When Sky Blue Turns Black

By Sara Walker

Her gorgeous sky blue eyes quickly turned dull. Her rambunctious body was very stiff. I still held her close to me. Chaos was all around me, but my entire focus was on her. My nine month old daughter was trying to cling to her life. As I watched, helpless and worried for the life of my daughter, I couldn’t do anything. It was like God flipped a coin before me on May 11, 2007. Heads she lives and tails she dies. At five thirty in the evening, my nine month old daughter started fighting for her life. Her world went from playing in grandpa’s backyard enjoying the sun, birds, and playing with grandma’s yellow lab to quiet. Pure quiet. Within a few seconds, her full pink lips went blue. Without thinking, my mouth covered her mouth and nose. I blew two breathes of air. I’ve never felt so helpless in my life. 

Surprisingly, I was calm, yet I have no idea how. I just knew if I were to freak out, I would lose it completely. Thoughts ran through my head. Who would talk to the doctors? How do I explain what happened? Grandpa was holding her and flipped her upside down, as he has a million times, and then this. This happened. Don’t get me wrong. I was very worried and wanted to break down. I just knew that I couldn’t. Growing up, my mother taught me to always keep my cool and keep track of my thoughts.

Within the three minutes that passed, which seemed like a lifetime, her body was now trembling in her pink onesie. A neighbor heard the commotion and rushed to my daughter’s aid.

The neighbor explained to me, “It’s okay, she is getting oxygen and is having seizure.” I thought she was crazy for telling me that “she’s okay.” My dad reassured me. “Chris (the neighbor) is a certified EMT.” 

It was great to hear that she was an EMT, but what the heck about my daughter! I wanted to scream and rip God’s head off, but instead I watched the ambulance drive to the front of the house.

They asked, while taking my daughter out of my arms, “What happened? Did she fall? Hit her head?”

I explained, “No she didn’t fall or hit her head. My dad (grandpa) was holding her in front of him and flipped her upside down and then brought her back right side up. She was stiff. I grabbed her from him and felt the stiffness, and noticed her lips where blue. I blew on her and then the convulsions started to happen.”

We were in the back of the ambulance now. Immediately the EMT in the back with me was trying to administer some valium to stop her from seizing. (I heard him say this is what she was having.)

“Is she allergic to anything?” He asked.

“No.”

“Has she had this happen before?”

“No,” Again I said.

“Is she up to date on shots?”

“Yes.”

Through all of the interrogation, all I could do was look deep into my daughter’s eyes searching for her. Looking for a sign, any sign that she was going to be okay. I could hear the scanner from the driver. He was talking to a woman. “Nine month old female, having a grand mal seizure. Been seizing now for about seven minutes. Getting oxygen, been given valium rectally. ETA will be two minutes.” Before this, I’ve never heard the words “grand mal seizure.” The two minutes in the back of the ambulance felt very long, until we arrived at the hospital. I would like to say that everything was in slow motion, but instead it was doctors, nurses, and EMT’s everywhere. Chaos. Orders were being delivered in every direction. My daughter was still on the stretcher, but in a room. A lady, who I later found out was a nurse, came up to me and my father.

“It would be best if you weren’t here.”

I snapped back at her, “It is best that I am here! I want to know if she is going to be okay! She needs me!”

She still insisted that I leave. I didn’t budge a muscle. I watched as people were still trying to figure out what was going on with my daughter. She was still having the grand mal seizure.

I had seen the minutes pass on the clock in the ER station. Thirty minutes and still having the seizure! More drugs being pumped into her twenty-four pound lifeless body. I was so helpless. All I was able to do was call and ask family members and friends to pray for her. By this time I had been cursing at God. Why my child? What did she do to deserve this? Is this a punishment for not praying all the time and not going to church? I hate you God! At the same time I had also been making my pleas to God, praying for any miracle to happen. How much more does my child have to suffer? Make her pain go to me and heal her! Please don’t let her remember this, please. Numerous people had been going in and out of her room. It was like watching moths around a light bulb, going to the bulb to touch it and then flying a little bit away.

The time was now six thirty. An hour into her seizure! The ER doctor came to talk to me.

“The seizure hasn’t stopped. The medicine that has been administered should have stopped it by now. We are, however, seeing signs of improvement.”

“What are the signs of improvement if she is still having the seizure?” I cut the doctor off.

“She is not having as bad of convolutions as she was when she came in,” he replied.

This still wasn’t the answer that I was looking for. I don’t think that any answer that he would have given me would have made me happy at this point. Still holding all my emotion together, I was comforted by my mom. She had made it to the hospital from Kennewick, 262 miles away, after what was to be an hour and a half to two hour drive, in about an hour. Needless to say, knowing that she was by my side was what I needed.

We could hear the doctors and nurses talking to one another-- something about needing a life flight and another doctor on his way from Portland coming to lend a hand.  A little time passed and this mysterious doctor arrived. Five minutes later her seizure stopped.

The doctor came to me and asked, “Where would you rather have your daughter go, Portland or Boise? She needs to be life flighted to get the proper care that she needs.”

“Boise.”

He continued, “We need to paralyze her to control her breathing. You must step out for this part. This is going to be very traumatic.”

I didn’t know what to do at this point. He was right about being traumatic. I walked to the lobby doors, leaving my mom in the ER station. I needed a moment-- a moment to my thoughts, my emotions, anything at this time. Pushing the doors open, I saw everyone: family members, friends and even friends of friends filled the lobby seats. All had been crying. I couldn’t help it but walk right through and past everyone. I walked straight outside. My step mom followed me.

“You want to walk and get some air?” she asked me.

I knew that if I even said one word, I would burst into tears, so I nodded yes.

Then it happened. All my emotions that I had been holding in, keeping my composure and thoughts, came out of nowhere. After about five minutes of my melt down, I tried drying my eyes. I walked back to the lobby were everyone was waiting to know if she was okay. I tried to talk casual, fast, and to the point.

“She’s doing okay, the seizure stopped. They don’t know why it happened. She is going to be life flighted to Boise here very soon.”

              My mom waved me to come back into the ER. She informed me of the newly updated information.

“The helicopter is almost here. They will only take one extra passenger to ride along. That is you.”

“We placed the breathing tube and your daughter is stable now.” The doctor interrupted. 

“Thank God!”  I couldn’t help but give a little sigh of relief.

All I thought was, now she isn’t suffering. Deep down I knew, though, that this was only the beginning. There were many questions that still needed answers. Maybe Saint Luke’s Children Hospital in Boise will have the answers, maybe. The helicopter arrived. I said a brief good bye to my mother and other loved ones praying for my little girl.

              We made it to the new hospital, which was about 300 miles away, within an hour. It was now around ten in the evening. The Saint Luke’s Children Hospital of Boise ran many tests on my daughter: spinal taps, MRI, EEG scans (brain scan), and even CAT scans. You name it, she probably had it. Remarkably, all of them came back normal.  Some doctors and specialists say that she had a febrile seizure, others say epilepsy. Even with follow up appointments for more EEG scans, there still is no explanation of why my daughter had an hour and fifteen minute grand mal seizure.

All that matters is she is back to her normal self. She has absolutely no sign of the trauma, thank God. I’m still searching for any answers to why this unexplainable event happened. All I know is that I can see the light in her sky blue eyes again. I have my daughter back.