Being with him was the only thing that made me happy. We tried to make life normal for him and us, if you obviously take away the fact he was on so many different medications and we did have to be careful after all, he had a rare heart condition.
I can recall that morning so vividly. Have you ever seen that film 'Click', the one with Adam Sandler? In it there is a scene where he learns his dad died and he rewinds and pauses continuously. That is me, rewinding, taking it all in again from a third person perspective. Except I can't pause it, I can't pause it to stop what happens next. Nor do I get a second chance. I so wish I could, but what could I change.
You see it all happened so quickly, from the moment he went downhill. When we were being prepared for discharge from the hospital they gave us CPR training. It was unspoken but between me and my husband, we knew, he would be the one to do it, if we needed to. We knew I wouldn't be strong enough. How ironic that 13 weeks after that training, after the unspoken conversation, it is me that is the strong one, it is me who is giving him CPR. I was on the phone to 999 when he went floppy in his daddy's arms, but he is the one who crumbles.
On the one hand I knew he was gone as I was watching myself perform CPR on him but I didn't give up on him in the beginning so I wasn't about to give up now. I asked the first responder when he turned up if he was breathing and he said 'Not right now my love'. Strange how that stays with you. He told me I needed to get dressed whilst he took over CPR, I forgot I was still in my dressing gown following my shower.
My husband and I sat in the ambulance as it blue lighted it's way to the hospital. Both staring at the heart monitor and the fact that every time they stopped heart compressions there was a flat line.
They tried to sit us in a relatives room but quickly knew I didn't want to be apart from him. I was sat on a stool to one side whilst they worked on him.
I didn't know what to expect when I went in to resus. In a bittersweet moment, it was nice to see the PICU doctors with him, in them I trusted. One of them sat with us. Again, ironically, she was the only one who could get a line in him when he was in PICU.
I sat there, watching, listening, silently screaming alternative sentences 'stop, leave him alone' and 'bring him back to me'. I calmly turned to the doctor and said he's not coming back is he. I think everyone heard me say it even though they were busy. They explained, that they were able to get a slight rhythm back but it wasn't enough. The pH levels showed if they could sustain it then he would have multiple organ and brain damage. I looked at my husband and again, unspoken words were said.
I asked for him to be put in my arms. They disconnected all the tubes etc, placed him in my arms and extubated him.
10.50am on Thursday 1st October 2009.
I am an angel mummy.
