You know, the one you never want to hear. The one you never want to receive. This morning had started out so normal, so routine.
Gideon turned three months today. He decided to give mommy and daddy a present and sleep throughout the whole night. He woke about 6 in the morning and we loved on one another. He is always so warm and snuggly in the morning. He cries out little whimpers and calms with the turning on of the light and the sound of my voice. Every morning it was the same..."Good morning Gideon, good morning. How's my bubba-wubba? Moma's here. I'm coming." And he would reply to the lights and sound just as he did this morning with sleepy squinty eyes and a soft baby oohing. He would cling to me as I picked him up and took him into the livingroom to begin our morning routine. This morning was no different. He didn't give me clues that anything different was going to happen. I took him into the living room. Loved on him, dressed him and fed him his bottle. We took photos on the couch. He had been on his breastmilk for about a week and was doing wonderfully. He had a few more spit-ups but nothing to be concerned about. I continued getting ready while placing him in his bouncer and bringing him into the bathroom with me. I sat him on the bathroom counter and he watched and smiled and laughed as Lance and I got ready--typical workday morning. As we were going to put him in his carseat, Lance realized that he had pooped--so out of the carseat and diaper change was underway. Oh, his pants are wet--a new set of pants now.
Finally we were underway and on the road. We were now running late so Lance had to take me to work and drop me off first. I kissed my baby on the head, told him I loved him, gathered my things and then heard the sounds of a few cries as they began to drive away. This was the last time I saw my bubba-wubba awake.
Typical day at the clinic. Harley Joe and Harley came to see me. Harley Joe had a cough. I tried getting him to dance for me and the girls but he wouldn't do it.
I was sitting in my chair at my desk when my phone started ringing. It was Tristan. Strange to see her calling and not texting. Thoughts ran through my head..he has a fever, he sthrew up, he's acting like the brm is hurting his belly.
"Hey Tristan"
Heavy breathing followed by, "Brandi. I'm so sorry." followed by more heavy breathing...
"Is Gideon okay? Is he not breathing?
"I have to call 911."
It was 1052 in the morning. I ran to the front of the office and grabbed Linda and told her that something was wrong with Gideon and we had to get to the sitter's right away. She grabbed her keys and out we went.
A repetitive "shit, shit" spewed from my mouth while tears streamed from eyes as my body shook with fear. Linda prayed and spoke the healing power of God to be over Gideon. I called Lance and let him know to go quickly. I wasn't sure what had happened but it sounded like Tristan was doing CPR. She sounded out of breath.
We arrived and there were police cars everywhere with the ambulance in front and policemen in the yard. I headed to the door but was told he was in the back of the ambulance. So, I turned around and went to the ambulance. I opened the back door and glanced inside. There my baby laid. Lifeless. Pale. Legs opened and flexed in frog position, arms up and flexed out--much like a baby doll I had growing up. I lost it. There stood Lance holding me, telling me not to look at Gideon but to look at him. We rushed over to the ER following the ambulance....the events after this were sort of a blur.
I remember Gideon being cold---91.3 was written on the sheet with a time by it. 91.3? Is that his temperature? How long had he been down? Words spewing around us...acidosis, potassium is 8.3, CT scan... I sent a message to a few in my phonebook with as many words I could gather. "Pray" was all I could get out. I couldn't talk to anyone and surely I couldn't text what was going on to my family. Yet, I wanted them to pray. I wanted our church family to pray.
Finally, I was able to call my mother and father and let them know we were headed to St Francis. My dad had been in Kansas for my aunt's funeral but met us at the hospital and my mom left work immediately.
I sat next to him and held his hand the entire trip to St Francis in the back of that ambulance. I prayed fervently.
Arriving at St. Francis, we were met by Dr. Lindstrom and Janie, our nurse. Gideon still unresponsive and intubated. She was saying words like near SIDS, extensive brain damage, anoxic injury, art line, central line....
We had to wait for nearly two hours while they tried to place the lines only to find they couldn't do the art line because of more words like bleeding and DIC. His urine was blood tinged. The nurse and the doctor were so kind. They tried to explain. The goal was to keep him cool to help decrease the inflammatory response which creates more injury to the brain as a result of swelling and to keep him comfortable. The night would consist of EEG monitoring and adjustments of his medications based on his lab levels. Dr Khichi let us know that we would be here for at least a month. He gave little hope. He explained the first 24-72 hours are the worst. A week out from the accident is when you know what your baseline will be and then about 15 days out is about as good as it will get. Gideon opened his eyes a few times to noise and held our fingers....we prayed--the first 24 hours were underway.
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