Trauma sucks.
I say this a lot but it bears repeating. Trauma fucking sucks. Sometimes you can see it coming and sometimes it hits you when you least expect it. It hurts every time.
A few nights ago we took Max to the ER. He’s fine now and we are so very grateful for his health and our ability to access quality care. The experience was overall good but it brought up so much and I had very literal flashbacks to the day we learned that Hank had died in my belly.
Tavie had been dealing with a cold and croupy cough. We took her to urgent care, and after 4 days she seemed over the worst of it. That Friday night we settled into bed after fearfully consuming the latest Alien movie. I normally pass out on the couch around nine thirty but had been kept up by sci-fi violence to a whopping 11:45 pm. It was then that I heard the raspy-barking-croupy cough coming from our monitor but this time it was Max.
After two rounds of albuterol and a lot of googling, we decided I should just take him to the ER. I couldn’t distinguish my mama instincts from my anxiety but realized that either way I wasn’t going to be sleeping unless he got some medical attention. I threw on some clothes, stuffed some belongings into our diaper bag, and hopped into the car.
As soon as I started driving I could feel it. Strangled sobs bubbled out as Max babble-croaked in his car seat.
I was scared. I was scared for Max. I was terrified I wouldn’t be taken seriously and something awful would happen. I rehearsed what I would say to the receptionist, the nurses, the doctors, the janitor - whoever it took to recognize we were supposed to be there. Justifiably taking up their time and space.
My mind flashed back to the lazy drive Drew and I took four and a half years prior. That drive was a literal night and day difference with a horrific outcome. We had no sense of urgency when we took the long way to the hospital. We imagined life with a new baby. Our biggest concern was having a premature child and no car seat. I was so naive.
I didn’t take the long way and I couldn’t go to that hospital. Not where Hank died. Not where we said goodbye to Joann my beloved Mother-in-Law. There is too much trauma and too little trust.
So we went to the hospital twice as far and I kept asking Max if he was ok. As long as I could hear some response or even labored breathing I knew we would make it.
“I’m giving him what I couldn’t give you”
The thought entered my mind like a lightning strike and took root with a painful sob. I felt grief, guilt, and the fragility of hope after loss. I was getting Max the care he needed - the care Hank deserved. I would not leave unless I knew he was safe. I wouldn’t make that mistake ever again.
I was overwhelmingly relieved to be ushered into a room soon after checking in with the receptionist. The nurses, staff AND janitor were kind, reassuring, attentive, and sure to remark on Max’s abundant cuteness. Slowly the tension left my shoulders and temples. We were getting what we needed. Max was going to be ok. He was right where he needed to be.
Max was nearly transferred to the nearest Children’s Hospital. The doctor and I had a brief conversation about erring on the side of caution and I informed her that my first child was stillborn. Her brows turned down as she offered sincere condolences.
“I’m telling you because I’m fine with interventions, I would rather be safe than sorry.”
Max finally responded to the second breathing treatment and a steroid. He slept on my chest as I dozed in between chats with our doctor and a pediatrician who was called down from her regular post.

Max continued to improve and Drew met us in the morning to help with discharge and let me go home and sleep. Now our big guy is back to normal and rampaging his stocky little body all over the house.
Reflecting on that night I have a few takeaways.
Trauma never leaves you. And that can be ok.
PTSD symptoms can be debilitating and if this is something you struggle with I strongly encourage you to see a trauma specialist and do the work to relieve those symptoms. That being said, sometimes trauma gonna trauma and there isn’t much we can do except ride the waves and accept our new normal.
If you have lost a child or experienced a similar loss, I am so sorry. You aren’t alone. Nothing makes it better but it does become a lighter burden. ER visits for a toddler are stressful enough. The flashbacks, guilt, grief, and anxiety make these kinds of experiences so much worse. Take a deep breath and give yourself grace. I felt everything coming back in waves throughout the next day. I just continued to allow myself to feel. Sometimes that’s all we can do, but it's the most important thing in the moment. Even as I sit down to write this I feel the tears welling up in my eyes.
We did our best with the information we had at the time. Guilt is a natural feeling after losing a child and it plagues my mind years later. Dear friend. It was not our fault. I’m saying it to you just as much as I say it to myself.
The way we are treated by medical professionals matters. I recognize the burden this places on people doing their jobs but hear me when I say it matters. Before we were discharged the doctor told Drew and I, “We are here for you anytime. If you are trying to decide whether or not to come in the answer is just go to the hospital.” I could see tears in Drew’s eyes. My shoulders relaxed a little more.
On that drive to the ER, in between crying for my dead son, I stressed about being turned away from receiving care. I was so worried I would have to over-emphasize Max’s symptoms because I did not want them to be brushed under the metaphorical rug. I was pleasantly surprised to be validated and treated with so much empathy. If you are a medical professional please consider this perspective. I know you already have a lot on your plate, but your kindness matters more than you know.
Finally, a huge thank you to everyone at San Ramon Regional. I know a kid with croup is a forgettable occurrence in an ER, but receiving excellent care was unforgettable for a very scared mom with PTSD.

Some honorable mentions:
Alien Romulus, thanks for keeping me up late and scaring the shit out of me. It was a great start to a real-life scary event and it allowed us to react quickly when our kid needed attention.
My Bluey sweatpants that I swore would never see the outside of my house. How can tacky $10 sweats be so comfortable and so hideous?
My period for showing up at 4 am when I have no tampons on hand. Thanks for keeping a girl humble I guess?
And as always thanks to my partner. Drew, you make life better. Even the awful parts.
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