It started out like any other day....I heard your alarm before I heard my own. The only difference is this time, you didn't get up. I chalked it up to a deep sleep from the exhaustion of the past few days. You broke your ankle and sprained your other ankle just 2 days prior and have been taking percocet--who wouldn't be a little tired after that?
My alarm went off but I refused to get up for another 20-30 minutes---I'll regret this later. I decided to get up an make a late breakfast as a surprise for you, it's a rarity (that's an understatement) for me to cook for you. I start frying sausage and step into the spare bedroom to wake you. You are still snoring away. I come in and shake you. You mumble to yourself and regress from me. I shake you and tell you to wake up, you recoil your arm from touch. I step out for a minute and call Jay... " I can't get mom to wake up! I've shaken her, I've said her name." "Are you serious? Is this a joke??" "Why would I joke about this, I don't know what to do--should I call 911?" "Try again, if she won't wake, call 911". I call Caren for a second opinion--she tells me you're probably just a little deep from your narcotics.
I come back and know immediately know something is very, very wrong. I sit you up. I sprinkle water on you. I open your eyes--no response. ...I dial 911 then quickly call into work and tell them I'll be at the ER. Caren calls back and tells me she thinks I should call 911, I tell her they're already on their way.
The EMTs charge the house. They say your name wrong 3 separate times. I cry. One EMT is very rude to me, the other consoles me. The rude EMT miscounts your pills and assumes it's an OD. They get you to the vehicle to administer narcan. After wasting another 10 min to see if the narcan resolves your slumber.... they finally leave our street and head to the ER.
When I arrive to the ER they won't let us back to see you for about 10-15 minutes. I try numerous times to contact Jon, but he's in a meeting. We are given the okay to walk back. They vast majority of the ER staff are surrounding room 5....your room. We step in briefly, joke a bit about how you'll wake up and be so mad that we made you come to the ER. By this point, your sisters, a few nieces and jay are by your side. They send us out quickly, a nurse haphazardly explains that as a precaution they need to intubate you. Jon comes into the ER waiting room and I feel myself break in his hug, but try to hold it together the best I can. They call us back into the room. The doctors paint a grim picture. You, my 56 year old (young) mother, have suffered a massive brainstem stroke. The infarction impacted all 3 areas of the left side of your brainstem and part of your cerebellum. My heart sank to the floor and I immediately crumble in Jon's arms. I look over at my older brother and all he can do is tremble. This is the day our mother may die. This is the day that Carla---a single mother, a hardworking mother, a overprotective mother, a mother who has lost a child, a mother who sacrificed a good life for herself to give her kids a good life, a numbers girl, the quick-witted story teller, a best friend, a happy-go lucky woman---may lose her life due to a very unfair medical incident....one that may have even been preventable. Through sobs all I can do is keep repeating "Not my momma...I can't lose my momma." I hug jay and we both cry together...he tells me he still needs mom. Your nieces are distraught---they've all worked in ER/ICU and know the weight of your diagnosis....Aimee can barely hold herself together. This....this is why they had to intubate you, the doctor explains that they suspect you'll not be able to breathe on your own again if you pull through because the brainstem controls all vital functions. We are told to call in the remaining family members...they will not speak of prognosis with us. We are sent into a private waiting room. As they rush us away, all I can think about is what if this is the moment you die. What if I lose you now and you never know how much I love and appreciate you. I tell Jon and I fall apart in the middle of the ER. Aimee says the doctors don't think she'll make it through the night. We wait for roughly 1 hour.
We get a call back into the ER. The neurologist mumbles something about paralysis and locked-in state. He says you may never move your limbs again. He says we can try to speak with you, as you should able to still hear us. Each of us take a moment to speak with you. When it's my turn, I come up to your left side and I whisper to you. I tell you that I love you....I tell you that you're the best momma. I tell you that you can pull through this. I ask you if you can hear me and I tell you to squeeze my hand. I wait then there is a squeeze. I have you repeat it 3 times before I freak out. I run out into the ER and call Jay and Jon in. You repeat for all three of us and we are ecstatic. I tell the nurse and she tells me "If that's true, then she is not paralyzed like the doctor thought. I hope she makes it, she is far too young."
Shortly afterwards you were deemed stable enough to transfer to ICU...but you're not out of the woods yet.
