Heartbroken Mom Reveals How Shaken Baby Syndrome Changes Her Life

Instead of leaving, I was so brainwashed into thinking he loved me and wanted to work things out, that I married him not long after I found out I was pregnant. Now hear me out, it’s not like every single day and moment was bad, which is why I held on to the hope that he would change and that he would one day truly love and care for me. He was a good guy deep down, but most days his addiction took over and made him into a very scary and unpleasant person. Our daughter was born in November of 2014. I can remember on the day that was supposed to be a day full of love, I was filled with bitterness towards my husband because of his actions that day. I had a difficult time healing after giving birth, and I thank the Lord my mother was available to help me with my newborn baby. I moved back in with my mother and remember thinking to myself, “This can not be my life, this is not how it’s supposed to be.” Marriage and having a baby is supposed to be a sacred bond between the husband and wife, and I felt the opposite. I felt so alone those nights I would stay up taking care of our newborn by myself. I felt like a single mother even though I was married.

I remember feeling like all of my hopes and dreams for my life had died. I was 20 years old, pretty much raising a baby all on my own, living in a small room with my mom and, at the time, stepdad’s house. I eventually got a job as a caregiver even though it hurt my heart to have to leave my baby. My husband and I finally moved back in together after she was several months old, but the arguing continued. I felt like I was stuck, and that I loved my husband and couldn’t handle life as a single mom. I was living in denial. One day I came across an idea for myself to be able to make more money. I went to school to become a licensed massage therapist. I was working a 40-hour per week job and going to school full-time Monday through Friday. I worked 16-hour shifts on the weekend and one eight hour shift during the week. I was exhausted but determined to better my life. My friends knew something was going on in my life outside of school, but I was so ashamed that I kept most of it a secret. I didn’t even tell my mom most of the things that happened between my husband and I because I knew she would beg me to leave him, and I wasn’t ready to. I didn’t feel strong enough.

Time went on and I began working as a licensed massage therapist. My husband had been acting his worst at that time. Deep down I knew he was using drugs, but my heart didn’t want to admit it. I longed for things to work out between us, and for us to be a happy family. I would forgive so quickly and move on ignoring how badly my heart was aching. I was out of touch with reality because I refused to believe that he didn’t love me as much as I loved him. Finally, though, I came to a point where I said, “Enough is enough.” I left. I moved into my grandmother’s home. I told my husband that if he didn’t go to rehab, I would file for divorce. He went to rehab. After he was there for a week or so, I got very sick. I had a gut-wrenching feeling that I didn’t just have a stomach bug. I was right. I found out I was pregnant with our second child. I remember lying in bed crying for hours. I thought to myself, “I have to give this baby to someone who can care for him or her. I can not bring this child into this mess I am in. I have to choose adoption.” I was devastated. Time went on and I grew to love her. My husband spent around 90 days in rehab. The entire time I was left with almost no income. I held on to my last ounce of hope. I read so many marriage books and listened to advice on how to handle a situation like mine.

A Second Chance Wasted

My husband came out of rehab and I believed that he had changed. Maybe he did for a short time, but it didn’t take long for him to relapse. I gave birth to our second child in February 2017. She was a healthy, beautiful baby girl. I went back to work when she was only eight weeks old. My husband began drinking again so I took the kids and moved in with my grandmother, telling him I was done.

The night of May 25, 2017, changed my life forever. I had asked my husband to keep our 3-month-old overnight so I could get a full night of sleep. I communicated with him several times that evening asking how she was doing in which he would reply that she was doing okay, never mentioning that anything was wrong. I went to work the next morning and while I was doing a massage, I heard a knock at my door. That had never happened to me so I immediately knew something was wrong. My boss told me to go to the hospital because my baby was there. At first, I didn’t think it was serious, I figured she was just having bad reflux or something similar to that. I realized something was terribly wrong when I called my mom and she was sobbing telling me that my daughter was barely breathing. That drive to the hospital was the longest drive of my life.

