Dead on Arrival - Resurrected by Grace

My Story: Part 2

Eventually, they sent in a chaplain. Since I was getting a degree in Christian Ministry, I had great respect for chaplains and was looking forward to sparking an interesting conversation with someone who works in ministry; I was to be greatly disappointed because I could not for the life of me put this man at ease and draw him into any kind of productive conversation. He refused to talk or even be congenial and just ended up making everyone uncomfortable. At one point he said, and no I am NOT making this up or taking poetic license, I, and the people that were there with me remember this part vividly and accurately.

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON BUT IT MUST BE PRETTY BAD BECAUSE THEY DON'T USUALLY CALL ME IN UNLESS IT'S BAD"

I remember turning to Jason and Matt, wide-eyed, saying "Did he really just say that?!" I don't think I said it loudly enough for the chaplain to hear me. I was just so incredulous that I wanted to verify I hadn't misheard him. Whether he heard me or not, I'm sure he heard the laughter that followed my comment and that seemed to disconcert him enough he finally excused himself and relieved everybody of his awkwardness. I remember thinking, it's a good thing my mom is a believer because I don't know that we could rely too heavily on this fellow. For the record, I have great respect for the chaplaincy and have met many fine men and women who serve diligently. However, this man is not one of them. I hope he eventually found a calling more suited to his personality. I will say this for the man; he offered to get us drinks and snacks which we happily accepted. That was kind and appreciated.

We continued to wait in the special waiting room. They finally got my mom stabilized and asked if I wanted to see her. No. Are you sure? Yep. I was then met with persistent pleas of "Oh yes you do. She does. Yes, she will see her. Ashleigh, you have to see your mom. Go. Now." My in-laws, who are some of my favorite people, didn't understand me then as well as they do now. They didn't understand that the unconscious, blue body that was wheeled past me over an hour ago was NOT my mother. Going to talk to it would accomplish nothing and I was perfectly happy waiting until my mom was awake. Against my better judgment and so as not to appear psychotic, I relented and followed the ER doctor to the exam room. It was awful and I stand by my original decision. It wasn't my mom. I felt nothing. The only good thing that came of it was that, while I stood there, she began having a seizure and I was able to alert the medical staff. That wasn't the first seizure she had had since arriving and, although I didn't know it at the time, it wouldn't be her last.

At that point, I was free to escape back to the safety of the waiting room and stand by to hear from the specialists. We talked to a heart doctor who, after performing a heart cath, said her arteries were clean and she didn't appear to have any cardiac issues. Then they sent in the head of neurology Dr. A.

Based on my first impression, I could tell Dr. A was a successful and highly intelligent person but his appearance kind of gets in his way. Dr. A is, how can I put this?....adorable. He's short and slim, with the boyish face and belies his true age. However, after making a dozen Dougie Houser jokes in my head which I only barely kept from escaping out through my mouth by the tip of my tongue I began to listen to what he was saying. It didn't take me long to realize that Dr. A is brilliant. He had finished assessing my mom and found the following: no pain reaction, pupils were not reactive, and there didn't seem to be any visible brain activity. Conclusion: brain dead. My mother was, for all intents and purposes, brain dead. 

It had taken the ER doctors forty-five minutes just to get her heart beating on its own after using the defibrillator several times and administering manual CPR. She was not breathing on her own and was hooked up to a ventilator. She was also experiencing brain seizures which were difficult to control. They were still searching for an explanation as far as the origin of the issue and Dr. A was currently at odds with the cardiac specialist. He explained that it was a chicken or the egg kind of situation: did the heart cause the brain to seize or did the brain seize and cause the heart to stop? I have my own opinions about this but we'll discuss it later. He explained that at this time we had two options: 1) We could try the "wait and see" method – but the chances of her waking up without serious brain damage were slim to none. 2) We could try Therapeutic Hypothermia. Dr. A proudly told us that he had invented a specific method for implementing this type of therapy and he believed my mother was a perfect candidate. Essentially, she would be put on ice for 24-48 hours then slowly warmed back up and we would reassess at that time. He had created a specific protocol that had proved more successful than the "wait and see" method in the past and was eager to try it now. 

Here are the options as I heard them: 1) Give up 2) Keep trying. It wasn't hard to choose because there wasn't a whole lot to be lost; I mean, she was brain dead after all; why not go all in? We were clear on one thing however, the situation was dire and the cavalry needed to be called. I told Kelby to book a flight and come as soon as possible. We made our way to the CCU where they would begin to administer Therapeutic Hypothermia.