It was one year ago today. One year ago, my four-year-old son Isaac came to me in the middle of the night and told me he was sick. He had been running a fever and complaining of stomach pain for three days, and had been seen by a doctor. But when he was standing at my bedside that night, I knew something was really wrong. After Jeff gave him a blessing I took him to the emergency room where he was diagnosed with severe pneumonia with a pleural empyema. The doctor explained that he would be transported to Primary Children's Hospital by Life Flight.
It was one year ago today that I left the emergency room to pack a few things and called my mom, crying. She was in the middle of teaching her kindergarten class, but took my call. I explained that Isaac was going to be life flighted and asked her to start praying for him.
It was one year ago today that I returned to the emergency room to see the Life Flight team preparing my sedated intubated son for transport. I stood there watching them like I was in some other world. I felt completely helpless and nearly numb.
One year ago today I watched my son wheeled on a gurney to the waiting helicopter, then disappear into the sky before Jeff and I got into the car to make the first of many, many drives to Primary Children's.
One year ago today I walked into Primary Children's Hospital and told the security guard that my son had just been flown there by Life Flight. One year ago today I walked into the Pediatric ICU and found Isaac lying naked except for the large, shapeless diaper they had put on him. He was covered in tubes and monitors. He was comatose.
One year ago today Isaac underwent emergency surgery for respiratory failure. The doctor explained that he was very sick, and would most likely be in the hospital for five to seven days, but that he would almost certainly get better.
One year ago today we became the new residents of Pediatric ICU Room 9. One year ago today I felt the literal power of prayer in a way I had never experienced before in my entire life. In the midst of the beeps, buttons, monitors, doctors, tubes, phone calls, and tears, I felt strengthened, fortified, and almost elevated as the tangible comfort of the Holy Ghost completely enveloped me. I never felt afraid.
One year ago I had a crash course in hospital life. I learned where parents of very sick children get food that they are not hungry for, apply for beds that they do not sleep in, and fill out forms they do not understand. One year ago today, I started my period at Primary Children's Hospital, just like I did today.
I did my best to educate myself about Isaac's condition. My days were spent answering phone calls, talking to doctors, nurses, therapists, admitting clerks, and insurance agents. I talked to Isaac about everything that was going on as though he could hear me. I would tell him when I was leaving the room and when I was coming back.
I would lie by him in his bed early in the morning and read scriptures to him. I would tell him about the people who were calling and fasting and praying for him. I would cry openly as I would kneel by his bedside and pour my heart out to God several times each day.
Support came in many forms. Good friends, family members, and mere acquaintances sent gifts and cards and encouragement. I would tell Isaac about all of these gestures as he lay in his bed with his eyes closed, the machines breathing for him. It may not have meant a lot to him then, but the overwhelming generosity and support meant the world to me.
I watched Isaac disappear behind these doors several times as he underwent surgeries and operations to try and rid his little body of the horrific infection. I remember one night after a successful surgery kneeling to pray and feeling so thankful that I hardly dared to ask for anything. My heart was simply overflowing with gratitude for the kind professionals at the hospital, for the success of Isaac's surgery, for the unending love and support being sent to us from so many people, and most of all for the powerful, comforting companionship of the Holy Ghost which had never once left me comfortless.
Isaac was admitted on Monday. On Sunday, they removed his breathing tube and brought him out of a coma. I got to look into his eyes and hold him in my arms for the first time in a week.
It was a busy day for us, with lots of visitors from far and near, including one of my {best friends} Hilary Weeks!
We lifted Isaac out of his hospital bed for the first time and situated him with a cocoon of pillows in a wheelchair. I wheeled him down the hall to see the Christmas tree and look out the window. He was completely non-responsive.
Our story appeared on KSL.com and messages of love and support started pouring in from all over the state. It felt so good for me to have that kind of connection to the outside world since I had existed within the walls of the hospital for what had seemed like forever. I met so many amazing people who were touched by our story and shared with me their own experience of trial and faith. These strangers who reached out to become friends gave me the added strength I needed when I felt my own strength was waning.
The next three days were by far the very hardest of my entire experience at Primary Children's. Isaac had been brought out of his coma, but he was completely non responsive. He would not talk, walk, eat, respond in any way. He would not smile or nod or interact at all. I was in no way prepared for this. I had no idea what to do. For the first time since we had arrived I felt myself losing hope. As doctors explained that various medications affected different children in different ways, and as therapists told me that some children recover to different levels than others, and as they scheduled a brain MRI, I wondered how I would ever deal with what might be in our future.
And then our family came to visit. The first word Isaac said since we had gone to the emergency room that long-ago morning was "Titus." And I knew that he would be fine.
Isaac's recovery, though slower than expected, continued to progress. We were able to come home for Christmas! And then, a few days later, he was sick again and we were readmitted to Primary Children's again. It was January when I started my period again, at Primary Children's again.
This second stay was much shorter, but Isaac's recovery was still very slow. He was still very sick, but not sick enough to be hospitalized. We had to keep him at home and couldn't take him anywhere with us. Every single day I received a stack of bills and insurance forms in the mail and every day I would call the toll free numbers, navigate the impossible phone tree system, wait on hold for an eternity, and try to interpret what needed to be done.
Once a week I would rely on the generous support of friends and family
members to take care of my family while Isaac and I would make the
now-familiar trip to Primary Children's for follow up visits. Isaac made friends with the angelic healthcare professionals that were now part of his life. He wasn't afraid of tubes, needles, or machines. It was all heartbreakingly familiar to him.
This photo was taken on the day he was formally released from doctor's care. He asked me, "Mom, am I all better now?" I was able to answer, through my tears, "Yes, Isaac, you are all better."
And it all began one year ago today.
