It may be too soon to tell this story, since it just happened last night, and I am weary from fatigue and lack of sleep. But P is asleep upstairs, and B is awake, so I can't go to sleep just yet. So I'll write it all out, before the vividness of it fades.
We planned a weekend camping trip. We got a late start yesterday afternoon. Getting everything together for us and two kids (my step-daughter K went with us) took more time and more work, and we had a couple of stops to make on our way out of town. Plus the three and a half hour drive. So we didn't get to the campground until 10:30 p.m., which we didn't mind. Got the tents set up, bedding all put together, lantern blazing. The rest could wait for morning. We were excited we were there. We would wake up in the forest. K was especially excited. She's nine years old.
We have two tents. One larger one, and one smaller one. In the larger one, we had set up an airbed with two big sleeping bags zipped together (forming a king size comforter type thing), and we slipped inside of it two down comforters, one for the top, and one for the bottom. It was the coziest bed imaginable. This bed was for me, K, and B. The girls. P slept in the little tent with his Thermarest and sleeping bag - his ideal bedding arrangement. Everyone was happy.
We went to bed at about 12:30. After only about half an hour, I heard moaning from K, like she was having a bad dream. The moaning intensified, and included gasping sounds. I bolted upright, grabbed the flashlight, and when I shone it on her, she was foaming at the mouth, her eyes fixed opened, and it sounded like she was gasping for air. At first, I thought she was sick - vomiting, or about to vomit. I lifted her up and bent her over the edge of the bed, but no vomiting. Then the jerking and twitching began, and I laid her back down.
I screamed for P, and he was there in an instant, as he had heard me asking her over and over what was wrong, in an ever intensifying tone of voice and volume. P tried to revive her, shouting her name over and over, shaking her gently. The violent movements of her body stopped gradually, and then she was still, except for the gasping breath, open unblinking eyes, clenched jaw. I kneeled over her with my flashlight, as P frantically worked to revive his daughter, both of us shouting oh no, K. Oh, no, K. Oh, God. Oh, God. For you see, after the jerking movements stopped, she laid there lifeless, eyes fixed open, body limp, it sounded like she was choking. We thought she was choking. I thought she was dying - or dead. She looked dead. I have never felt such fear before.
P stuck his index finger in her mouth to clear what he thought was a clogged airway. She bit down on his finger so hard, it broke skin and left marks and bruises. I had to help him pry her mouth open to get his finger out. He attempted to give her mouth-to-mouth. A few breaths. She was completely unresponsive.
P said go. Go get help. Whatever you have to do. We need help now.
We were in a campground in the middle of the North Cascades National Forest.
I ran from the tent. All I could do was scream help. Help. Help please. We need a doctor. Anybody. Please. Help. We have a medical emergency. Help us please.
You know, in dreams I can never scream when I need help. I try, but my voice won't come. I've always feared that would happen for real, that I wouldn't have my voice to yell for help when I really needed it. But it's not the way it happened. When I needed it, my voice was louder, clearer, and more emotionally resonant than it has ever been before.
My voice, intensified by panic and fear, broke the silence in the campground for miles, I'm sure.
Within seconds people were there. Other campers, emerging from the darkness with their flashlights, running toward us. The first to arrive was a woman. I asked if she was a doctor. She said no, but she had just completed some kind of emergency medical training course. I asked her if she knew CPR. She said yes. We ran to the tent.
We were no sooner to the tent than another man arrived. A navy man, a trained EMT visiting the Northwest all the way from Florida. He took control. He and the woman worked on K, taking her pulse, listening to see if she was breathing. They knew what was happening. They knew what P and I didn't know. She wasn't choking. She wasn't dying. She was having a seizure. A grand-mal seizure. Send for an ambulance, one of them shouted.
About 5 minutes later we heard the alarm sounding in the little town down the road. The general alarm for the whole area. The one that can be heard for miles and miles. We knew it was for us.
I stood outside the tent holding B. Crying. Shaking beyond belief. Not knowing how or why this was happening. I could hear P inside crying, calling her name over and over. Please wake up, K. Please wake up. Why won't she wake up?
For about 15 minutes, and after several more people showed up to offer help, our two new best friends gently brought K out of her haze. Disoriented, confused, and unable to move much, she at least opened her eyes again, as P held her while we waited for the ambulance, which took longer because of our location.
The paramedics asked if I would be riding in the ambulance or following behind in the car. I said P would ride in the ambulance and I would bring B with me. The woman, seeing how unfit I was to drive at that moment, offered to drive us. 1.5 hours back down the mountain to the nearest hospital (Mt. Vernon) equipped to deal with this kind of thing. She would have a friend follow behind to bring her back. The man told us to just go. Go, don't worry about any of your stuff, I'll take care of everything. Talk to the ranger, make sure nobody comes in your camp. If you want, I'll pack up your gear to make it easier for you when you come back up. Park your boat in our spot. We'll pay for your campsite. No, you cannot pay me back.
Angels. All of them.
I'll have to write the rest later. I didn't realize how writing this would make me feel. Maybe it's too soon. But I'm really really tired all of a sudden.
0 Comment(s)