I walked into the emergency room at the hospital and I remember being so confused and hearing a horrendous sound coming from a room, and I thought, “That sounds like it may be a baby, but there’s no way that’s my daughter.” But it was her. I went around the corner and I saw about 10 nurses and doctors running back and forth in and out of her room. They began asking questions I didn’t know the answers to. I walked over to her bedside and looked into her eyes. She was still making a moaning sound but what stood out to me most was her eyes. I had just looked into those eyes the day before and they were full of life. When I looked into them that day, I saw nothing. She had a blank stare as if her soul had left her body and she was just lying there, barely hanging on. They took her for a CT scan and came back telling me that she had bleeding on her brain. By that time my mom had arrived to be with me. Our pastor had also arrived and I had a feeling of deja vu. There I was, 10 years after my father had passed away, with my mom and pastor, devastated and begging God to save my loved one’s life. I could not believe I was having to go through something like that again.

Diagnosis: Shaken Baby Syndrome

My daughter’s medical team got her stable enough to be transferred to a children’s hospital. I felt so relieved. The word “stable” brought me some comfort. I had such hope that she was going to be okay. We couldn’t ride [in] the ambulance, so my mom and I headed towards the children’s hospital. While driving, I received a phone call. I rarely answered numbers that I didn’t know, but I happened to answer it thinking it was a family member calling to ask what was going on. When I answered, I heard a voice say, “This is the nurse and we need you to come back to the hospital.” I was angry, thinking I had forgotten to sign a paper or something like that, so I replied, “Why?!” The nurse said, “I can’t tell you that over the phone.” It was then that my heart sank and I caught on to what was happening. I began sobbing screaming that she was dead. Once we arrived at the hospital, we were met by two security guards who escorted us to a small room. That room. That room that I was taken to 10 years before to receive the same news that I received about my dad. The nurse got on her knees in front of me and said, “Your daughter coded as soon as they got her onto the ambulance. They have been doing CPR on her and she has not had a pulse in 20 minutes. I wanted you to have a chance to say goodbye to her.” I cried out, “No! I don’t want to see her like that.” I had a cousin who was my age pass away just a month before while receiving CPR and it was a horrific sight. That was why my immediate reaction was “no.” Something told me to go see her. Now, I realize it was God telling me to go. He respected my wishes of not seeing her like that because all I can remember is seeing white, all except her tiny head which was blue and flopping up and down from compressions. I dropped to my knees and grabbed her hand. I began praying out loud, which was something I had never done before that moment. About a minute later, I heard the doctor say he had a pulse. I watched as the color came back to her hand. They once again got her stable enough to be transferred.

 

Upon arriving at the hospital, her father showed up, and we were taken into another room and questioned by a forensic doctor. We were then able to go back to see my daughter. As I walked in I asked the doctor, “What happened to her?” He replied with words I never imagined hearing: “Shaken baby syndrome.” He left the room. I was in complete shock. I was also in denial. I fully believed there was no way anyone could’ve hurt my daughter. I couldn’t fathom the thought of her being shaken. I had been thrown into a world I had no experience in whatsoever. My whole family was interrogated. I would have to leave my daughter, whom doctors said would most likely not live, to be interrogated by investigators. I remember clearly being told by an investigator: “We think you did this to your daughter.” I felt like he had just ripped my heart straight out of my chest. I began crying uncontrollably and all I could get out was, “No, no, I would never hurt her, no.” He then replied, “I’m sorry I had to do that to you. That is how we would expect you to react. Your husband is not reacting that way though. He’s not acting like he should be acting at a time like this.”

I defended him. Once again, when tragedy struck, I clung to a man. I didn’t know how else to cope with the situation I was in. I researched day and night trying to figure out what else could’ve happened to my daughter. I asked so many questions. I was so defensive every time a doctor would tell me she was for sure shaken, there was no other possibility. I would get defensive every time an investigator would tell me that they believed my husband hurt my daughter. Being in denial, I just wanted to wake up from the nightmare I was in and for  everything be okay.

