The Scariest Moment of My Life

I thought learning Jared had cancer was bad, but as I described before, it lacks the drama that people associate with such an event. The news comes in slow, measured pieces, from careful professionals who are telling you there is a monster inside you but you can't see it. So though it is scary, it's slow-deep-scary, and not the kind of thing that sends you into hysterics.

Today's events, on the other hand, packed a punch with drama and sudden-now-freak-out-scary that left me breathless, shaky, hardly able to talk, and nauseous - complete with firetruck and ambulance outside our house.

After returning from a weekend at the beach, Seville was rather vigorously playing on the couch this afternoon. She plays on the couch frequently, and usually knows how to handle herself. But today she bounced and fell off in a way that sent her careening toward the floor, swinging like a pendulum and leading with her head. I didn't see it, but the sound of the bonk sounded like furniture on furniture and I hoped to God that's what it was. When I saw Jared running over there I knew that it wasn't.

I cringed. I got ready for The Big Cry (you know how the longer they wind-up, the bigger the cry?). I was thinking, "uh, oh, this is a long windup, it's gonna be a big one." And then I was thinking, "man, this is gonna be the biggest one ever," and then I was thinking, "why isn't she crying yet, can she wind up that long?" And then I started to panic as I ran over to see what was going on. She had indeed been winding up to cry, but as I arrived, her back was arched and her eyes rolled back in her head, her body went limp (or stiff, I'm not sure which because I wasn't holding her) and then she just stopped and lay there on the couch unconscious.

At this point, of course, I screamed and ran to grab the phone. Jared thought she might have done something to her spine or neck. I thought she might have internal head injuries or something. She looked to me as if she was having a siezure, but I couldn't tell. I frantically stuttered out to the 911 person what was going on, gave her my address, tried to keep calm and answer some questions, and by the time she asked me if Seville was breathing, she was. And then she started to cry weakly. And then the cry got harder (I never thought I'd be so relieved to hear her cry so hard).

911 stayed on the phone with us until the medics arrived (which wasn't long. The fire-station is about 1/2 mile away). They checked her out and she seemed rattled but fine. They decided we didn't need the ambulance because we could take her to hospital ourselves, or we could observe her for a while and decide what to do as the afternoon went on. As the nervous mother, of course, I was all getting ready to go to the E.R., but when the neighbor came over to check on us, Seville followed him out and back to his house, played with his daughter, seemed in perfectly good spirits and normal. It seemed cruel to subject her to blood tests and X-rays and what-have-you on what was already a rough day if it wasn't necessary. I decided to take the "observe" route. I learned from my Dad that he frequently passed out and had mild seizures from trauma as a youth because he had low blood pressure. By evening she was jumping around and playing, the story started to sound like no big deal and I was starting to question the efficacy of spending 4 hours in the E.R. for a doctor to say, "well, she looks ok, just keep an eye on her for a while in case she acts unusual."

Last night in the hotel we watched the last half of that movie "Pay it Forward," in which a child dies. I spent the night trying not to wonder how I would possibly cope if I ever lost Seville. It doesn't seem possible. I never understood before I was a mother how frighteningly horrific that would be. And though I haven't been able to say the words today, and it's even hard to type the words here, I thought, for a few moments, that I was losing Seville this afternoon. She was lying limp with her eyes open. Jared, blessedly, had the inspiration to tell me over and over that he could feel her heart beating. It was the most horrifying, scary, awful moment of my life. Just awful. It's weird that you can have a moment where you think your worst fears are coming true, and then have everything just return to normal. Can I really return to normal? Here we are. It's 9:30pm. Seville is in bed. I'm on my computer. Jared is doing whatever Jared does. We're acting normal. But I can't stop saying in my head, over and over, "Thank you, God... thank you, God... thank you, God..."