Written by: Louise Bond, Executive Contributor
Executive Contributors at Brainz Magazine are handpicked and invited to contribute because of their knowledge and valuable insight within their area of expertise.
On February 16th at 3 am, I can hear a weird sound like a clucking, gasping for air. It sounds as if Alfie is having trouble breathing. As I turn to check, his body is shaking. I pick him up to check he's ok. At first, I give him a little wriggle as not sure what's happening, and it's so dark. I feel like something is wrong, like a convulsion I've seen on TV, and it's not stopping. My heart is racing so fast that I can hardly breathe.
I reach for my phone to call 999 and explain what is happening. The operator stays on the phone while the ambulance comes. It feels like hours, yet they arrive in minutes. As they arrive, Alfie stops convulsing, his eyes so glazed over, trying to be so quiet not to wake my girls and scare them.
We have to go to the hospital. My heart feels like it is going to come out of my chest.
I tiptoe upstairs and wake Elle, gently letting her know I need to go to the hospital to get Alf checked over. Hours later, test after test, we are discharged from the hospital and told to keep checking his temperature as a common side effect after MMR is raised temperature, causing convulsions.
Never happened to my girls? I leave the hospital feeling relieved and annoyed.
Alf picks up and runs around, happy as he's eating his lunch. He drops down on the sofa. Elle screams out, 'mum, what's happening this time? Virtually no convulsing. His eyes wide open, the same clucking sound, only this time it stops. Alf isn't breathing at all. My heart pangs so hard that I want to vomit as I start screaming hysterically, breathe, Alf, please, please, please, breathe. No response. I called 999 and followed their instructions. First Ambulance arrives, and I can see he's panicked. Does he ask if Alf has epilepsy? I say no, and he calls frantically for backup. They come as they try to resuscitate Alfie. He has no output or response. I'm screaming so loud, and Nicole and Masie hold me tight, screaming and crying with fear. Elle stays so calm, holding his head in her hands.
They tell me they will have to get Alf in the ambulance and fit the mask on so it breathes for him. The pace of the ambulance was so fast yet so slow. They keep trying. I'm still in a daze and shaking from head to toe. Please, god, no, not my baby boy, please, please, please no, those words repeatedly played in my mind. Unable to speak, we arrive at a recess where they explain they are trying all they can. 15 minutes felt like 10 hours. I keep looking at the clock to my right-hand side. The ticking sounds so loud yet so slow. I see the look of despair on the doctor's face as his hands cup his face. I then hear a call out for all senior A & E consultants to resuss.
I remember thinking, wow, that's serious poor soul, I hope they're ok. The doors fly open. They fly in, holy shit, it's my Alfie they are working on. What the hell? I vomit so much on the floor. I've asked the ambulance driver to call his dad for me from my phone. No reply. I frantically text Elle and those closest to me to say he would not make it.
My mind has a billion trillion thoughts racing so fast through my mind, images flashing.
I want his home, I don't care what state. It's not fair on him to let him go. He's suffering too much. His sisters and I can't be without him. Please stop I can't cope. I can't be here anymore. If he's not, I can't let him go on his own. I want the noise to stop. Then I looked up always above the bed, and it felt like a ball of light was above, and I stared so hard as if it was Alf, please don't leave us, please, please, please don't leave us. 35 minutes still no response. His dad can't make it to the hospital he can't say goodbye. They then tell me they have tried all they can. For the love of God, I managed to speak. I asked them to give Alf medicine for a 3-year-old, not an 18-month-old as he was huge. They look at me in dismay, we have given him everything, and I say so calm well, if that's it, it won't hurt to try. They do, and Alfie responds. I saw the look of relief on their faces and the nurse said mums know best. 42 minutes no output or response Glasgow coma score of 3. Still by far the scariest, most surreal, and most intense moment of my life.
We then move up to HDU. Alfie wired up to so many machines. It feels like so many hours, and I'm tired and shaky, but I wouldn't leave him.
They let me know I need to prepare myself. Alf may have brain damage or lose the use of his legs, and if he convulses again soon after, likely, his body won't take it. My heart beats slower, but I felt so heartbroken. My poor baby boy is suffering so much. My fear and anxiety have kicked so bad my brain hurts so bad from racing so fast.
Alfie wakes, sits bolt upright, rips the pads off his chest, and asks Mumma bibbic (biscuit). I cry so much little monkey's first thing he wants is food, but at least he has spoken and communicated clearly.
My body starts shaking again in relief and shock, all simultaneously.
We were discharged 7 days later after so many tests. And those tests continued non-stop for a long time after. I now watch his every move on high alert. I don't sleep and check every 2 hours all my children are breathing. Every day feels like groundhog day. I am so grateful he's alive, but why am I so sad still? Emotionally paralyzed in fear.
I had so many traumas. Major life traumas happened that year, one after the other. A member of my team took his own life it made me not want to be here anymore. I felt like a huge failure. I failed my children and now my team member. PTSD and psychosis kicked in so bad. I didn't go out for 2 years, work and home. Heartbroken, and then slowly, I got the help I needed.
The rest of the story I tell in my book.
But if you're reading this to the end and feel you don't know which way to turn. I promise you it's a moment in time, and it doesn't last.
I've mastered techniques to bounce back quickly as I was still running my home and business throughout. It wasn't easy, but your thoughts, beliefs, and values get you through.
Louise Bond, Executive Contributor Brainz Magazine
Louise has a wealth of experience and has a proven track record of manifesting, which she teaches her clients. She helps you create a crystal-clear vision for ultimate success and uncover hidden challenges that may stand in your way. She clears any underlying issues/traumas limiting beliefs holding you back that may sabotage your success. Louise rewires your mindset as the mindset is your most valuable asset, so you thrive in all areas of life, leaving you feeling re-energised and inspired. Louise' brand archetype is The Magian! Magian brands are transformative and seem to make magic happen. They often display traits that have a spiritual or psychological element. They want to expand our collective consciousness. The brands are compelling, charismatic. Magicians are highly skilled at turning problems into opportunities, reframing difficulties, empowering people, teams, and networks, creating a win/ win solution for all involved in a situation. They make nothing into something or turn a mess into a miracle.
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