In retelling this part of Theodore’s story, I must warn that it may be difficult to read.
About 6 hours after arriving at the ER in Timmins, we were air lifted to McMaster Children’s Hospital. Theodore and I flew down together and Mark was lucky enough to catch a commercial flight that would land him in Hamilton only a few hours after our arrival.
My sister and her husband met us there and our parents and siblings arrived within the next few hours. I was asked to wait in the family waiting room until the team at Mac had Theo transferred and stabilized. An hour after we arrived, one of the nurses, with a sense of panic, rushed to get me.
She guided me to Theo’s room and I pray that what happened next would one day fade from my memory.
My view of Theo was obstructed by a group of doctors and nurses surrounding his bed. At the foot of his bed stood the pediatrician directing orders to his team like a captain instructing his officers. From the bed came the counting of chest compressions. Pulse check, demanded the pediatrician. Time, demanded the pediatrician. Epinephrine, demanded the pediatrician. And, repeat.
I collapsed in the doorway and couldn’t will myself to move. My sister, I screamed. Get my sister. The next thing I knew, she was by my side and a nurse was guiding us to a couch at the back of the room. I stared in shock while she held me tight, shaking and praying, Lord keep Theo alive. Time stopped.
We’ve got a pulse, said a voice from the crowd. I finally took a breath.
My son had just survived two cardiac arrests in one day. He had defied death again and with our little warrior’s unfathomable strength and will, it wouldn’t be the last time.