When faced with tragedy, be it a car wreck or other nonsensical crazy situations, people always seem to say, "time seems to move in slow motion."I have to say, I've been in quite a few car accidents (none my fault, alright?) and I can attest to the feeling of my earring flying out of my earlobe while thinking "My mom is so going to kill me that I"m wrecking her car," or "Am I wearing clean underwear?" or "This is it? Am I going to die a virgin?"Basically, it's quite strange and odd how everything - motion, speech and thought seem to move and incapacitate oneself in the slowest of motion. Strange thoughts seem to cross your mind as you are "in the moment" during such tragedies.Thoughts that make you feel like you are really not of this world, time or space.
During the moments of the worst day of my life, I remember thinking, "I really need to check on Thalon." 20 minutes from the time that I left him sleeping in our bed on his back with a pacifier, I found him face down on our bed of which I didn't leave him. I picked him up and thought, "When did my girls have the chance to smear their Hannah Montana gray sparkly makeup all over his face?" After a few seconds of realization that he was indeed not alive, blue and was not breathing, I started to do CPR on him on our bed. Let me first say, I learned CPR this past Summer only because I'm a Girl Scout Co-leader and it's mandatory to learn all this shit. Infant CPR was really not touched on during my long stint. So, here I was trying to resusitate my child on the flimsy surface of our bed, thinking all the while, "Holy shit! What am I supposed to do? I don't remember what I'm supposed to do? Why didn't I pay attention in class? " The class I took while I was pregnant with Thalon.
While I was trying to push air back into him like he was a 300lb man, I heard Rich screaming where the goddamn phone was. The phone I try to never know where it is because I really try to not care who is calling us at any time of the day. So, while pushing and breathing into his mouth, I start to think, "oh my god, the police are going to come. They are going to arrest me! They are going to arrest me for being a shit mom that let her child sleep in her bed, albeit without shit, pillows, blankets, etc. no where near his face. They are going to arrest me, because I just know, they are going to think I've killed my child." I then moved him to the floor of my bedroom. My bedroom that quite frankly is a mess. During my 30 presses and 3 puffs consecutively, while checking to see if he was going to breathe, I started to freak the fuck out more, "oh, my god! EMSA is going to come into my bedroom and realize, my room is a total wreck. She surely isn't fit to be a mother!" Total irrational thought started to sink in. While clearing and sucking out the snot out of his throat I moved him to my living room, thinking again, "my house smells like boiled eggs. We dyed motherfucking eggs for Easter today and they are going to think, shit, this house stinks and this woman is so not fit to have children in her care," I continued CPR without missing a beat. Strangely enough, EMSA, firefighters but no police came to our rescue. While the EMSA team tried to find a "thready" heartbeat, a stranger, was holding my hand and rubbing my back. All the while I had been calm, not crying not showing any emotion, being in the moment, trying to save the life of my child, I began to realize this stranger was telling me everything was going to be okay. I knew at that moment, nothing was ever going to be okay and seriously, would this stranger quit touching me. Doesn't she know I have boundary issues?
Fast forward two days later, after the trauma of theER visit where one of my best-friends was the head nurse resuscitating my darling angel. She freaked the fuck out when she realized it was our child, I began to realize, nothing was ever going to be the same again. The ER doctor tried to placate my keening all the while saying, "With all my heart, I believe this is a true classic case of SIDS." I looked him straight in the eye and asked are you sure? Are you sure this isn't my fault? Are you sure that my very healthy child who was laughing and cooing an hour before, died of SIDS? A definition where there is really no definition? A diagnosis I never even fathomed would be a possibility? Are you really, really, really sure?
Because no matter what anyone says or tries to placate my fears, I feel like it's all my fault.