The Difficult Moments of Being Paige’s Mom

Paige had one of her “severe episodes” last night, Sept 28th 2024. A friend asked how we were doing, I began to type out something – then deleted it – and continued to repeat the same process 3 times. I didn’t know how to explain how I felt without coming across as morbid – and I also didn’t want to burden my friend with my own distress. The fact that you can’t feel it unless it’s your own child and you’re going through what I am haunts me – no amount of explaining or words can put you in my shoes. So, I don’t – I clam up – I say “I’m OK” and I go to the next thing. It seems easier for me to write it here, since I don’t know who all will read it, and it’s less intimidating for me – but it’s sometimes exactly what I need. If you aren’t one to read difficult things or “gross” things, then you may want to skip this one. 

Cleaning Up My Helpless Child

I remember when I was younger, a friend of our families passed away. He was bedridden and needed oxygen. We were there the day he died – I feel like I remember my mom explaining to us what happened to him. The fluid of his body came out when he died, his mouth hung open, and he wasn’t moving. It’s a sad thought about what happens to all of our bodies when we die. There is no privacy – you are helpless. It’s the same with those who overdose and vomit while they’re laying down – unless someone comes and saves them, they aspirate on their own vomit. 

Those few sentences above describe some of how I felt last night. Except it’s my 22 month old daughter. She was heavy, all the life was taken out of her except the ventilator that pushed air into her lungs. Her eyes were in the back of her head, and her mouth hung open. She vomited all over herself, but she was paralyzed so she couldn’t turn over. I quickly put her on her side and saw her face covered in throw up – her hair was soaked and she stunk. Yet she didn’t react, she just hung there. My precious baby, helpless with her body’s fluids all over her. 

That’s when the thoughts come to my head. Is this it? Is she going to die in her own vomit? Did she aspirate? Is this the last time I hold her, when she stinks and she can’t even see that her mama’s here? Those thoughts happen and I quickly push them aside as I wash her with lavender soap and I tend to my lifeless daughter, praying that this is just another event and she’ll recover tomorrow. When I repeat those thoughts to someone, I tell myself I’m being too dramatic. Yet I have to be honest about the thoughts and feelings that occur when I’m taking care of my girl during these events.

The Aftermath

As I’m typing this, that same baby girl is across from me blowing kisses in her high chair. She’s really weak, you can tell she still has sedatives in her system. Yet she’s back. She’s alive. She’s here. How do I explain that to somebody? How do I explain that one night I’m thinking she’s gone, or could be gone, and the next minute I’m back to being a somewhat normal mother? How do I explain what that does to my heart and mind? I now understand why I feel numb a lot – those are emotions I wasn’t meant to have in the garden of God. These are the trials we aren’t meant to go through – I wasn’t made for this. Without the Lord and his strength, I wouldn’t be able to go through any of this.

Cleaning up a helpless person, one who can’t say or do anything, humbles you to your core. It frightens you, it breaks your heart. Yet it’s these moments that build me as a mother. I didn’t know what self sacrifice meant until I had Paige. I give my mind for her, my body, and sometimes even my soul. I am so overcome with taking care of her, I have become second. It doesn’t matter the grief I feel, I still have to clean her up. 

Being Paige’s mama fulfills me – it makes me see who God really is, but it also makes me see the devil for who he is. Being Paige’s mama has taught me sacrifice, it has taught me that there must be more to this life. Being Paige’s mama is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, yet there are moments that are nightmares in my head. 

It’s OK that not everyone will understand this. There are griefs others go through I can’t comprehend either. But God has still given us one another, and that’s why I’m sharing what I am now. We can hold each other up, even if we’re strangers – even if we’ve never had to do this or that. We hold each other up until we all reach the garden – the garden where all is clean and bright, and where sin has no place, no power, and the nightmares will all be gone. Come, Lord Jesus!!!