It was 2:30 in the morning and I awoke to the usual. I heard
Zekey cry at the same time that Emmitt attempted to slip into our bed
unnoticed. I asked Matt to take Em back to his bedroom and I told him I’d get
the baby and feed him.
As I picked up Zekey, I immediately went straight to change
his diaper because I knew he’d either peed through or would shortly. I started
to lay him down on the changing table and noticed his posture didn’t seem
right. I picked him up under his armpits and rushed straight into the kids’
room and asked Matt if he was having a seizure. Matt grabbed him from my arms
and ran to the living room to have a better look. He started yelling at me to
call 911 and that he wasn’t breathing. I
was on the phone with 911 within 30 seconds while Matt laid Ezekiel flat on his
back on the couch. It looked like he was holding his breath and then would gasp
for air every 15 seconds. We were crying and praying and crying and praying,
“Lord, please give him breaths. Jesus give him breaths.”
The paramedics were at our house within 5 minutes.
Meanwhile, we had called my parents with Matt’s phone and ironically they were
there within minutes as well. The paramedics immediately started helping him
breathe with a bag valve mask and asking a million questions. He was in the ambulance
within minutes and we were whisked into the back of a cop car to follow. I
didn’t even realize my parents were at the house, but when Matt got into the
police car with me I asked if the other police officers (there were SO many
people at our house within minutes) were staying with the kids and he told me
my parents were already there. We prayed constantly the entire time, begging
God to keep his heart pumping, begging God to give him breaths. Matt called our pastor and good friend, Sam,
and left him a message on our way to the hospital.
When we got there I remember the receptionist met us in the
doorway and asked us if we could give her some registration information. She
asked for simple stuff that I could answer if I concentrated really hard, name,
birthday, address, pediatrician, etc. It felt like
years, but it was probably 10 minutes at the most and we headed straight back
to find him. The rest is a blur as we rotated between singing/whispering/praying
in his ear to asking questions and answering questions. Sam was there within minutes of us being
there and family started to trickle in as quickly as possible. The PANDA (OHSU Pediatric transport team)
team was dispatched and arrived what felt like hours later, although
in reality it was probably 45 minutes or so. We prayed. We cried. We prayed
some more. I promised God I trusted him, but I begged him for Zekey’s life. I
promised I’d do anything.
The doctor seemed at a loss and kept asking if he’d been sick. I felt like I gave a one minute recap about
15 times, but I probably only did it for the paramedics and the doctor. “He was
sick with a virus. I took him to the doctor three times last week. He had a
104* + temp for 5-6 days, a rash and red eyes. The doctor diagnosed him with
adenovirus. The virus can last up to 10 days. He was still fussy until
Wednesday. Thursday and Friday he was totally normal, happy, smiley, angelic.
Saturday he seemed maybe constipated or like his tummy was bugging him. I could
tell he hadn’t eaten as much, but thought he was maybe constipated. I went in
to feed him and picked him up and his head tipped back like he was having a
seizure (so I thought). We immediately called 911.”
They were doing x-rays of his head, and x-rays of his tummy.
The PANDA team got there and started taking over while the doctor came in and
explained that when he tried to put a tube down his throat the very first time
to intubate him his jaw was stiff like rigor mortis had already started to set
in. He said essentially he wasn’t breathing at all and his heart was being
paced by a machine. I didn’t want to believe anything yet. I went back in and
knelt next to him singing and praying and singing and praying. The PANDA team
continued to work and essentially checked to see if he was breathing or if his
heart was functioning at all. They started to explain what transporting him
meant and I knew in my heart what they were saying. He was gone. He had been
gone. Everything humanly possible had been attempted and he was still being
called home.
We spent the next hour holding him. Praying. Crying.
Praying, and holding him some more. We
examined every inch of his perfect body and I put him on my chest as they
unhooked the breathing machines. I
thanked Jesus for every day we had with him and that he chose me to be his
Mama.
There were lots of confusing results and pieces of
information that I will spare you the details. Our pediatrician, Dr.
Wilson, heard the news early Sunday afternoon and he came out to spend the
afternoon with us trying to piece the puzzle together. The autopsy was
performed Monday and the preliminary results showed that he indeed was a
perfect baby. His brain was totally normal (lots of inaccurate info about
bleeding in the brain) and the cause of death was myocarditis, which was more
than likely caused from the virus he had.
Myocarditis causes the heart muscle to become thick and swollen. It has
little to no warning signs, and treatment in infants is nearly impossible
baring a heart transplant. Essentially, Ezekiel’s heart slowly slowed down
until it stopped pumping and he died. Most likely, he was taking his last
breaths as I picked him up from his bassinet and was in our Savior’s arms
within seconds. The long, gasping
breaths he was taking while we were on the phone with 911 were probably just
triggered by his brain stem that hadn’t completely stopped working when his
heart had stopped (there’s a name for this, I’m just drawing a blank as to what
it is).
Our sweet angel baby was gone. Our hearts were broken into a
million tiny little pieces. Time stood still.
