On Tuesday morning, Brooks and Casey showed up and I was exhausted. Casey handed me a coffee and a breakfast sandwich and took me for a walk. Before we left, we had talked to the doctor. The news wasn’t great, Wyatt had AML, not ALL. ALL is the “better” form. As in more treatable, more curable. AML isn’t so good, but the doctor assured us that we could develop a treatment plan. We were confident that we were going to beat this.
I talked to the doctor about the night before and he said that he could change Wyatt’s medication to control his pain better. I felt relieved leaving to go get some fresh air. Wyatt was in good hands with Brooks and we were on our way to curing this.
On the way back into the hospital, I called my mom to let her know what was happening.
We got back to Wyatt’s room where Brooks and I took turns holding his hand and talking to him. They needed to do another chest X-ray. I took one look at the X-ray and my heart sank. His entire right lung was collapsed again. He was filling with fluid.
The next thing I remember is holding Wyatt’s hand. Suddenly he was wheezing badly and wasn’t really responding to me. The nurse was worried about his oxygen. The doctor was looking at the X-ray… this was not good.
What I remember is a frenzy. Nurses, doctors. Brooks talking to the doctor. “We need to intubate him.” What? What is happening?
Before I knew it, the doctor was getting ready to intubate Wyatt. I was holding Wyatt’s hand and trying to reassure him. I don’t know if he could hear me. The alarm on the oxygen sensor was screaming that he wasn’t getting enough oxygen.
The doctor said that I could stay, but said that, “No parent should have to see their child be intubated.” I believed him. As Wyatt was pulled up to the top of the bed, his eyes flew open and they met mine. That would be the last time I would see his eyes.
I held his hand until the very last second and then kissed him and told him the doctor was going to take care of him. I told him that I would be right here.
I stepped outside of the room.
Doctors, nurses scurrying around and trying to help him. Then it happened. His heart stopped. That damn alarm went off. The blue light above his room flashed and the alarm called all of the critical care staff. My baby’s heart had stopped.
Nothing prepares you for that. How could his heart have stopped? I was just holding his hand. I had just looked into his eyes.
The next two hours were hell. His heart would stop two more times. That third time, it never started again.
There is so much more that happened, so much more hell, so much more emotion. But I’m just not ready to share some of those pieces. Some of it is still just too raw.
Losing Wyatt was horrific.