processing thursday

peanut butter/jelly


apple juice

chocolate pudding

wrap : turkey, tomato, lettuce, onion, pickle, swiss, mustard

spinach salad

iced tea

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i sat down to start this post in the hospital friday while sweet pea slept.

words didn’t come.

i hadn’t yet processed what you’re about to read. in stressful situations, i am in the moment. i can handle it. i don’t get emotional because i’m too busy doing what i gotta do to get through. days later, i process and feel overwhelmed or scared or grief. now was not the time to root around for words, i was in the moment and the process of processing the event hadn’t yet begun for me.

the words didn’t come, so instead, i used the page to type out our lunch order. i didn’t think it saved, but it did.

i figured i might as well leave it as a momento of our stay.

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i question myself before i write posts like this one…our life, when it’s not all painted and pretty. but then i think about my blog and what i like to think it stands for, and i hope it embraces real life with honesty, woven with snippets of humor, encouragement, and reality; all in an effort to create a place where we feel welcome, and different, yet the same; either by who we are or what we’ve gone through.

so i post it.

because it’s real life. it happened, and now, when it’s all done, i process.

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i called 9-1-1 for the first, and hopefully only, time in my life on thursday. after a somewhat normal start to our day, barring the throwing-up-in-the-car-part by sweet pea, i remember consciously acknowledging my gratitude for the flu. being grateful, thankful that all we were dealing with was a little puke here and there. i do that every time my kids are sick because i tend to root my feelings in gratitude and reality…it could always be much worse, and i try not to take that for granted.

20 minutes post-gratitude, i’m talking to 9-1-1 dispatch, my voice shakey yet firm as i relay what i know to be true :

my baby is having a seizure.

i cradle the seizing body of my 18 month old, her eyes rolling and vacant, physically there, but most definitely not; her body trembling and stiff for minutes that felt like eons, and when the seizure released it’s violent grasp…she lay in my arms limp.


i feel helpless, and scared, and my heart hurts with a love that has no name. that surfaces during times of trial. my heart, my whole being, is gripped with painful love, like it’s holding it’s breath, waiting for something good to come out of the bad.

the EMT’s show up. sweet pea is lifeless, unresponsive. except to pain, and she cries out when they try to get an IV going. that cry was the most beautiful sound i’ve ever heard.

bless her soul, she’s in there. and i am overjoyed.

the rest is a blur. i manage to call a friend to come get sunshine. i pack the diaper bag while they load her little body onto a gurney : a tiny little thing, out of place on such an expansive plane. my friend shows up. sunshine cries. i tell him everything’s ok, and i love him. and then, we’re gone.

i call lover from the ambulance, sirens blaring…happy birthday lover, meet me at the ER, your baby girl’s so very sick.

it really was his birthday.

i won’t drag you through the rest, but there were lots of tests, and scans, and crying, and x-rays, and sleeping that culminated in a stay at the hospital. there was an overwhelming outpour of love and support from friends and family near and far, sending prayers and thoughts and support and love. and to them i am forever grateful.

the verdict a day later :

that everything is fine…for now.

she’s healthy and happy, and so, we wait. we wait and see if it reoccurs; wait and see what the future holds for sweet pea.

hopefully, prayerfully, nothing.

a few days later, it feels a little like a dream, but as i sit here typing in the chair where it all went down, my heart grips tight in my chest and for a moment it is real again. and i internally acknowledge it very well could be.

real again.

tonight, i chew on that, attempt to digest it, and pray that that won’t be the case.

*  *  *  *  *

i learned a few things from our scary experience. nothing earth shattering, just snippets here and there :

1 * i fall more in love with lover when he is in this roll. caring for his babies. loving on them. giving them what they need.

{let’s not make this frequent though, m’kay lover? we’ll have to find a less scary way for me to fall more in love with you!}

2 * hospital food is as bad as i remember it. {seriously. how do you mess up grilled cheese?}

3 * my boy’s true hearts shine through in moments like these. they told me they prayed for sweet pea, that they missed her. their reunion was for the records. running hugs from sweet pea, kisses, big smiles. she loves her brothers that one does. and they her.

4 * we are so blessed to live near chad’s sister. she was right there at the hospital with us and took the load off in so many ways. grateful doesn’t even begin to cover it.

5 * the cream they use during an EEG should be bottled as the best hair gel on the market. word.

{what light socket?}

6 * hospital rooms are not meant to contain active toddlers for over 24 hours. even if they are sick.

{um, excuse me…m’am? this is a no-climbing zone. yeah. get down.}

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at the end of the day, i return to gratitude.

i’m thankful that we’re home. that she’s sleeping upstairs in her bed, safe and sound and healthy. thankful for friends. for family. for texts and messages coming in with prayers for sweet pea…i’m certain the floors of heaven were flooded with them that day. i’m thankful, as i am everyday, for God’s perpetual love, His precious gift of life and His never-ending help in trouble.

and i’m thankful for this,


sian - omg Reading this I feel terror and panic for you. How scary that must have bee. Im so glad she is okay! xxxx

Sheena - You are truly amazing Stac. Your composure, strength and quickness in response is just what Sweet Pea needed. As frightening as it was for you, Im relieved you were there to care for her in that moment. Thinking of you always and wishing you and your family well. Give Sweet Pea a big squeeze for me. And Im sending you a BIG hug as well my friend. Love ya

Claudia Flaherty - Friend, I don’t know how in the world you experienced this situation with the composure that you did. When I walked in, I expected you to be crying and frantic. That was not the case at all. You held it together so well with that instinctual mama bear poise. As chaotic as it was, you helped Sunshine not to feel scared, packed a diaper bag, cared for Sweet Pea, all while not knowing what potential scary diagnosis behind her sezuire was (thank goodness nothing!). You are my hero, a true inspiration to all mothers out there. I am so happy that Sweet Pea is healthy and I hope you NEVER EVER have to experience this again.

P.S. That video brought tears to my eyes! She is such a blessing and the cutest little girl around! Xoxo

Amy Winter - You have amazing strength my friend and are such an AWESOME example for all of us! Sweet Pea is lucky to have you for a mama!! I am SO very thankful she is ok. I have thought about her every day and will continue to do so…praying for the most uneventfully happy days for all of you!

PS…Ellie has watched this video 28 times SO FAR today! She loves Sweet Pea!

Lisa Wagner - {tears} hard Eucharisteo…I love you my dear friend! I will continue to flood that throne room with prayers!

Angela Richardson - OH my sweet sweet friend!! I love you so much and am SO thankful she is fine!!! My sweet Emma had a seizure (febrile seizure…she was super sick with strep) when she was three and I relived the moment reading this. The panic, the 911 call, my forgetting how to do CPR (she was blue), the paramedics arriving, not being able to breathe. I remember and I’m sending you a super big hug!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! We have not experienced one again (thank you, Jesus!) and I will pray the same for you. xoxoxoxo

Allison Waken - Big hugs to you and your family. So glad everything is ok, but I’m so sorry you had to experience it. I pray you never will again!

Kathy - Tears are in my eyes as I read this. I’ve been praying constantly for your sweet family since that first moment. I remember when Ryan was that unresponsive after his stroke, the uselessness I felt. Nothing to do but pray. I pray you won’t have to call 911 again for Sweet Pea.

I love you, dear friend.

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