My Maya Star: The day I’ll never forget
By: Jeff Mores
Tags: Emergency, Parenthood, Seizures, Journal, Daughters

The following is an excerpt from my personal journal, written about the events of Feb. 15, 2006, and the days that followed. It was just over a week after our daughter Maya’s first birthday. Tammy and I had no idea what was about to happen — and it was certainly the most terrifying thing we’ve ever experienced. But it’s why we’re beyond joyful — and forever grateful — to know that our Maya Star will be turning 15 years old in just a few short days — happy, healthy and with a world of opportunity ahead of her.

I had no idea how quickly life would change — at least temporarily — or how big of a scare Tammy and I would receive just a few short hours after I finished typing the previous entry in this journal.

I’d written about Maya while she was taking a long afternoon nap. Earlier that morning, I’d taken her to the doctor to get an ear infection checked out and to get some meds for it. Maya was still sleeping when Tammy got home from a half day at work — and I let her know she’d been sleeping soundly for 2–1/2 hours. I’d checked on Maya several times — and even stood in the nursery doorway, watching her sweet little body. Her soft breaths are so adorable.

So Tammy got home and I threw my jacket on to go to the newspaper to work for a few hours and get things ready for production. I arrived around 4 p.m. and was figuring out what stories had been completed when my co-worker Nathan, who’d just answered the phone, turned to me with a concerned look on his face. At the same moment, my cell phone rang and I saw Tammy’s number on my caller ID. Before I could even answer, he told me Tammy was on the office line and said it was an ABSOLUTE EMERGENCY.

The sickest feeling I’ve ever had came over my body. Someone was calling from our house from two separate phones at the same time. And it was an emergency. I knew instantly that something had happened to Maya, and my cell phone fell to the floor as I grabbed the phone Nathan was holding. I stood paralyzed as I heard the words, “Get home right now! Maya is having a seizure! The ambulance is coming and the emergency crew is here with oxygen.”

Everything else fell from my hands as I sprinted out of the office and to my car. I sped down the street, panicked and with my heart racing out of control. I could count the beats clearly as I drove as fast as I could. Tears were falling from my eyes and I became horrified when I realized my cell phone was still on the office floor. Even at the reckless speed I was driving, it would be 15 minutes before I got home — and I had no way of contacting anyone to find out if the seizure had stopped. Or if Maya was awake. Or if any number of horrible things had happened.

I can remember open farm fields flying by on either side of my car, as I kept the pedal to the floor. I glanced down at my console, where I kept a photo of Maya. I burst into a complete breakdown at that point. I could hardly see where I was going, but I could see Maya’s smiling face on the photo. A feeling of horror came over me as I wondered if I’d ever see her smile again.

When I turned onto our street, there were flashing lights everywhere. I could see the county sheriff’s car parked in front of the house, and there was an emergency vehicle and an ambulance in the driveway. The ambulance started to pull out and the sirens began to roar, just as I threw my car into park. As I ran to it, I saw Tammy in tears inside and my sweet little baby still seizing as two paramedics worked frantically.

I don’t remember how, but I found myself sitting in the front passenger seat of the ambulance. I could see the road disappearing beneath us and could hear the sirens howling as traffic pulled to the side of the road. It seemed like it was taking forever to get to the hospital and I could see the paramedics continuing to work the entire way. The only clear view I got of Maya, I could tell her pupils had rolled back, leaving only the whites of her eyes visible. Tears were rolling down my face and I kept repeating, “Please don’t take my baby away! Please make it stop!”

Ten minutes later, we were standing in the halls of the emergency room in New Prague, MN and doctors had taken Maya’s clothes off and drawn a curtain to the room she was in. They had her on a bed and were pulling chords and wires and other equipment in every direction. I could see the panic on the faces of the doctors and crew. The seizure was closing in on 50 minutes and had not yet stopped.

We had no view into the room, but we could hear sounds. And it was terrifying. Was she going to make it? Had she lost oxygen at any point? It has been going on for too long — oh, God, I hope she hasn’t lost oxygen! Was there brain damage? I want to hug my little girl. I’d told Maya so many times I’d never let anything happen to her … but Tammy and I were absolutely helpless, lost and probably a bit hysterical.

There was a small sense of relief when the doctors emerged from the room to tell us they were finally able to stop the seizure and Maya was stabilized. But she’d been put under sedation. The curtain opened and Maya was hooked up to more machinery and tubes than I’d ever seen. And the next thing we heard was that she was going to be airlifted by helicopter to Children’s Hospital in Minneapolis.

