Infant CPR

Divine intervention brought my child back to life. Of this, I have no doubt.

Readability

Divine intervention brought my child back to life. Of this, I have no doubt.

This morn­ing, Dr Starnes at Chil­drens’ Hos­pi­tal of Los Ange­les walked into the wait­ing room and told me that the repair done to my 2-​month-​old son’s heart was a suc­cess. He said he should be in great shape for years to come. I’ve doc­u­mented my feel­ings about the med­ical sys­tem that has helped my son mul­ti­ple times in his short life. They deserve bless­ings and have my com­plete gratitude.

The events that led to the oper­a­tion this morn­ing were a bit less mun­dane than a suc­cess­ful oper­a­tion. You see, Jacob was life­less on Sunday.

I was down­stairs work­ing in my office when my youngest daugh­ter ran in and said that my wife needed me. I rushed upstairs to find her fran­ti­cally try­ing to get Jacob to breath. He had just had a bath and was just get­ting dressed when she noticed he not only stopped cry­ing but also stopped breath­ing. By the time I got upstairs, he was start­ing to turn purple.

We rushed down­stairs. My old­est daugh­ter called for an ambu­lance. It wasn’t going to be fast enough. I ran for the car fol­lowed by my wife. She drove as if she’d had EMT dri­ver train­ing, honk­ing her way through inter­sec­tions while being care­ful enough to keep us from get­ting into a col­li­sion. Mean­while, I was with Jacob in the back seat. I checked his breath — noth­ing. I checked for a pulse — noth­ing. I reached into his throat and felt no obstruc­tions. His body just stopped.

When I was 16-​years-​old, my nurse prac­ti­tioner mother made me take a sum­mer job work­ing at a nurs­ing home. She wanted me to appre­ci­ate life and see what it was like at twi­light. I learned many valu­able lessons as a CNA at two nurs­ing homes in Okla­homa City. One les­son I had never had to apply was CPR. I remem­ber vividly doing chest com­pres­sions on plas­tic fig­ures, includ­ing sev­eral hours learn­ing how to do it dif­fer­ently on infants. 27-​years later, that train­ing came into play.

For four min­utes in the back of the vehi­cle, lit­tle Jacob was life­less. His body was limp. His eyes showed no recog­ni­tion, no move­ment. No life. Blow, count, blow, count, chest com­pres­sion, count, chest com­pres­sion, count. After the third round of CPR, the most beau­ti­ful sound I’d ever heard come painfully through his lips. It was sub­tle, so quiet I wasn’t sure at first if it was just a result of me press­ing on his stom­ach. He let out a slight whim­per. Then another. Then another.

We got to the emer­gency room. They were wait­ing for us. My daugh­ter had can­celed the ambu­lance and told them to expect a man with no pants, shoes, or socks run­ning in with her baby brother. They acted quickly and admirably. Within ten min­utes the whim­pers were replaced by full-​throated cries. We answered sev­eral ques­tions, got his old doc­tors con­nected with his ER doc­tors, and after about half-​an-​hour they got me to put on some hos­pi­tal socks and thin hos­pi­tal cloth pants.

We’re now at our third hos­pi­tal in five days. Along the way, the CPR story has made its rounds. That really isn’t the story, though. I know. I was there.

Noth­ing in my hands or breath brought my son back to from the brink. In God’s plan, Jacob had more to do. How he reached down and made Jacob breath and made his heart beat again is beyond me. It could have been the jolt of a mem­ory to cover his nose and mouth with mine rather than just the mouth as is done with adult CPR. It could have been a dri­ver in a hurry who had a feel­ing he needed to slow down before enter­ing an inter­sec­tion that my wife was cross­ing. It could have been God pro­tect­ing Jacob’s body from harm I could have brought to him by push­ing too hard dur­ing compressions.

I don’t know what brought my son back to life. All I know is that it was the will of God. I am hum­bled and grate­ful for this bless­ing that I do not deserve.

This morning, Dr Starnes at Childrens’ Hospital of Los Angeles walked into the waiting room and told me that the repair done to my 2-month-old son’s heart was a success. He said he should be in great shape for years to come. I’ve documented my feelings about the medical system that has helped my son multiple times in his short life. They deserve blessings and have my complete gratitude.

The events that led to the operation this morning were a bit less mundane than a successful operation. You see, Jacob was lifeless on Sunday.

I was downstairs working in my office when my youngest daughter ran in and said that my wife needed me. I rushed upstairs to find her frantically trying to get Jacob to breath. He had just had a bath and was just getting dressed when she noticed he not only stopped crying but also stopped breathing. By the time I got upstairs, he was starting to turn purple.

We rushed downstairs. My oldest daughter called for an ambulance. It wasn’t going to be fast enough. I ran for the car followed by my wife. She drove as if she’d had EMT driver training, honking her way through intersections while being careful enough to keep us from getting into a collision. Meanwhile, I was with Jacob in the back seat. I checked his breath – nothing. I checked for a pulse – nothing. I reached into his throat and felt no obstructions. His body just stopped.

When I was 16-years-old, my nurse practitioner mother made me take a summer job working at a nursing home. She wanted me to appreciate life and see what it was like at twilight. I learned many valuable lessons as a CNA at two nursing homes in Oklahoma City. One lesson I had never had to apply was CPR. I remember vividly doing chest compressions on plastic figures, including several hours learning how to do it differently on infants. 27-years later, that training came into play.

For four minutes in the back of the vehicle, little Jacob was lifeless. His body was limp. His eyes showed no recognition, no movement. No life. Blow, count, blow, count, chest compression, count, chest compression, count. After the third round of CPR, the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard come painfully through his lips. It was subtle, so quiet I wasn’t sure at first if it was just a result of me pressing on his stomach. He let out a slight whimper. Then another. Then another.

We got to the emergency room. They were waiting for us. My daughter had canceled the ambulance and told them to expect a man with no pants, shoes, or socks running in with her baby brother. They acted quickly and admirably. Within ten minutes the whimpers were replaced by full-throated cries. We answered several questions, got his old doctors connected with his ER doctors, and after about half-an-hour they got me to put on some hospital socks and thin hospital cloth pants.

We’re now at our third hospital in five days. Along the way, the CPR story has made its rounds. That really isn’t the story, though. I know. I was there.

Nothing in my hands or breath brought my son back to from the brink. In God’s plan, Jacob had more to do. How he reached down and made Jacob breath and made his heart beat again is beyond me. It could have been the jolt of a memory to cover his nose and mouth with mine rather than just the mouth as is done with adult CPR. It could have been a driver in a hurry who had a feeling he needed to slow down before entering an intersection that my wife was crossing. It could have been God protecting Jacob’s body from harm I could have brought to him by pushing too hard during compressions.

I don’t know what brought my son back to life. All I know is that it was the will of God. I am humbled and grateful for this blessing that I do not deserve.