Brady's Angel

The first weekend in November has always been one of my favorite weekends of the year.  A weekend I look forward to, countdown to, and prepare for-my big ladies only shopping trip to Frankenmuth/Birch Run.  This weekend is a family tradition and the start of the holiday season for all the women in my husband's family.  Two years ago, the first weekend in November became this parent's worst nightmare.

On the morning of November 6, 2009, my son Brady choked.  The morning was like so many other mornings in our house.  My daughter Molly was a five year old kindergartner at the time.  She and I were arguing over what she was going to wear that morning.  I was trying to pack her snack, get myself dressed, get her dressed and feed my son.  Brady has always had low muscle tone and it was very severe when he was an infant, but eating seemed to be one of the areas he excelled in.  As parents, we were never told that we should worry about hypotonia (low muscle tone) affecting Brady's ability to chew, move his tongue around and swallow.  Feeding time was one of the times of the day my husband and I relaxed with Brady and could feel like he was progressing "normally."   I was cutting up french toast sticks into quarters and put a few on his tray at a time.  He was enjoying his feeding independence and happily gobbling up each piece.  But then something changed.  I looked up at him and he no longer looked like my little boy.  His face was gray, he was not responding to my prompts for him to drink and he was completely limp.  It took me a few seconds to understand the severity of what was happening in my own kitchen.  It has actually taken me a few years to understand the enormity of what happened that day.  My son was losing consciousness because he could not breath.  No sounds were coming from him. He was leaving me right in front of my own eyes. Somehow, I got Brady out of his high chair, and with my daughter's prompting, I found the strength to dial 911.  Every parent's worst nightmare was happening to me, on an ordinary, sunny Friday morning in November. Everything around me stopped moving and the only thing I could see was my son's lifeless body laying on my living room rug.  I had to focus.  As the 911 operator walked me through CPR, my scared five year old locked herself in her bedroom so she wouldn't have to watch the horrific scene happening in our own front room.  The 911 operator was calm, but I could hear the fear in her voice  as my son was not gaining consciousness's and started to turn a hideous shade of blue.  Within minutes, the Shelby Township Fire Department was pulling into my driveway and pounding on my front door.  The details that followed are still, to this day, cloudy for me.  I couldn't tell you how long it took for the firefighters/paramedics to arrive or how many emergency vehicles were parked in my driveway and in front of my house.  I can't describe to you what my son looked like as they tried desperately to remove those soggy, thick pieces of french toast that had clogged up his floppy airway.  I can't tell you when my daughter finally came out of her room or if I held her and told her it was going to be ok.  I can't tell you how I finally made the call to my husband who was already at work.  My husband, Joe works just five minutes away at the Township municipal buildings, and he could hear the police cars' sirens blarring-he just didn't know they were on the way to his own home.  I can't tell you the details, because, thankfully, most of them never came back to me.  Brady was transported by ambulance to Troy Beaumont, but could not be stabilized, so he and I went by Medivac helicopter to Royal Oak Beaumont.  He was on a vent and my sweet, little guy looked so tiny and vulnerable, but he never lost his will to fight

What I do know, is that my son did wake up.  What I do know, is that a father, with young sons of his own, who lives right around the corner from us, arrived in my living room and saved my little boy's life. What I do know is that the tiniest of decisions can make all the difference in an emergency situation. There are so many split second decisions that were made that fateful morning.  If I had waited a few more seconds to call 911 or if the fire station was a little bit further down Shelby Road or if Medic Tidrow and his team had not moved so swiftly and calmly-if any of those things happened, I can say, without being over-dramatic, that our little boy Brady would not be with us today.  But fate was on our side.  Maybe even it was an angel on Brady's side, watching over him.....

The other day I said to my husband Joe, "I can't believe it has been two years since Brady's accident."  Joe had not remembered that this day was approaching.  He looked at me with both concern and love, and said try not to remember that morning, instead try to focus on all the remarkable things Brady has been able to do because he survived that day.... Just celebrate Brady." 

So that is what I will do with this blog post. 

Today, I am thankful for all the people who were involved in saving our son's life and giving us the priviledge to watch him grow into the amazing toddler and little boy he has become. Our thank yous will never be enough.  I celebrate my extraordinary son, who does things his way, on his own timeline, with that big amazing smile.  I celebrate him every day when I hug him.  I celebrate my brave daughter, who has experienced so much in such a short amount of time, yet never complains, only loves.  I celebrate my husband, who spent almost a year being the only person in our household who could feed Brady because his mother could not and who never complained or made me feel guilty and who loved me even when I was so sad.  I celebrate our entire family who dropped everything at 8:30 am on a Friday and rushed to the hospital to be by Brady's side.  I celebrate my friends and neighbors, who helped me that morning and throughout our ups and downs.  I celebrate happiness, heroism and faith.  Without all of those, scared moms cannot believe that there are Angels watching out for their children.