This post warrants a warning.
It starts out angry. There are statistics.
But I promise you it gets better. That you should keep reading.
Because the end if worth reading.
But it doesn't mean the same unless you read from the beginning.
Picture taken May 5, 2014
The movies lie.
TV lies.
They show scenes where someone needs CPR.
Most of the time they're able to save the patient.
It happens quickly,
and the patient is fine afterwards.
Life doesn't happen that way.
CPR isn't a cure all,
medical miracle.
The patient doesn't miraculously recover within seconds.
I find myself angry because I wanted TV to be true.
I wanted to wake up,
and these last almost 21 weeks to have been a nightmare.
That none of this ever happened.
Or that we were back in the hospital,
and they were able to save him.
But that can't happen.
Not unless I'm truly delusional.
And as everyone around me tells me,
I'm not imagining it.
Did you know:
Only 23.9% of adult who suffer cardiac arrest while in the hospital,
and receive cpr survive.
40% of children who suffer cardiac arrest while in the hospital,
and receive cpr survive.
Wikipedia says only 15-23% overall survive cardia arrest.
According to the US National Library of Medicine,
95% of patients who suffer from a pulmonary embolism,
and have cardiac arrest at the hospital do not survive.
They say CPR can be go on for 38 minutes,
and still show favorable brain function after being revived.
The odds of surviving severe brain damage drop 5% per minute.
Death can occur within 4-6 minutes.
When Liam was in the ER,
they did CPR for over an hour before stopping.
An hour.
When most doctors call it after 38 to maybe 45 minutes at the longest.
An hour.
Even though Liam would have suffered severe brain damage if he had come back.
They still tried.
Because he was a little boy.
Only 4 years old,
who had an entire life ahead of him to live.
So they tried even when logic told them to stop.
And after they realized he wasn't coming back,
they cried.
They mourned the little boy they couldn't save.
Their hearts broke for the parents whose lives turned upside down.
For the mother whose heart was shattered into a million pieces.
And for that,
there are no words to accurately describe how it felt,
to have a room and hallway full of strangers,
instantly bonded to you.
There are a few things I remember from that day.
One being that in the midst of all the chaos,
my brain picked out specific noises.
One specific one was when they called a code blue on another patient nearby.
I remember looking around and seeing 30 or more people who didn't move.
I looked at the case manager who was sitting beside me.
He told be there was an adult who coded but that no one wanted to leave.
No one could leave.
No one could stop watching and praying for my son.
It hadn't hit me until that moment how very serious the situation was.
I was being delusionally optimistic.
I thought in my heart and soul that my son would come out of this.
That he would be saved.
I was in shock.
That's when I started making phone calls and texting everyone.
Asking for prayers.
Selfishly asking some to come be by my side,
because I just couldn't go through this alone.
The doctor sticks out in my memory as well.
He had been racking his brain on what could possibly be causing this.
He took the time to try to explain to us as he went.
I remember how he looked at me with hope in his eyes,
and he explained how he was sure Liam had a blot clot.
He felt it was the only thing that could of acted as fast as it did.
The problem had been that Liam's veins were so "calcified",
so scarred up from years of IV's and blood draws,
that they weren't able to get an IV into him.
Therefore they couldn't administer they meds he needed to break up the clot.
My husband had been there at this time,
and without looking at each other,
we both told the doctor to do whatever he had to do to save him.
They had never heard of a child receiving this adult medication they were going to try.
And they had never heard of it being administered through a bone IV,
but it was our last shot.
Liam's last chance at survival.
It was mere moments later when the doctor was forced to call it.
They had lost the pale weak heartbeat they had gotten.
Before the doctor called it,
he looked me in the eyes.
I could see he'd lost all hope that was there before.
He looked up at the clock and he called time.
He looked at me with a stricken
heartbroken look.
Told me he was sorry and walked closer to the door and stood there.
I was just repeating "no no no".
I watched at those who were working on him,
slowly back away.
How the lady who was doing CPR at that point,
climbed off the gurney,
eyes starring at the ground.
I remember hitting the wall and screaming.
Then running to his side.
I was crying telling him how sorry I was.
At one point I started to become numb.
I looked up and saw the doctor standing outside the room.
I slowly approached him.
I could tell he wasn't sure what to expect from me,
so he was expecting the worst.
I looked at him with tears in my eyes,
and a tear streaked face.
I thanked him for trying everything he could to save my son.
I hugged him.
Then I away,
back to my son.
I was told later on that the doctor had to leave the ER floor for a break.
I was told that the loss of Liam was too much for him.
He wasn't a doctor that cries.
ER doctors don't cry.
But he cried.
Several nurses needed breaks as well.
I started writing this to vent out all my anger.
To try and work through my pain.
As I wrote this I was able to connect with a greater feeling than angry.
I started feeling thankful.
Blessed even.
When most people would have given up,
this group of amazing people kept trying.
And when they didn't succeed,
they were heartbroken.
They felt the loss of Liam.
It was significant in their hearts.
So even as my son laid there dying,
he changed the world in many strangers eyes.
I know that doctor and those nurses will never forget my son.
And that is a gift.
One day I hope that I can share his life with them,
so that they can know his love and his smile,
and remember that more than his passing.
That he was a strong little boy who spent his life fighting,
and by the time he got to them,
he was just too tired to fight anymore.
And that has to be ok.
One day.
Picture taken May 2, 2014
