Today, I met a friend for a drink. A Friday release, a mother of two who meets a few others on their off weekend. I have been invited a few times but decided to go today. I sat down, deciding I would stay no longer than an hour.
A few minutes later another friend joined, who said a few of her co workers were going to join.
Three more women sat down shortly after, I immediately knew one of them although never having met her before ‘officially’ I had…
When my daughter stopped breathing and turned blue on my living room floor six years ago this week, I gave her CPR and we travelled via ambulance to our local hospital.
This women that joined the table, well all the women worked at this local hospital and as soon as she spoke I knew it was her. It was the nurse who so sweetly spoke to my daughter before she seized up and stopped breathing, before she was intubated for the last time and returned to the Children’s hospital, were she spent the first four weeks of her life, were she had two surgeries, were she would have had four more had she lived.
The night we returned to the hospital, we were finally checked into the pediatric unit, they thought she had the flu…
The next morning, a nurse, a pretty blond French nurse came into the room to see if she could help hook my daughter up to her feeding marching, she had a G-tube that needed to be hooked up to a machine to push the milk/formula into her stomach intestine.
She called her ma petit choux, over and over, in such a sweet and endearing way that I would know that voice forever.
When Lily turned blue and stopped breathing, she seemed scared, I walked away not knowing what to do, not wanting to cry or scream or disturb the doctors that were being summoned to help.
I was scared.
I thought this women talking so sweetly to my child must be a sign that things will be ok.
I was wrong.
Tonight that nurse walked into the restaurant I was at for no reason other than chance. She sat at my table and I recognized her and her voice.
I did not know how to approach the situation but knew it had to be acknowledged.
I said I think you were the nurse who saw my daughter, she smiled and the conversation continued. Later she asked how old my daughter was now, I said she passed. There it was, the look. I said sorry, she said no, she remembered. My daughter was intubated before being transferred to Childrens hospital. She knew.
The odds of meeting this women at random, rare. But the odds of the events in how I knew her even more rare.
The chance of meeting her the same week, six years later, coincidence? I don’t know,
Do I know how to deal with every anniversary, or deathversary as I have come to call them. How to deal with every lost birthday, every missed date that she is not here for.
I have thought of this women many times since that day. I have thought the same phrase mon petit choux since that day, often. I endearingly said it my rainbow Hope who was born 15 months after her sister died.
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