 

Around that time, I had been exposed to hyperbaric oxygen therapy, and how it had helped reverse brain damage in some people. I decided that I absolutely had to take my daughter for the treatments. Fundraising was done because insurance does not approve the treatments. I remember how stressful it was making so many phone calls during that time. I had to be in contact with insurance constantly. There we were, me hardly knowing how to care for her, heading down to New Orleans, Louisiana, to receive treatments every day for almost two months. The Lord blessed us by providing us with a place to stay with an amazing family. My daughter began having what I thought was blood coming from her mouth while we were down there. In the middle of the night, I had to take her to an emergency room by myself. Talk about getting out of your comfort zone. Doctors came to the conclusion that it was not blood, and that it was from her G/J-tube site. I took her to a GI doctor shortly [afterward], who informed me that I could vent her g-tube, letting all of the gases out of her belly. It had been three months since her injury and I never knew to do that. She had suffered from so much gas pain during that time, and there was such an easy fix that I was never told. It hurt my heart knowing she had been suffering. It made all the difference and was a tremendous help.

During those two months, my other daughter, who was around three at the time, had to stay at home with my family. I had to choose to miss out on two months of her life, to get my baby the treatments she needed. She changed during those two months and learned so much. As a special needs sister, she coped with the changes pretty well. My family was able to bring her to visit me once while we were there, which I appreciated very much. It was a bittersweet feeling once we were able to go back home. I was excited to go home, but at the same time was sad to leave the new family we grew close to during our stay. I was also concerned about how I was going to take care of both of my children at the same time, because up until that point, I didn’t have to often.

Once we arrived home, I was finally informed that my daughter was eligible for private duty nursing care. The entire time I had been thinking that I would never be able to work or leave my house again without her. My world changed once the nursing care was approved. It didn’t happen without a fight though. I remember feeling like things would never work out for us. Making several phone calls and filing appeals until the hours were finally approved. Having nursing care allowed me to go back to work. Between her many doctors and therapy appointments, going to work, and raising a toddler, I was often tempted to feel overwhelmed. I cried so many tears. I felt like such a failure and I felt as if things would never get better. We were still living out of a tiny room and I wanted so desperately to find a place of my own so that we could have some sense of normalcy.

A Fresh Start, and a Reversal

Months went by and I was finally able to get my own apartment. It was a scary feeling, knowing I was the only provider for our family. I also felt empowered. I was being independent and didn’t have to rely on anyone anymore. A year before, I was feeling stuck with my husband forever because I believed I was too weak and could never make it on my own. I was making it on my own though. All the fear he had drilled into my head of how I’d be nothing without him, vanished. I could make it on my own and I was. At the time I was still in the middle of a dragged out divorce. It was costing me every penny I had to my name. I was living paycheck to paycheck and sometimes asking for money just to make it to the next payday. I stayed in constant prayer. I trusted God’s plan for me and knew He would provide for our needs. However, I was beginning to grow weary, and began to complain about my situation. What happened a week after I began complaining taught me a

 

One evening my daughter began to vomit and had constant diarrhea. I had called her GI doctor, who told me to keep an eye on her and give her extra fluids. I went to work the next day, and by that evening I could tell she was beginning to become dehydrated. Her doctor assured me she would be fine and that I didn’t need to take her to the hospital. Around midnight, I noticed a very prominent blue vein on her chest, which led me to believe her chest was swollen. I took her to the emergency room. Tests were done and they did not believe it was serious. They admitted her for observation, they believed she would just need fluids and would be back to herself. A few hours later, her blood work came back and doctors rushed in and informed me that she appeared to be in organ failure. They took her for a STAT CT scan. After the scan, they told me she appeared to have a very bad infection in her intestines because they were extremely swollen, pressing against her organs, which is why her blood worked showed she was in organ failure. The doctors that we had seen several times before, began telling me how good of a mother I was and that I did everything right, but that was going to be the last time I saw her alive. They told me she was going back for emergency surgery, and would most likely code. They gave her no chance of surviving the surgery. I remember that moment so clearly. I had been thinking things were finally looking up, and there we were in the same position we were in just a year before, doctors telling me to tell her goodbye. Her doctor said, “She’s fighting so hard.” I went to her bedside, kissed her forehead and told her that she didn’t have to fight anymore, that it was okay for her to go and leave all of this pain. I remember praying, asking God to please keep her if she codes again. I knew what the consequences would be if she coded again. I wanted to keep her on earth with me, but I knew that God would do what was best for her, not what was best for me at that moment. I had to do that on my knees because they would keep buckling as I would get lightheaded.

