I have started this sentence over and over again, not sure where to start. I know that I feel like writing and getting this out. I don't know what I want others to read or know. More importantly, I don't want anyone else to be traumatized by what I have lived through.I think that's why I haven't talked about it much, at least until I met with professionals who have helped. Still, I feel I need to write even if no one reads it.
It's still very hard but the raw, open wound feeling is decreasing and I find I am able to breathe better with each passing day. Of course, therapy is multiple forms is helping, too. Two days ago the old adage, "Time heals all wounds" would have resulted in a pissed-off balk from me. I would have never believed I could move forward as much as I have, especially in this short a period of time. And while my heart and mind is healing, my spirit is also taking her turn. I need to write this so please, if you read this, be careful with your heart.
I flew home to Virginia last week to be with my family after my 29-year-old cousin, Phillip, lost his 9-month battle with leukemia. I had not cried as it was, and is, still very much surreal. I only really cried for my cousin, Michelle, his big sister, with whom I have always had a stronger bond. She and I are one week apart in age and were inseparable anytime we were together. My heart was breaking for her, my aunt and my uncle and those who were with him and love him. The painful parts: he was doing well then relapsed viciously and was gone far too quickly (as is anyone who hasn't lived their full life); Michelle had to read a passage at the memorial service and all I wanted to do was stand beside her to support her; his girlfriend, surrounded by supporters (and who is amazing), staying with him and being so supportive. I was able to make it through relatively well. I spent quality time with my great-Aunt Ginna (who is fabulous and for whom I am named). She told me things about my family I didn't know and I cannot wait to see her again. I left, got to the airport, got on the plane and that's when the single worst moment of my life occurred.
Mid-flight I turned to see a flight attendant in red, talking to a mom who stood up and then noticed she was holding a child, turned her upside-down and began hitting her on the back (the Heimlich maneuver for small children). It was then she began to exclaim "Oh my God!" From there it is a play-by-play of images and screams in my head. From the two calls over the intercom for a doctor, a nurse, "anyone with EMT training" to help, to the father (still in his Army uniform) screaming and crying for his baby, to the mother's screams, pleads and cries, to the quiet and back to the screaming. The worst was the image of the baby (just about 5 or 6 rows behind me) being carried off of the flight by first-responders then, later, a happenstance glance out the window and watching the mother run from the back of an ambulance and collapsing on the tarmac.
That baby, just 10 months old had grabbed a handful of peanuts off her mother's tray and choked to death.
I spent the night in a hotel, waiting for my next flight home. I slept, if you can call it that, with the television on, dreaming/reliving the events. I cried on the bus to the airport when I saw a plane taking off. I had 3 panic attacks on my own flight home: take off, landing, and (of course) when they gave out peanuts and other snacks. I collapsed on the floor of an airplane bathroom and sobbed--shoulder wrenching, heart-broken sobs--on that nasty floor. The parallels, albeit it small, were too hard for me. The baby's name, I believe, was Nylee (I don't know how she spelled it). My baby's name, Neala. She was 10 months old, that means she would be 1 in August. My baby was born in August.
I recognize now my passing through the beginning stages of grief, but I got stuck. I was scared/terrified/heart-broken. I bargained. I got angry (said "You took Phillip. You cannot have her.") and I felt guilty because I didn't help. I have CPR certification through my job but knew others were far more qualified than I and there were: a med student and 3 nurses. Still the screams and images have haunted me nearly every moment since. Granted it's only been a week. I haven't been able to fully recover. In some ways I don't want to; in others I must so that I can continue to function. I will admit I am proud of myself for recognizing how severely I have been affected and for asking for help so quickly. I am proud of myself for recognizing there are things outside of my control, for making myself work and not perseverate more than the flashbacks. I am proud of myself for talking to people I trust. I am proud of myself for writing this.
There are parts of my response that I also know are knee-jerk reactions. I wasn't able to be alone. I wasn't able to be in quiet situations. And the combination of the two? Terrifying. I know that I will not fly again without EMT/First responder training because I can never let myself feel that helpless again. Ever. I know that the more I talk about what happened, the more I gain power on my own mind and the more I allow myself to heal. I do not expect to get better immediately (which I normally would have, in the past). But I recognize my strength, as well, and that has helped. I will do more. I must. It is who I am. For now, I continue to process...
