to be over at 8pm, and Husband had almost left to go back to work, had actually started moving toward the door...but someone said something that drew him back into the conversation. They are all still together when the phone starts ringing. Joe hands the phone to Husband. And Husband's world shatters. He tells me later that he threw down the phone and ran out the door.

It usually takes 7-8 minutes to drive home. He is here in 5 or less.