ZZZPC, Velvet

Note: It's been a while since I started this post. I just came to a point where I felt I wasn't doing it justice. Then I didn't feel I could re-visit it. I still don't feel I did it justice. The emotions of that day were too strong, and my words too weak. However, what happened that day and the love and support shown to us is part of the miracle of the day, so I've done my best . . . originally posted 10/21/13, now re-dating to make posts chronological.

Gary beat the life flight to the hospital. I'd like him to tell what he went through in his words, but I'll improvise for now. A friend of mine called him from the scene and told him Lissy had been hit by a car, and that he should meet the life flight at Primary Children's. Gary usually rides the bus to work, but happened to have driven that day because we'd stayed up so late the night before folding laundry. He drove to the hospital praying all the way that her face hadn't been run over. When he got there, he was given a white sticker to put on with a large ZZZ printed on it, which means he was the parent of a trauma victim, and told to wait for a social worker to come get him. Two social workers took him into a hallway by the trauma bay in the E.R. where they could watch screens that showed the life flight landing. Gary listened to a team of doctors and nurses (he estimated about 12 people) preparing to care for Lissy when she came in. They were preparing for something pretty terrible. The life flight landed, the stretcher came off, and at long last Gary saw Elisabeth's face on the screen. She was looking all around, as if trying to assess her surroundings. Relief. After Lissy's airway, breathing, and circulation were declared stable, Gary was allowed into the trauma bay. As soon as Lissy was aware Gary was nearby, she gripped his finger, and Gary stood by listening to the injuries as they became known.

When I walked into the E.R. I was told to wait for a social worker to escort me to Lissy. One of my best friends was waiting there in the lobby, and said someone had come out and said she'd be okay. That was a tremendous relief, but I was still very anxious to see her. When the social workers arrived, they said Lissy had just been transferred to the ICU, and I followed the familiar path there. I couldn't believe I was at the ICU again - for the same child. When I first walked into the room, my view of Lissy was blocked by medical personnel, who began telling me about all of the positive signs they saw with her. The head trauma doctor said, "Everything we scanned had an injury, but none of it bad enough for immediate surgery." The run-down of the injuries:
-"pretty significant" skull fracture (sutures on occipital part of skull exploded when van went over her)
- a small brain bleed in the occipital area
- a whole lot of bruising to her right lung
- a small pneumothorax (hole in her lung)
- a liver laceration
- vein to her liver messed up
- one definite rib fracture, one suspected
- 2 pelvic fractures and 1 fracture around the tail bone area
- abrasions and bruising all over her back, face, and back of head; various scrapes
In the words of one of the trauma nurse practitioners, "All things considered, she is a very lucky girl."

When I saw her, incredible sadness and guilt washed over me. My baby - I let her get run over by a van. I couldn't pick her up, I couldn't hold her, all I could do was stroke the skin that wasn't covered by medical equipment. The pillow and blankets underneath her were bloody, and at one point a nurse moved her blanket and a chunk of hair fell out. Poor baby wasn't allowed to have any pain medication because they can slow neural and lung function, and since she wasn't doing well in those areas, they couldn't risk it.

Pictures can't really express what it was like to see her that day, but I'm so grateful to my sisters for taking some so we can all see how far she's come.

I didn't know these pictures were being taken, but oh, I love my baby! She looks so big in so many of the pictures, it's interesting to see a picture with a comparison to an adult.

I don't remember things clearly for the next several hours. Doctors were in and out, we asked a lot of questions, and after a while I started to feel okay about how Lissy was doing, considering. Some friends told me I should eat - I didn't really want to, I wasn't hungry. They said I wouldn't be hungry, but I had to eat, anyway, they insisted. Eating actually felt pretty good, and talking to friends outside of the ICU was helpful. While I was eating a sweet college roommate and good friend showed up- when she heard she came right away, stopping to buy Zupas for me. She felt bad I was already eating, but that food helped me through a few meals, and the show of support was unreal. I felt so much love, I didn't know how to repay or thank everyone, but I knew it was keeping me going.

When I arrived back at Lissy's bedside, my sisters Cindy and Kristen were there. Oh, so good to see them! Cindy was flipping through the chart and said, "She's got a lot of pretty bad injuries." Don't know why, but it felt good to see somebody that loves Lissy looking at the chart. After we spent some time with Lissy, we decided to get Kristen some food and our cell phones a charge, and went upstairs to the Ronald McDonald family room. (It's new and I LOOOVE it!) Maybe it was suddenly being in a calm room with a beautiful view that contrasted with the ICU, maybe it was being with my sisters, I don't know, but suddenly I thought of my crushed-up little girl, replayed the accident in my mind, and just couldn't take it. "I should have done something to stop it!" I sobbed. "I let a van run over my baby. I should have stopped the van. I should have thrown myself under the car so it would get me instead of her. I should have protected her. I let a van run over my sweet, innocent baby." My sisters offered words of comfort, but the grief and guilt filled my whole soul as sobs racked my body. It was the first time that day I cried that I knew of, and I lost it. My sister grabbed some kleenex and put her arm around me as I settled into a chair overlooking the valley. The emotions hurt, but it felt cathartic to let them out. After a few moments my mind started to yield to the comfort of my sister's logic, and I was calm again. I did not cry again that day at all.

The rest of the day flows in and out - Lissy was doing well enough to be moved from 1 to 1 care to 1 to 2 care, and so many amazing friends and family members came bringing their love that buoyed us up. Gary's parents were there as soon as they could be there (from St. George), Eric, Holly, Allison, Dallin, Martha, Dereck, Jessica . . . so many family members, fearing for their sweet little Elisabeth, came and saw that although she was broken, she was very much still there. My friend Julie came with stuff for me to take a shower - something that I didn't want to take the time to do at first, but found that the hot water was just the thing to soothe my burdens. She also came with the news that my other kids were hanging in there, and that Noah seemed to know spiritually that Lissy would be okay. Julie had also managed to find both Lissy's stuffed unicorn and favorite stuffed doll Ya-Ya (she named her), and she immediately curled one under each arm.

Dinner with Gary's family temporarily removed us from the situation and calmed me. I couldn't escape the nagging feeling that Gary was/should be mad at me. I was supposed to be protecting his children, and I failed. He nearly lost his daughter. I knew it was silly, but as we walked into dinner, I confided this to Gary, and he blew it off as ridiculous, grabbed my hand, and walked side-by-side with me into the restaurant.

At one point during the day I looked at Lissy's name tag attached to her crib, and saw that it read, "ZZZPC, Velvet." What? Apparently all traumas coming into Primarys via life flight are coded with ZZZ, and PC is for Primary Childrens. The kids are then assigned a trauma name, because they often don't know their names. Lissy's was Velvet. I was highly amused by that, and for the length of our stay, she was listed as Velvet. Made me smile.

At the end of the day, after we gave the last of the well-wishers tight hugs, Gary went home to be with our boys and I found myself curling up on a vinyl bed-thing next to Lissy's crib. Looking at her still brought a sick, sinking feeling to my chest, and I struggled with my inability to take away her pain, but all of the monitors reassured - she was breathing, her heart was beating, and she was resting. I knew I should try to do the same.