Tuesday June 2, 2009, barely the start of summer but in Tucson, the temps were already in the 100's. Sitting in my air conditioned office, I was unaware of the soaring temperatures outside.
Yet, I vividly remember that summer afternoon; I was at my desk with a few minutes to spare before a meeting. I decided to check out some activities that Ethan, my grandson, might enjoy on our upcoming trip to Florida.
It would be the first trip to Florida for all of us, (Ethan, my daughter Rose, and me), and I was terribly excited, not only because we were going to a destination wedding of some dear friends, but we were going to take a few extra days and really enjoy a family vacation. One that was long over-due.
I was busy looking at some water activities and a pirate ship tour. My excitement was mounting and I couldn't wait to share some ideas for our trip with Rose and Ethan. Ethan was so vivid on my mind as I was looking at all the fun activities; I could almost hear him splashing about in the water.
Lost in fantasy about our upcoming vacation, I was pulled back to reality when my outlook reminder for my meeting popped up. I headed down the hall to the boardroom and then realized I had left my cell phone on my desk, so I returned to retrieve it. Not sure why I did that, as it was my usual habit not to worry about it.
By 3:30, I was concentrating on our sub-committee meeting and the status of our volunteer recruitment efforts, when I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. Usually I will ignore my phone when in a meeting, but something made me look to see who was calling. When I saw it was a friend of my daughter’s, I left the meeting to take the call.
Phillip never calls me, so I knew something was up. My thoughts raced to my daughter, who, in 2008, had become so sick with Lemierre's syndrome, we almost lost her.
The next few seconds would change my life forever. I don’t even really recall what Phillip said to me; all I remember hearing was something about Ethan, drowning and UMC.
I ran down the hall to my desk, grabbed my purse and keys, barely stopping long enough to tell my boss, I had a family emergency.
I don’t remember the drive to the hospital; I just remember trying to reach my daughter or some member of my family on the phone, wanting to know what had happened.
When I arrived at the hospital’s emergency room, they immediately took me back to this private family waiting room area, and no one would tell me what was going on. Where was my daughter? Where was Ethan?
I don’t know how long it took before they took me to where my daughter was waiting outside radiology.
I rushed to my daughter's side, with questions in my eyes. She couldn't respond; she was inconsolable, because there were no answers. Ethan was in critical condition. At that point, no one really knew what happened, and no one had any answers, but what little information there was started making its way past the shock and horror.
I was told Ethan had been swimming with a group of kids at a summer day camp program, and somehow had gone under.
One of the other children sounded the alarm, and a call was placed to 911. Apparently, there was a fire station team in the area, and they were able to respond within minutes, but had they been fast enough?
From radiology, we were allowed to follow Ethan and his medical team up to the pediatric ICU. There were so many tubes and machines it broke my heart.
As word spread, members of our family rushed to the hospital in support. I couldn’t believe this was happening, and for the next several days our family practically moved into UMC.
I kept remembering that I had just been with Ethan the night before, as Mondays were our traditional special time, while Rose went to bible study. Less than 24 hours ago, we had been playing video games, and laughing and teasing each other.
And now, there I was sitting at a hospital with my world turned upside down, wondering if he was even going to survive. At that point, survival was the only thing on my mind. I never stopped to think about any long term effects of his injuries. I just wanted to know he wouldn’t be going home to heaven.
Days turned into weeks, and eventually, Ethan was stable enough to be moved from ICU to the regular pediatric ward. At this point, it was clear, that although Ethan was alive, he wasn’t the same child he had been weeks earlier.
Little did I know then what a long journey lay ahead.
Become one of Ethan's Buddies
Your generous donations help ensure Ethan will receive the treatments and therapies he needs. Treatments such as Hyperbaric Oxygen or HBOT are not covered by insurance, increasing the financial burden of caring for a special needs child.
Any amount you donate is greatly appreciated. Ethan would like you to offically become one of his buddies, and request an Ethan's Buddies wristband.
All I ask is on Ethan's behalf you help spread the word
about water safety and commit to always swim with a buddy and follow all water
safety rules.