Our Story — “Mom, I feel great! Let’s go to the ranch!” First words that Colter spoke on Sunday, March 6, 2022. The day before, Colter was sick vomiting and ran a fever that night, but it broke by bedtime. I figured he’d had the same bug or virus Jason had the week before. He was so excited to go to his Uncle Jared’s ranch for a couple of days of relaxing and fishing. Just wanted to lay low and not take a big trip this year for Spring Break. We packed up and took the dogs with us. I think they were more excited about bringing the dogs than anything. Once we got to Brownwood, we unpacked and went to ride around and feed the fish. He felt great and the kids were having the best time. A couple hours later we were sitting by the fire after the cool front blew in and the kids came back. Colter walked up to the house holding his head saying it hurt. I walked him inside and he started stumbling and swaying. By the time I got Motrin and told him he could lay down, he fell face down on the floor. I rolled him over… no movement. We quickly called 911 and the Brownwood EMS arrived within 7 minutes or so. The rest seems like an absolute blur. At Brownwood Regional they immediately took him back for a CT. We waited anxiously in the waiting room and in 5 min they called us back. When I came back I saw him posturing where the muscles tense up. Different from seizing. I think I figured they’d tell us he had a seizure, but quickly saw the look in that doctor’s eyes. Her words changed our lives forever. “Your son has a massive brain bleed, we have to get him out of here right away.” We were numb. It’s true what they say, you never really think it will happen to you. Tragedy. We were frozen. Frozen in time. How could my healthy, active 8 year old boy be in this situation? They then said there were no care flights available due to the weather. It was cold and windy after the cold front. So we would take an ambulance to Cooks FW. Two minutes later a random nurse hugged my neck. No words to describe the feeling. Complete and utter shock. The pediatrician standing nearby (all I can remember were his boots) told me they were going to intubate him and give him meds to keep his brain from swelling. Then they told us McLane’s had a neurosurgery team ready to go, so the ambulance would now go there. Seems like they said it was closer too? The air evac team would ride in the ambulance to monitor him. Jason and I would drive my car to McLane’s. Our sweet EMT, Mallory, tried to comfort me before what would be the longest two-hour drive of my life. Fear and pure shock took hold and we prayed and prayed and prayed. By the time we got to McLane’s the whole family was there. We beat the ambulance. When the ambulance finally arrived, the nurse called us back to the trauma room where it felt like we were in a bad dream. There had to have been 20 people in the trauma room buzzing about, beeping everywhere. The neurosurgery resident came over and said “your son has a hydrocephalus, I need to drill a hole in his skull to relieve the pressure or he will not survive. Do you want me to do the procedure?” Frankly what other choice did we have, but I did wonder where the attending neurosurgeon was. I grabbed her hands, looked her straight in the eyes and said “I have faith in you.” We then went through a checklist of everything that could go wrong. The waiting game began. I reverted to a child-like state and had a full on panic attack. We waited, staring at the doors to open with either a miracle or the worst news of our life. When they finally came, the resident called us into a room. She said the surgery was complete, but his ICP (brain pressure) was 50. Normal for a child is under 20. I’ve learned over the years that neurosurgeons are straight shooters, they don’t sugar coat it. I said “dare I ask prognosis” and she repeated that 50 is dangerously high. We thanked her and she left. Jason and I sat there for about 10 minutes in that room just hugging and crying together. That was a very private moment, but I thank God for my husband, my rock. I could barely walk back to the waiting room. When I got there I fell to the chair and begged God to save my baby. Our whole family fell to our knees and held hands praying for a miracle. Thank you Lord for my big brother, our rock, who took over praying. I don’t remember much after that. Complete anxiety attack. My hands seized up as they walked us upstairs to his room. By the time we got up to his PICU room his pressures had dropped to 20. That was the second miracle God gave us that night. Think there is a character limit here in stories so I'm forced to stop there. Thanks for loving Colter and lifting him in daily prayer.
Beautifully written. My words aren’t perfect, but goodness this just brings me to overwhelming tears. We are still in awe at the outpouring of support from community. You keep us standing friends. 🙏🏻
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