As I sit here typing this horrifying journal entry, I keep finding myself pausing to listen down the hallway. Right now, Maya is taking a nap. The last time I typed a journal entry like this, she was taking the nap that turned into a seizure. It has been a month since the seizure and I’m still extremely nervous any time Maya is out of my sight — and especially when she takes a nap.

But, back to the events of February 15.

The doctors told Tammy and I they were going to check Maya’s spinal fluid for meningitis, but that was quickly ruled out. After what seemed like an eternity, I heard the echo of a helicopter landing outside. Tammy was able to ride with Maya and the medical crew on the chopper, but there was no room for me. A neighbor drove me back to our house, where I hopped into my car and sped north toward Minneapolis, wondering when the hell I was going to know what was happening.

We knew we were in good hands at Children’s Hospital, as we had an incredible cast of nurses, doctors, neurological professionals and more surrounding Maya. We remained in the hospital for about a week and a half, the first six days of which Maya was in the intensive care unit. Most of that time, she was under sedation, so we only got to see her try to open her eyes or move a few times. She’d been on breathing and feeding tubes and a number of other mechanisms tracking her vitals on a monitor overhead. There was a morphine drip and other medications flowing through her. And there was a stent sewn to her neck so doctors could inject fluids and whatever else was needed.

For the first couple of days, Tammy and I almost never left her Maya’s bedside, and there was a nurse assigned to her room around the clock. The doctors thought Maya had made enough progress that they could attempt to remove her breathing tube on the third day. But it was obvious from the start she was struggling to get air. Her throat was so swollen from the tubes that had been stuck down her. Respiratory professionals were pumping air into her with an airbag and feeding her meds through a vapor tube at the opening of her mouth. She even came out of her sedation for a brief moment and cracked a smile when she saw a balloon in the corner of the hospital room. She loves balloons. But the happiness was short lived, as nurses were soon placing an oxygen mask over her face again.

We’d gotten to put our arms around her for a moment, but we all knew Maya was not doing well. Maya’s throat was so swollen, doctors had to scramble to get the next size smaller tubes into the room to re-insert to stabilize her breathing. We could hear buzzers sounding on the vitals monitor and there was a panic in the room. I moved to the side and buried my face in my hands as the tears began to pour once again. I remember peeking through my hands a few times, as Maya lay there motionless until the buzzers eventually faded away and she stabilized. I knew then we had a long road ahead.

As the days continued to pass, the support we received from the staff was amazing. And stuffed animals kept on showing up for Maya. Before we knew it, balloons filled the room. Phone calls were streaming in. Our emails were loaded. Our phones were constantly ringing, with people wanting to know how she was doing. Knowing so many people were pulling for our little Maya made all the difference in the world. And when she finally did come out of the sedation, our hearts melted as she smiled at all the balloons and stuffed animals around her. But it was some time before that moment finally arrived.

When the breathing tubes were finally removed, there were a couple of days of coughing up the mass of fluid that had collected in her lungs. Brain scans and other tests indicated it was unlikely Maya had suffered any brain damage. But we were warned she would be a bit sluggish for a few days before her energy started to return. They also told us parts of Maya’s brain may be slow to kick back into gear, as is typical with patients in her condition. And it was every bit like they warned us … and then some.

The first day, Maya was barely able to hold herself in a sitting position. The second day, she managed to do that on her own, but had lots of trouble holding her head straight. For the two days to follow, the second of which she was finally removed from intensive care, it was as if Maya was in severe withdrawl from the drugs she had been pumped full of while under sedation. Every time there was a sound in the room, she jerked her head in complete panic. Her head went from side to side, as if she was hallucinating or terrified that something was going to hurt her. And the more I think about it, the more I bet she was also confused about where she was, what had happened and when things were going to return to normal.

A few days outside of the intensive care unit, Tammy and I were absolutely certain the best medicine from this point forward was going to be getting Maya home. As soon as that day finally arrived, she immediately began laughing uncontrollably when she saw our dog and two cats. I’ll never forget that moment, because I knew then that everything was going to eventually be ok.

It was eventually determined that Maya had suffered a febrile seizure, caused by her body temp rising too quickly, likely due to her ear infection. We’ve never heard a solid explanation for why the seizure didn’t stop when paramedics injected her, but none of that matters now. It was a long, long road to recovery, but every day was a small step in the right direction. Our little girl somehow made it through a 50-minute seizure and was expected to make a full recovery. And seeing a smile on her face is something we’ll never, ever take for granted.