God' loves all mommies

by Amanda Doss
(san diego)

It was the month of September and my fourth child, Kalen, was eight months old. I am a stay at home mother and have the notion that the house has to be cleaned before dad gets home from work. It was 4:00pm and the house was pristine; I had preformed my duties. It was play time while we waited for daddy.

I pulled out three baby toys for Kalen and we sat on the living room floor. He played with his toys while I sat next to him. My two year old daughter was walking back and forth playing in the bedroom and then with Kalen. I paid no attention to her toys because as “The Mother” I knew everything we owned was safe for children.

I was sitting behind Kalen on the floor so I could see everyone else. The sounds of playful laughter came from Kalen, assuring the perfect day.

After a few giggly sounds, I heard this very unsettling cough or choke sound. I gave Kalen a pat on the back thinking it was spit up. Then words came out of my daughter’s mouth that scared me. Her exact words were, “Baby choke on fishy”. I gave another intense pat to his back. My heart began beating faster as the fear began to grip me. The sounds were not stopping and seemed to get louder.

Then came the visual to the sounds I was hearing. I picked Kalen up and saw his face. Gasping, gasping for air was his look. Mouth was wide open, cheeks indenting from the suction trying to take place. I did what I thought was the first step to help him, the mouth swipe.

I took my finger and slid it in his mouth trying to feel for any object. There was nothing in his mouth and so I tried the next step. I flung him over like a rag doll and did three hard full handed hits, right in the middle of his back. I then turned his face to me again and it was worse.

Thick white foam mixed with clear liquid was coming from his nose. His mouth was still open and cheeks still indented. Again I tried the hits on his back with greater force and nothing.

It dawned on me this was the real thing. I held him and grabbed the phone to call 911. I was so beside myself and scared out of my mind, I hit any numbers that were not 911. As soon as I heard someone who was not an operator, I threw down the phone.

That was it, I panicked and ran screaming as loud as I could. My mind was telling me, get help - get help. I wanted to find anyone to help me and I did not care who it was. I was holding Kalen in my left arm like a sack of potatoes. My arms were weak and shaky; the only grip I could hold was curling my arm inward.

I reached my neighbors door and banged as hard as my hand could. As he opened the door, I shoved Kalen at him and yelled, “he’s choking, help me”. I could hear myself talking and my voice was broken and breathy. He tried one time to help him by hitting his back.

I yelled at him “harder”, but he didn’t want to hurt Kalen and told me so. He checked Kalen’s face to see if his soft pats had worked. I could see his body shaking and I could tell that he was physically scared. “I’ll call 911” he said as he handed Kalen back to me. I did not want him back and barely held my hands out for the exchange.

Once I had him back in my arms I could not look at his face, I was too scared. I could hear my neighbor answering questions about Kalen’s breathing. He tried to give instructions on doing a mouth swipe, but I had already done it. “I tried that, over and over” I said. I began to block out his voice, he wasn’t helping me. Three more time I tried patting his back and then I turned him over.

My knees buckled and I kneeled on the concrete. His eyes fixed on mine, his entire nose mouth and neck was full of foaming saliva. I turned him back over and pounded his back over and over and over again. My last swing did not even make it to his back. I was giving up, shutting down and my arms did not want to move anymore.

I murmured a sentence I never thought was in a mother’s vocabulary, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t”. I rolled Kalen over and laid him on the hard, cold concrete. I stared at him, still gasping and foaming from his mouth. I just stared; no emotions or sounds came from me. I remember his eyes talked to me, they were asking for help, he was in pain. I just stared at him knowing I had failed and it was over.

Then reality came rushing in like an ammonia capsule to someone who has fainted. The sound of sirens flooded my ears, and a sense of help was near. I looked around and could not see an ambulance, but I knew their sound and it was for us.

I picked Kalen up with arms that were stronger than before and ran down the asphalt driveway. The feeling of hot asphalt will never leave my mind- not because it was important, but because I had no shoes or socks on. My feet seemed to hit the ground with uneasy strength. It felt like I could fall at any time but I also could run forever.

Then came the arrival to the hospital, or what I would call the grand finale. By the time I took a step out of the ambulance door, Kalen was already inside. I stumbled inside and looked around trying to see where I should go. There is always a time where you think things could not get any worse and then they do. My time was with the ambulance driver.

While I was turning dazed and confused she found me and began to lead me to Kalen. I think she had a knife or sword, something that could pierce a heart. She said to me “They are going to call a Chaplin out here to sit with you”.

I began to scream and yell “NOOO, NOOO, you tell him to go back, I don’t want a Chaplin.” Then came the fit throwing again and the victims were the medicine cabinets. I hit them, trying to break the covers which were glass. The paramedic grabbed me and held down my arms so I could not hit anything anymore. She yelled in my ear that Kalen was a fighter and he was still fighting. I immediately stopped and wanted to see him.

The deal was if I was calm, I would be able to sit in the hallway on a chair and watch them work on him. I sat there with tears that flooded my face, snot that ran into my mouth- watching them fling Kalen around. They would flip him back and forth just like I did at the house. There was one difference though; Kalen must have lost conscience because there was no movement or control over his body.

It took twenty minutes for the children’s hospital specialists to drive to the hospital. When they got there, the lead doctor asked me what happened and I told her. She asked me if I was sure it was a fishy. I told her I thought so but I didn’t know for sure.

With that in mind, they needed to put Kalen on life support to save his life. As the doctor began to bag him, she asked, “are fishes’ colored?” I stood up with the rest of the 15-20 doctors and became intrigued.” No, they’re yellow.” With that said, the doctor used forceps and out popped a 25cent bouncy ball.

A rubber, round, bouncy ball was in the throat of my 8 month old son for over an hour. They were able to get him on the breathing machine and transfer him to the ICU at Children’s Hospital.

There I was in the hospital room sitting next to my lifeless baby. The only noise was the machines breathing for him. I was all alone in the room and change was waiting, ready to attack. My title was taken away and all of my crowns and sashes fell to the floor.

The “New Mother” slowly emerged, broken, exposed, confused and quiet. I had nothing to say and even if I did it would be wrong. Everything I ever knew about strength dissipated. Every idea I had that a mother could take care of any problem, wrong. I was exposed to the world, they all saw me. Nurses, doctors, family, friends and even my husband could not understand how this could have happened.

The only good thing about being exposed is that you can’t hide anymore. The real you has to come out, even if it isn’t pretty. That day I lost one of the best things about being a mother. I lost the feeling mothers get when they are doing it right. It sounds a little like “I’m a good mommy”.


God saved my little boy
God is getting me through it
God loves his mommies