Japanese spaghetti and we take em light

I get the urge to write in the strangest places. Phrases and thoughts rush through my mind and I always worry I'll forget them. Today was one of those days. 

When my mom married my dad I was five. My biological father wasn't a part of my life, so I got adopted. There were some pretty terrible things that resulted from that. It's been three years this November since he's past. I've been thinking about blogging about just him and my childhood. But I guess I'm not ready. 

I like to remember the good things from my youth. When my parents married I instantly had another family. Aunts, uncles, and cousins. Immediate and extended. I can't say we've always gotten along or that it was always perfect. That's just family I suppose. 

My dad had an aunt and uncle he was particularly close to. Warren and Leo. They had a HUGE house full of kids and food. Leo was one of the best cooks I've ever met. Her and Warren had the most majestic gardens. I swear they could grow anything. I spent many many nights riding bikes off the hill in their backyard. 

Today was Leo's funeral. It was so bittersweet. Hearing the stories. Reconnecting with family I hadn't seen in ages and perusing my own memories. 

Japanese spaghetti. It's one of my favorite things Leo ever made. She had this big pot and I swear she made enough to feed a thousand people. It's not Japanese. It's bacon, burger, green peppers, onions, carrots, and ketchup. All mixed together with spaghetti noodles. I used to beg for it. I ate endless plates of it sitting around her dining room table playing "pass the trash." Sometimes if I close my eyes I can hear the laughter. I miss that laughter. 

I feel like my kids are missing that. The coming together of family. Crazy memories. Laughing until they pee their pants. Life is so busy. And we just don't take the time. It breaks my heart. 

My dad and his cousins had a special bond. Just to sit and watch them interact was a treat. They were ridiculous together. Schemes, plans, and adventures were planned and usually resulted in bouts of hysterical laughter. 

I don't remember all of the story, but there's one involving my dad and his cousins. I believe they all went to the cemetary at night. At one point some one spit out the phrase, "we take em light." I can't tell you how many times I heard them say that at random times to each other and then laugh like crazy. God, how I miss that. 

Some of my favorite memories were spent at Warren and Leo's. Today as we gathered to say goodbye I felt bereft. I sat amongst some of my favorite playmates. I laughed. I cried. And I felt lost. My life is leaving me. Piece by little piece. And I'm hanging on dearly to those memories. I don't want to forget. 

I want to take em light, eat some Japanese spaghetti, and play some pass the trash....

 

Call anesthesia!

Tonight was the worst night of my life. I watched my two year old have a grand mal seizure. I watched her turn blue and while holding her in my arms, I felt her stop breathing. At this moment, I'm sitting next to a bed on the pediatric ward, scared out of my damned mind. 

Life never prepares you for anything. And the skills you think you have are virtually useless when it's your own child.  Your mind is fuddled, you can't even remember how to dial 911. It's probably to soon to write about this, but I'm awake and scared. And I need to write. 

I work labor and delivery. It's nuts. It's fun. And it's scary. I'm the secretary. I tell everyone over and over, I just answer the phone and file the papers. Essentially, that's true. And when it all goes to hell, you call anesthesia. And Michelle. 

I know lots of numbers. I can tell you almost every extension we ever need to call. I know nurses and techs personal numbers by heart. And my friend Misti, the care manager, I know her extension, pager, and cell number. In emergencies I've dialed them in a panic and never forgot them. I can't remember to make patient folders on a daily basis, but I can call people. 

Earlier this year it became a requirement for every staff member to have BLS. Basic life saving skills. I have jokingly said if someone collapses in front of me, all I'm going to know how to do is call anesthesia. 

On our way home tonight, 100 feet from my driveway, I glanced back at Shelbie. I'll never ever forget her face. If you've never seen a grand mal seizure, it's like someone being possessed. Her eyes were fixed and her whole body shaking. She wouldn't respond because she couldn't. When I got around the car and opened her door she was turning blue. As I carried her towards the neighbors house I heard her sigh and couldn't feel her breathe. There's no rational thinking. There's just panic and adrenaline. I laid my baby on the ground begging her not to leave me. And trying to remember what to do. I did chest compressions, I don't even really know if I should have. I just know I thought my baby died. I cried, I prayed, and I did every life saving thing I knew. 

I wanted anesthesia and I wanted Michelle. In our little regulated hospital environment, there's a process to the chaos. In your neighbors front yard, there's nothing. But you, and the neighbor telling dispatch to do something! And the ambulance seems to take forever!

She's now laying sound asleep in her little hospital crib. I'm sitting in the chair watching her. I'm a hot damn mess. Every time in close my eyes I can see her. I can hear my Shiloh screaming and running for help. I'm so proud of her, by the way. My little first responder. 

My L&D girls were here. Waiting when they walked us through the door. Those kinds of moments bind you even tighter. No questions asked, just ready to do whatever I needed. I am forever grateful. 

I may never recover from this. I thought I lost her. I don't understand how people recover. I'm fortunate. Mines right here. Breathing. I know because I keep checking. I feel like I did everything wrong. Helpless and lost, and I don't want to go home tomorrow. 

For now I'll watch her sleep. Thanking God again for not taking her from me. I won't sleep at night. I'll cry. And I'll bury my face in her neck at night just to smell that baby smell and hear her breathe. And breathe. And breathe.