The "dream"

J is watching an episode of the Backyardigans, they're dancing Bollywood style, and the storyline makes me giggle. I'm catching up on my emails, while E is napping in her bassinette on the dining room table. The hum of her bipap machine, and the whish of the leak as she exhales allow me to relax.

I look up every few minutes to quickly check the numbers on her oximeter. She's been coughing, and the breathing treatment she was prescribed this morning hasn't made her breathing any easier. 93...95...94... slightly unsettled that her saturation isn't 100, given she is on bipap, but the doctor said she was fine.

I go back to reading, and J asks for help to go to the washroom. He can't unbuckle his pants. The two of us run to the bathroom, and giggle as he manages to make it on time. We high five, pull up his pants, and as we are washing our hands, the oximeter alarms. It has been alarming all day long. I quickly dry off my hands, leave J playing in the hallway, and get to E's bedside. She looks alright, although the monitor registers a heartbeat of 190, and an oxygen saturation level of 90. I don't like 90. I readjust the sensor on her foot, maybe it wasn't picking up properly. Her heart rate comes down quickly, and her oxygen level goes up to 92. I tilt my head, and watch her. She's struggling more than usual to breathe. I make a mental note of this, and start up the Backyardigans again for J.

Minutes later, the oximeter alarms again. Her saturation is at 90. I decide to call our doctor. I get no answer. The beeping has stopped...91... I pace around the living room, trying to sort my thoughts. Should I take her in to Children's? Will they send us home? Will we have to wait for hours? What do I do with J? Maybe the sensor isn't picking up...   I look at the oximeter, it's flashing green all over, the pickup is good. It's not the sensor. The alarms ring again...89... I call 8-1-1, the nursing hotline. I answer some personal questions, give them my phone number, tell the nurse that E is satting low, despite being on bipap. The nurse encourages me to take E to the hospital. I'm in worry mode. I tell J we have to pack up to go, I turn off the television, he isn't happy. I tell him he needs to put on his shoes like a good boy, because his sister is sick.

I go into the kitchen, to take out ice packs for E's growth hormone. I break down, and cry over the counter. How is this happening? What is happening?I am somehow back in the living room, hugging J, telling him that I am just scared about E, he doesn't need to worry about his mama. I call Jason, to tell him I am packing up the kids. I start to panic when I realize I don't have a cable to connect E's bipap to the battery in the car. I decide she will have to be okay.

Her alarms start ringing again, and I look at the oximeter, as I'm rushing about trying to gather what I need...83...That can't be right. I look at her. Panic courses through my veins. She is grey. She is not blue, she is grey, like marble. I pick up the phone and dial 9-1-1, while rubbing her belly to stimulate her. Nothing.

I give them my address, the nature of the emergency. "We're sending everyone we have, they'll be there soon". I immediately hear the sound of sirens. E is unresponsive, she's still grey, her eyes are glazed over, her sats are 83...81...85...84...

"Breathe, baby girl, come on, wake up!" I'm practically yelling at her. Somehow I am also answering the operators questions "No, she doesn't look worse, but she doesn't look good, this isn't good"

J is pulling on my pant pocket. I look down at him, and hold his hand. He says "I don't want E to turn blue, I don't want E to die". Dying is not a possibility. Oh my god, what if she dies? "She's fine sweetie, listen to the sirens, they're coming to help us, they're going to help your sister".

J runs to the door, he lets in the firemen. Three of them descend into the cramped hallway, I feel claustrophobic. My Mommy Mode kicks in. Emotions are put aside, and I tell the firemen exactly what is happening. They administer oxygen. I notice the front door is still open.  Where is J?  "J?! Where are you????".

He is hiding, terrified, in the kitchen. I answer more questions. "Prader-Willi, P-R-A-D-E-R dash W-I-L-L-I". Did J go outside? Where is he, I can't see him.

"J, come here right now!" He cowers in the hallway, I pick him up. "I know it's scary, but look at these big, brave firemen. They're helping your baby. Aren't they nice? " He nods. He is scared.

Jan appears beside me, she's our neighbour. The paramedics are now also in our dining room, I don't know who is who. Someone is asking me about transport to the hospital. "Can't you leave your son with your mom? Your daughter needs you". I tell them "She's not my mom, my mom is in Vancouver". Jan says she will watch J until my mom can pick him up. I call my mom, she`s on her way.

Somehow I am in the ambulance. The sirens, the lights seem surreal. "Why aren't we going to Children's?" I ask. "They know her there, we just came home from there!!!". Policy, they tell me, they have to go to the nearest hospital.

We arrive, and E is taken into the Ambulance Holding area of emergency. And old lady offers to give up her place "in line" for E. They tell her thank-you, but E is likely to be seen first anyway. I am grateful to the lady, I am scared at our priority level. I have to give someone her information, her carecard, our address. E is moved to a bed in emergency. They tell me they will do chest x-rays and send us to Children's. Infant transport is on their way.

I tell too many individual people what happened at home. Why can't I just tell one person? I don't remember everything. I don't know what's going on? Why won't my brain work?

E is on 10 liters of oxygen, she is lethargic, and her sats don't go above 95. Probable pneumonia, I am told. Chest x-rays are done. ITT arrives. They know me, I know them, I can't believe this is happening.

We walk through emergency, on the way to the ambulance. I don't look at anyone. I can feel the looks of concern, I don't need to see them.

The ambulance ride is a blur. More questions. I obsessively watch E's saturation monitor. 80...88...89...87...She is on oxygen, why isn't it working??

We arrive at Children's.  They unload E, and we walk through emergency. He stops to make sure we are going straight to ICU. I make the mistake of looking at people, their faces show pity. My heart skips a beat, the panic starts to take over.

We walk through double doors to the hallway that leads to the ICU. I can't be here, I can't be here. We aren't supposed to be here. We're supposed to be at home.

The gold stars on the walls, the smells, I refocus. E needs me. She is wheeled in to room 21. I know our nurse. I know everyone. I answer questions, and repeat the same story for the hundredth time. They set her up, keep blow-by oxygen near her face, do swabs, run a npw test. E perks up, she looks fine, her saturation levels normalize. What the hell?

She is well for an hour, she looks around, she flirts, she laughs, she coughs. She gets tired, and her sats fall. She's on oxygen and bipap. The doctor comes by, "E's heart looks enlarged, but it might be a bad x-ray"  Thanks a lot, small town hospital, for the stress you're giving me. "E has a heart murmur" that's new, what is happening? Why is she having all this?

Jason arrives. He makes me eat. I haven't eaten all day. I fall asleep shortly after E does, and wake only when they do an x-ray in the night.

In the morning, the doctor comes by. She says lots of things that scare me. Growth Hormone Related Obstruction, Seizures, Heart Issues... No, no, and no thank you, this isn't happening. I tell her that E just missed having people around. She laughs, I laugh. How am I laughing? I feel sick.

Time passes, I don't know what happens. The doctor comes back in "Human metapneumovirus... it's a nasty bug, but it fits all her symptoms. It is going around the ward. It's probably nothing else" She leaves.

I breathe. It feels like I wake up.