Gone, just like that

This morning started like any other day.

I was up at 6:30am to give you your pre-feed medications (ordine and paracetemol) then feed you via your NGT while expressing more milk.

You were a bit congested, so I suctioned your nose and mouth which annoyed you quite a bit. You settled down soon enough, though; and by the time your feed was finished around 7:40am you were settled and sleeping.

At 8am I topped you up with your morning round of daily medications (topiramate, vit D, iron and omeprazole) and left you to snooze while I ate my own breakfast and entertained your sister.

Elsie making a crown, 13 September 2017

Your sister is a handful, Poppy. Two and a half and full of beans.

This morning, we made a crown out of a cereal box and stuck sequin 'jewels' to it while you snoozed to your music in the nursery.

At 10:45am I checked your stomach contents, gave you your pre-feed meds again (ordine and ibuprofen this time), and went to heat up your bottle and ready the expressing kit.

At 11am when I went back in to you, you were pale and frothing a little around the mouth so I suctioned your mouth and nose to free up your airway. I observed that you were breathing very infrequently, but deeply. I could tell straight away that something was unusual with you.

I picked you up and changed your nappy. You were very floppy. there was literally no resistance in your muscles. I put you back in your cot and watched you breathe for a few minutes.

I took this video at 11:07am.

 
You were pausing for a minute or more at a time before taking a few, deep breaths. I had to decide, standing alone in your small nursery on a Wednesday morning while your sister watched ABC kids in the lounge:  was this IT?

At 11:09am I called your father at the office. I said I couldn't tell, but I thought you might be dying. I described my observations. He dropped everything to come home and see you. He got here in 20 minutes flat.

At 11:13am I called Eastern Palliative Care. They did not discount the possibility that you were actively dying. In fact, they said they would come over straight away.

I sat down beside you and watched. You continued to breather deeply but extremely infrequently.

At around 11:25am you took four deep, haggard sounding breaths. I started the stopwatch on my phone to better quantify your pauses. It just felt like I should be doing something.

Five minutes later, when your dad came in, I told him, "I'm counting her breaths. I'm waiting for the next ones. She's breathing very slowly."

I showed him my phone. It continued to count up from 5:25.

"I think she's gone," he said.

I couldn't believe it. I'd sat there watching you the whole time, and I never saw you leave. And yet, I know objectively that you had not taken a breath in over five minutes.

We moved you to the change table and took your temperature. You were already beginning to cool. The thermometer read 35.8C.

You were gone.