Sawyer’s Story (part 8): The Ambulance

January 26, 2011 at 6:50 pm | Posted in Death, emergency room, Grief | 13 Comments
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I felt like I was moving in slow motion as the ambulance drove the 3 miles to children’s hospital.  I kept trying see what was happening to Sawyer.  I could not see very much because there were so many paramedics in the back.  I asked the driver many times if my baby was ok.  Every time I asked he would respond, “I really can’t say ma’am.  Just calm down.”  Inside I was screaming.  How could I possibly calm down?  And, who was this “ma’am?”

It did not help matters that the ambulance driver went down the road with the bridge that was out.  The bridge had been out for months because of all the rain we had in the fall of 2009.  I thought that maybe the ambulance driver knew something I did not and emergency vehicles could go over the bridge.  I was wrong.  The bridge was out for all vehicles including Sawyer’s ambulance.  The driver turned around at the bridge.  He then asked me for directions to the hospital.

We finally arrived at the children’s hospital emergency room.  I had been there twice before.  One time for each of the twins.  Those times we went in through the regular entrance.  Each time the twin was fine and we all left through the same entrance.

Sawyer was rushed into the ER through the ambulance entrance.  I ran down the hall following Sawyer.  He was whisked into a room.  The door closed.  I was not allowed in.  I just stood in the hallway and cried.

I tried my best to rationalize what I had seen in the back of the ambulance.  I had seen Sawyer’s EKG.  It was a flat line.

“Do not judge the bereaved mother.
She comes in many forms.
She is breathing, but she is dying.
She may look young, but inside she has become ancient.

She smiles, but her heart sobs.

She walks, she talks, she cooks, she cleans, she works, she IS,
but she IS NOT, all at once.

She is here, but part of her is elsewhere for eternity.”
                                                                                                         –Author Unknown


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  1. Sending lots of love. xo xo

  2. It’s so hard to imagine the trauma of that night. Sending you love and prayers.

  3. Lanie,
    I am going to lift the poem to include all bereaved persons. Oh how we weep inside and look like we are breathing. Silly people around us; they have no idea. I hope that you are finding solace in the telling of Sawyer’s story. I keep you in my thoughts and prayers everyday.


  4. My heart goes out to you as you relive this painful time.

  5. I find myself holding my breath when I read each blog. It’s almost like it can’t possibly be real, and that maybe the ending will be different than what I know really happened. I think about you and your family often. Sending hugs. And I absolutely love that poem. I am going to share it with some others who may find it so true about themselves.

  6. That’s a touching and tragic poem, but it certainly seems to feel so appropriate. Sending love and prayers your way.

  7. She is here, but part of her is elsewhere for eternity – what a powerful statement. Thinking of you . .

  8. I try to imagine what that must have been like…. To being awoken with this and then suddenly a door closing and your child is not with you… It is tragic and a bit like a movie. A movie that I wish I could change the ending…

  9. Lanie, I wish I could make this all go away. It’s just not fair. It’s not enough that our children die, but that we have to experience it in such a traumatic way. As best as I can, I understand what you went through… and my heart goes out to you. You’re always in my thoughts and prayers. Love to you…

  10. You are incredibly brave. I’m so sorry for the tragic losses you have suffered and I pray that someday we understand why such awful things happen. I hope the telling of it all gives you some comfort.

  11. Your heartbreaking stories are very eloquent and beautifully written. As a writer, you have a very powerful voice. Reliving the agony may not make the recollections any less painful, but clearly the writing has awakened something in you that is truly beautiful.


  12. I have no idea who you are, or really, how I even stumbled across this blog. I just wanted to tell you that I’m praying for you. I wish I could offer some words of comfort, or maybe something insightful that you’ve never heard before. But I can’t. I can only offer my prayers. I hope you sleep peacefully tonight knowing that your boy is safe in Heaven and there are people out there that are thinking about you.

  13. […] out the thoughts of standing in this hospital hall staring at the closed door to the room where Sawyer was […]

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