“She’s gone. Oh my god, my baby is gone. How is this happening?!? Why is this happening? Stuff like this just doesn’t happen to me, why is this happening?”
These were the predominant thoughts in my head this afternoon as I watched The Girl wake up from a totally normal nap a screaming banshee with a temp of 103.6. Then as I watched her start acting like she was drunk. And then as I watched her try to talk to me but failing. As I watched her head jerk all the way to the right and her eyes slowly move as far right as possible. As her entire little body went rigid in my arms. As I watched my daughter simply disappear. As I frantically tried to get her to look at me or talk to me while I was trying to tell the 911 dispatcher what was wrong. As I watched her stiff body suddenly collapse with her no longer being able to hold up her head and then as she started to convulse. As the 911 dispatcher told me to lay her on the floor on her side so that she didn’t choke and/or hurt herself while she was seizing.
For about 12 minutes I laid on the floor next to her, stroking her sweaty head, my voice wracked with sobs that I could not stop. Waiting for the paramedics to arrive. Waiting for my baby girl to find her way back to me. Part of me surrendering to the fear and succumbing to hysterics, begging for help. The other part of surrendering to peace and wanting her to know that if she needed to go that it was ok and she was loved.
She finally stopped convulsing and then just slipped into unconsciousness. The paramedics were able to rouse her a bit with oxygen and she threw up all over both of us as I was carrying her to the ambulance. Then she was out again. She came back after we’d been at the hospital for almost an hour. She called me mama again as I crawled into the hospital bed next to her and waited for someone to tell me what happened.
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