My daughter spent several hours in surgery. Her surgery team had to come from home, as it was a weekend. By that time, several family members and friends had arrived to sit with me as I waited. I spent the entire time praying. I had to fight back thoughts of leaving the hospital with an empty car seat. I sang worship songs in my head. We prayed out loud. I remember praying, “God, I trust You. I know that You will do what’s best for my daughter. I trust Your will for her life. She is Your daughter, she is not mine. I pray for Your will to be done today”.

We were the only ones in the waiting room. I cried, I felt peace, then I would cry again. I experienced so many emotions. Her surgeon came out after a few hours. I was honestly expecting him to say something about how they did all they could, but she didn’t make it. What he said shocked me. He said, “We were able to cut a small piece out of her intestines that was dead, and it wasn’t as bad as we saw on the first scan. We cut an opening in her stomach and now her intestines are outside of her body in a silo to allow the swelling to hopefully go down. She is alive, but is in very critical condition and still may not survive this.”

A few hours later, we were able to walk over to the pediatric intensive care unit. I remember feeling a joy come over me as I walked over surrounded by people who cared for us. I thought to myself, “She’s alive! what?! I can not believe she pulled through this! Thank you, Lord!” I was trying to prepare myself for what I was going to see. I walked into the room and saw my daughter’s insides on the outside of her body. I had no idea that was even possible. She spent a week completely sedated on life support when the doctor came in and told me once again that she had gotten another infection and they were taking her for surgery where she had a 10 percent chance of surviving. He explained to me how most babies who are completely healthy otherwise don’t survive something like this, so she had almost no chance of surviving in the state she was in. I could not stop crying. I kept telling myself, “Stop crying, Sierra, God has brought her through this several times. Why would this time be any different?” She made it through and came out better than she went in. They were able to put some of her intestines back inside of her body although her stomach was still open. It was a wake-up call for me. I realized the doctors could tell me what they thought would happen, but the ultimate decision of whether she would live or die was up to God.

 

 

 

My daughter was in the PICU on life support for an entire month. I stayed by her side as much as I could. I slept in a chair next to her bed almost every night. I had people come to sit with her so I could go to work because I still had bills to pay as the only provider. It was a struggle. She continued getting better. She stayed in the hospital for 89 days. After many ups and downs, she was discharged. I remember feeling such freedom walking out of that hospital. My daughter survived. I survived. We persevered and we were finally free. After that long of a hospital stay, we had to start over with her medications and private duty nursing care. It was such a stressful time. I was still trying to work in the middle of all the chaos as well. Things finally began to settle down. I thought back to how I was complaining three months before about having to stay at home all of the time because of my daughter. I had a new perspective. It took me not being able to go home for three months to realize how blessed I was.

I can look back now at my journey and see all of the many blessings in the middle of my trials. The trials I lived through have completely changed my life for the better. I still struggle daily, and continue to go through trials, but they get easier to handle. My experiences have grown me in a way that only they could accomplish. My faith has grown through all of this and I am so thankful. When I was down to nothing, God was up to something. I couldn’t see that in the moment, but every single time I could look back and see it after the trial was over. Do I wish things were different sometimes? Do I have bad days where I become exhausted and cry? Do I get down when I see other toddlers who are doing so much more than my daughter? Yes. When I do, I pray, I write about it, and I give it to God. He lifts the weight from my shoulders, puts a peace in my heart that only He can give, and holds me until I’m done crying. Without God, I couldn’t handle this. He is my strength, my refuge, my hope, my peace, and He will continue to carry me through this journey I am on.

My girls and I before the injury, and then a photo that was taken recently.

**This story originally appeared on the Single Mommin’ It blog. Used with permission.