I am posting the journal entries from my sister’s CaringBridge site (http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/tracyslatoncrosson) in order to retain that documentation in our 2014 blog book. Check out the start of the series on my blog with the “My Sister” post.
This last post from the CaringBridge site is one that I wrote after visiting the weekend in which we went to the fire stations to meet the first responders. And, finally, a post with some pictures! :)
A Series of Fortunate Events
By Tricia Slaton Williams — Mar 31, 2014 8:17am
As the weeks go on and life starts to feel kind of normal again, I think we all find it a little bit easier to revisit the events of Friday, February 21st. My piece of this day was simply just getting the call, that call you hope to never receive. Ken called me as they were loading my sister into the ambulance and I only remember his first words, “Something’s happened to Tracy.” Beyond that, it’s all kind of a blur. After getting off of the phone with Ken, through sobs, I told my husband that I was leaving for Atlanta that very minute (I live in Charlotte) to which he asked, “Are you sure you heard CPR and defibrillator?”—I’m notorious for flubbing medical terms and, of course, it was just so unfathomable. To that I said simply, “It sounded like [Ken] was watching her die.” That is something I knew I heard. And since those four excruciating hours of drive time to Atlanta when I had a lot of time to think of nothing but that call, I honestly hadn't really put much thought into the nitty-gritty details of the 30 minutes, or even hour, before Tracy made it to the hospital. I knew what needed to happen happened—CPR was started right away and was continuous—and that’s the only source of hope we had those first five days or so. Beyond that, it was just too hard to spare any mental energy on the past when her future was so uncertain.
Of course, now that our story is one of miracles and hope, the time has come to go back to the beginning. A very unfortunate event happened that Friday afternoon: Tracy’s heart stopped. After that, however, a series of very fortunate and extraordinary events occurred that day, enabled by some very [extra]ordinary people and everyday heroes, which cultivated our miracle. And for these acts, we owe a debt of gratitude. First and foremost, I would like to thank Tracy. Thank you, sweet and wonderful sister, of whom I could not imagine life without, for taking care of yourself. You called Ken when you felt unwell, instead of trudging through as you've probably done many times before—as all moms do quite often, not wanting to trouble anyone. Thank you for making yourself a priority. I hope you continue to do so. Thank you, Ken, for deciding not to leave Tracy alone even though she insisted she should just go lie down at home while you picked up the kids. Thank you for paying attention and understanding that you should be concerned. And, of course, thank you, Ken, for being a man of action. You are truly a hero. I think we can all admit that, if it came down to it, we’re not sure we could have acted so calmly and rationally, or performed CPR so effectively (I mean, really—compression 2 inches deep??). I’m pretty sure you’ve already told me to stop thanking you, but I think you’re just going to have to get used to it.
And, as you can imagine, there is a team of trained professionals—paramedics, EMT, firefighters—to whom we gladly give unending thanks. Fortunately, the weekend of March 22nd, through the diligent coordination efforts of Tracy’s dear friend Rachelle, we were able to meet and thank in-person several members of the team of first responders who helped to save Tracy’s life. [Please forgive me if I get any of this wrong—again, notorious for flubbing medical terms and I heard most of this one time.] On Saturday, we met Camellia, a paramedic from the ambulance team who intubated Tracy, among many other on-scene responsibilities (intubation just stuck in my head). Camellia brought her family to Righteous Que’s “Que for a Cause” fundraiser for the Crosson family. Ken, Tracy, and the kids, our parents, Ken’s brother’s family, close friends Kim and Rachelle, and I were all there to meet Camellia and enjoyed hearing her piece of this story. She herself has four children and, as such, Tracy’s emergency really hit home. We all have come to know that anyone with the strength and courage to devote themselves to a career in emergency services—immersing themselves in stress and chaos, day in and day out, always choosing fight while everyone else chooses flight—must, for survival’s sake, become disconnected from the emergencies to which they respond. They do their jobs and they do them exceedingly well and how could they if they were to become emotionally invested in each tragedy they see? Tracy’s case, however, struck a chord—a young mother of four—one a mere babe—with so very little hope for survival. Camellia spoke of seeing Ken’s anguish and imagining her own husband’s sense of fear and crushing responsibility with four kids to care for on his own if something were to happen to her. There’s some debate here—her husband remembers Camellia crying on a phone call to him about this particular case, and he says she never cries about cases (how can she and continue to do the stressful work she does??), although she remembers the call to him but not the crying. I've said it before and I’ll say it again (although, pardon my French), everyone fought like hell for her that day. These first responders set to work and fought and continued to fight longer than they usually have to and never gave up hope for Tracy. I can’t even put into words how thankful we are for that. And I hope meeting Tracy—Camellia did say that most of the time they never find out the eventual outcome of the emergencies to which they respond that, of course, don’t end on scene—inspires the first responders to continue the incredibly important work they do.
