I cling to him a little more than I do my other kids. Sure, he’s naturally more affectionate, but there’s a deeper reason—I almost lost him once. Not due to a minor mishap in the grocery store, but because of a sudden illness. My eldest son nearly died from croup when he was just four years old.
A Typical Friday Evening
It was a typical Friday evening in October, three years back. He had caught a cold, and we braced ourselves for what we anticipated would be the first croup episode of the season. After putting our boys to bed, I dashed out to grab a humidifier. When I returned half an hour later and set it up in their room, I heard that distinct, raspy breathing that signals croup’s arrival. I steeled myself for what lay ahead—likely a restless night and a doctor visit in the morning. We were seasoned pros at this by then.
The Horror Unfolds
About 15 minutes later, I thought I heard something odd from their room, so I went in to investigate. To my horror, I found my son thrashing in his bed, gasping for air. Without hesitation, I scooped him up and rushed to the living room. In a matter of moments, he was writhing in my arms, turning blue, and I was frantically dialing 911. As I spoke with the operator, he stopped breathing entirely, and the call quickly shifted to CPR instructions. Those moments are etched in my mind. We spread him out on the floor by the front door, where just moments before, we had been ready to rush him to the ER. My husband performed CPR on our son, while I stood frozen, watching in sheer terror. I couldn’t believe this could be how it ended. So sudden? So cruel?
The Arrival of Help
My nightmare was interrupted by the arrival of ten firefighters. I hadn’t even heard the sirens of the fire trucks or ambulance. They swiftly took over, lifting my son and cutting away his favorite green pajamas, working tirelessly to save him. I felt utterly powerless, my mind oddly fixated on how they strapped his car seat to the gurney. I didn’t know they did that for kids. Before I knew it, they were wheeling him out of our home and into the ambulance.
In the Ambulance
He was in bad shape, with dangerously low oxygen levels. Right there, in the back of the ambulance, strapped into his Cowmooflage car seat, they intubated him. My husband and I sat on the curb, surrounded by curious onlookers, tears streaming down our faces. Once the procedure was complete, I hopped into the front of the ambulance, and we sped off to Children’s Hospital. Those 15 minutes felt like an eternity. I remember asking the ambulance driver if my son was going to survive. (I can only imagine the difficult conversations those firefighters must have.) He reassured me that he would be okay. And he was.
Recovery and Reflection
After a few days in the ICU and a hefty dose of steroids, he pulled through with no lasting damage.
Describing the feeling of almost losing a child is like trying to catch a rope that’s just out of reach while plummeting from a great height. In that instant, you realize how deeply you love your child and how important they are to your life. You’d do anything to ensure their survival. It transcends the simple relief of them pulling through; it’s more akin to the breath you take after being rescued from drowning. Three years later, as October rolls around, I still find myself emotional. I often replay that harrowing night in my mind. I still keep that green pajama top, cut right down the middle. I can’t bear to look at it, yet I can’t bring myself to part with it. I want my son to have it as a reminder of the miracle of his survival.
Life After Trauma
Even though I didn’t hear them that night, I tense up at the sound of sirens now. I feel a strong urge to hug every firefighter I encounter. The thought that if I hadn’t gone in to check on him, I might have found him lifeless the next morning still sends shivers down my spine. Just this week, my son brought home a school project to create a timeline of his life. We pulled out the photo albums I’ve made for each of my kids, and he began reading them aloud, filled with joy and laughter as he relived his baby and toddler years. Then he reached the part about the night he almost died—a night he has no recollection of. As he read, there was a pause, and tears streamed down his face. He stopped to give me a hug and a kiss. Then, without missing a beat, he turned the page and continued on. That simple act of turning the page was profoundly symbolic for me—he is still here, and his life goes on.
Conclusion
In the journey of parenting, moments like these shape our lives and remind us of the fragility of existence. For more insights into the complexities of family life, check out this excellent resource on pregnancy and home insemination. And if you’re curious about home insemination kits, here’s a reputable source for what you need.
Summary: Emily Harper recounts the terrifying night her son nearly died from croup. The experience left her feeling profoundly helpless yet deeply aware of her love for her child. Now, years later, she reflects on the impact of that night and the miraculous survival of her son, emphasizing the fragility of life and the importance of cherishing every moment.