Hug your babies. Love them. Make sure they know how special they are.
It's still very hard but the raw, open wound feeling is decreasing and I find I am able to breathe better with each passing day. Of course, therapy is multiple forms is helping, too. Two days ago the old adage, "Time heals all wounds" would have resulted in a pissed-off balk from me. I would have never believed I could move forward as much as I have, especially in this short a period of time. And while my heart and mind is healing, my spirit is also taking her turn. I need to write this so please, if you read this, be careful with your heart.
I flew home to Virginia last week to be with my family after my 29-year-old cousin, Phillip, lost his 9-month battle with leukemia. I had not cried as it was, and is, still very much surreal. I only really cried for my cousin, Michelle, his big sister, with whom I have always had a stronger bond. She and I are one week apart in age and were inseparable anytime we were together. My heart was breaking for her, my aunt and my uncle and those who were with him and love him. The painful parts: he was doing well then relapsed viciously and was gone far too quickly (as is anyone who hasn't lived their full life); Michelle had to read a passage at the memorial service and all I wanted to do was stand beside her to support her; his girlfriend, surrounded by supporters (and who is amazing), staying with him and being so supportive. I was able to make it through relatively well. I spent quality time with my great-Aunt Ginna (who is fabulous and for whom I am named). She told me things about my family I didn't know and I cannot wait to see her again. I left, got to the airport, got on the plane and that's when the single worst moment of my life occurred.
Mid-flight I turned to see a flight attendant in red, talking to a mom who stood up and then noticed she was holding a child, turned her upside-down and began hitting her on the back (the Heimlich maneuver for small children). It was then she began to exclaim "Oh my God!" From there it is a play-by-play of images and screams in my head. From the two calls over the intercom for a doctor, a nurse, "anyone with EMT training" to help, to the father (still in his Army uniform) screaming and crying for his baby, to the mother's screams, pleads and cries, to the quiet and back to the screaming. The worst was the image of the baby (just about 5 or 6 rows behind me) being carried off of the flight by first-responders then, later, a happenstance glance out the window and watching the mother run from the back of an ambulance and collapsing on the tarmac.
That baby, just 10 months old had grabbed a handful of peanuts off her mother's tray and choked to death.
I spent the night in a hotel, waiting for my next flight home. I slept, if you can call it that, with the television on, dreaming/reliving the events. I cried on the bus to the airport when I saw a plane taking off. I had 3 panic attacks on my own flight home: take off, landing, and (of course) when they gave out peanuts and other snacks. I collapsed on the floor of an airplane bathroom and sobbed--shoulder wrenching, heart-broken sobs--on that nasty floor. The parallels, albeit it small, were too hard for me. The baby's name, I believe, was Nylee (I don't know how she spelled it). My baby's name, Neala. She was 10 months old, that means she would be 1 in August. My baby was born in August.
I recognize now my passing through the beginning stages of grief, but I got stuck. I was scared/terrified/heart-broken. I bargained. I got angry (said "You took Phillip. You cannot have her.") and I felt guilty because I didn't help. I have CPR certification through my job but knew others were far more qualified than I and there were: a med student and 3 nurses. Still the screams and images have haunted me nearly every moment since. Granted it's only been a week. I haven't been able to fully recover. In some ways I don't want to; in others I must so that I can continue to function. I will admit I am proud of myself for recognizing how severely I have been affected and for asking for help so quickly. I am proud of myself for recognizing there are things outside of my control, for making myself work and not perseverate more than the flashbacks. I am proud of myself for talking to people I trust. I am proud of myself for writing this.
There are parts of my response that I also know are knee-jerk reactions. I wasn't able to be alone. I wasn't able to be in quiet situations. And the combination of the two? Terrifying. I know that I will not fly again without EMT/First responder training because I can never let myself feel that helpless again. Ever. I know that the more I talk about what happened, the more I gain power on my own mind and the more I allow myself to heal. I do not expect to get better immediately (which I normally would have, in the past). But I recognize my strength, as well, and that has helped. I will do more. I must. It is who I am. For now, I continue to process...
Hug your babies. Love them. Make sure they know how special they are.
Blessings and healing