On Sunday, we (the whole clan again--Tracy, Ken, and kids, our mom, Ken’s brother’s family, Rachelle and her family, and I) came bearing cookies and BBQ (Righteous Que, by the way, is THE best BBQ I’ve had in years) to the two fire stations to respond to the emergency call for Tracy on February 21st. Two first responders who helped Tracy were on hand the afternoon we dropped in to Cobb County Fire Station 14. The kids were treated to a full fire station tour including spraying the fire hose (Tracy took advantage of this opportunity, too!). Tracy, my mom, and I spoke with EMT Webster quite a bit—he was the EMT who performed CPR on Tracy and he openly answered our questions about the event (Tracy, as you can imagine, has many about what happened to her and so many things I saw that first week she was unconscious left me with questions—why did she have blood in her hairline and why did she have an intraosseous infusion line (vascular access through a leg bone?). Another fortunate event along the line leading to Tracy’s survival was something EMT Webster pointed out—the morning of Tracy’s emergency, Fire Station 14 received a LUCAS CPR device. At about 1pm that day, the EMT’s received their training on the LUCAS device. Just two hours later they were putting it to work on Tracy. The LUCAS chest compression system provides consistent depth and speed of the chest compressions and all without the risk of rescuer fatigue. I won’t go on and on about this automated CPR device, but basically studies have shown that blood flow to the brain increased by 60% with LUCAS, defibrillation can be performed during the compressions (whereas with manual compressions they cannot), and the odds of a good neurological outcome are increased. And did I mention they had just trained on this device a few hours earlier?? How incredibly fortuitous.
Our next stop on Sunday afternoon was Fire Station 20 where we spent time with Keith, an EMT who was also part of the team of first responders to Tracy’s call. Keith downplayed his role that afternoon—oh, he only helped pump oxygen into Tracy’s body (yup, kind of important)—but he told us how he and fellow first responder Charlie (also from Fire Station 20 and the EMT who rode in the ambulance to the hospital with Tracy) inquired several times at the hospital that first week to find out how Tracy had progressed. Talking with Keith was like talking with an old friend. I felt his, and Charlie’s, true concern for Tracy and Ken and his joy in giving Tracy a hug just a month after she was “clinically dead”. In the near future, Tracy hopes to thank Charlie for his role in saving her life as well.
What an amazing team of first responders and how heart-warming it was to meet them and thank them in person! One theme that came up over and over again after meeting with each group of first responders was how critical those first four minutes are in responding to cardiac arrest. Yes, Ken, I’m thanking you again—you called upon your volunteer fireman training from half a lifetime ago and not only started CPR right away, but did it well. I find myself these days, in various situations, looking around me, wondering if those with me right then and there could, or more importantly would, save me if my heart stopped. I have read that in the U.S. bystanders only perform CPR in 15 to 30 percent of out-of-hospital cardiac arrest cases, most likely out of fear of doing it incorrectly. Studies show, though, that even if you don’t have CPR training or your training has lapsed, chest compressions (think to the beat of “Stayin’ Alive”)—however unskillfully performed—increase the victim’s odds of survival greatly.
Could you save a life? I’m signed up for my CPR class next month. I found several options in my own community—through the Red Cross, American Heart Association, my local YMCA, and several private CPR organizations—so I’m positive that we could all find a convenient option. Some research suggests that folks would all be more likely to complete CPR training if they knew how great of an impact CPR can have on saving a life, just how important those first four to six minutes are before the emergency services team arrives. If you’ve followed my sister’s story, I think you’ve come to have a very deep understanding of that impact…
After meeting, talking with, and thanking the first responders, Tracy called this time “emotionally heavy”. And, of course, it was, imagining the organized chaos at the scene and thinking about how one small change in the series of actions and decisions that afternoon could have changed everything. But, it all played out just as we needed it to. And that makes us fortunate. And blessed. And so very thankful.
