Nine weeks ago
“He’s choking!” I screamed.
My feet pounded against the concrete as the shade in Cade’s face deepened to purple and his hands clawed at his throat.
Jesse’s footsteps were hot on my heels and his voice boomed. “Cade!”
I yelled. “Someone call 9-1-1!”
I ran around Cade, positioning myself at his back then wrapped my arms around his torso. Just like I’d learned, I pressed my fist into the soft flesh beneath his sternum and drove it deep with the force of my other hand. Cade reactively convulsed in my arms, his back sealed to my belly.
Jesse already had the phone pressed to his ear as he dropped to his knees before Cade.
Adrenaline pulsed through my veins, supplying calm strength. My motherly instincts were primal, fierce, sharp as a dagger, anddamn it all, this little boy would breathe again if I had anything to say about it.
I gave a second thrust.
Jesse’s voice filtered in and out of my awareness as he rushed to explain our location to a dispatcher. An airport employee stood nearby. Travelers slowed their marches into the airport, the foot traffic bottlenecking as onlookers stopped to watch in horror. One of my daughters screamed from the truck.
But I didn’t see or hear any of them, not really.
I focused on nothing but the boy in my arms.
Jesse’s hands lifted to Cade’s shoulders when Cade started to sag forward. He pressed him back into me, holding him steady.
Time warped. Every second stretched like a lifetime. My heart pounded in my chest and sweat beaded on my brow. I lost count of the number of thrusts I gave Cade. Tears swam in my eyes as the seconds piled.
A stranger drew near, placing a hand on Jesse’s shoulder and praying out loud.
Another person stood nearby, on the phone with another dispatcher.
I knew how to do CPR but hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
“Come on!” I half grunted, half screamed. “Stay with us.”
I gave another.
It was taking too long. Too many.
Cade would black out at any moment. My brain readied for the next step—easing him onto the concrete, chest compressions, lifting the chin, rescue breaths.
In desperation, I glanced at Jesse, whose face was white, tear-streaked, hat gone, hair disheveled. His lips moved but I couldn’t grab onto his words. And then my surroundings swirled, turning into a smear of gray as tears completely blocked my vision.
They fell down my cheeks as I delivered another thrust, and then…
Cade inhaled.
I crumbled with relief.
In a flurry of motion, Jesse reached for his son as Cade wrenched himself from my grasp and collapsed into his dad. Jesse wrapped hisarms around Cade and placed his forehead against his wavy auburn hair, squeezing his eyes closed as he whispered on repeat,“thank you God, thank you God.”
Cade’s first few breaths were long, wheezing, desperate—escaping on pain-filled moans. I hoped I didn’t hurt him too much. I’d lost count of how many thrusts it took, surely not as many as it felt like.
My gaze rose to the truck in the pick-up lane where my sweet girls were sitting with both the back and front doors ajar, crying their eyes out. At that moment, two on-site airport medics came barrelling out of the glass doors with a stretcher carried between them.
Even with medics at the airport, probably only minutes away, Cade would’ve been unconscious before they arrived. Life, in all its forms, was so fragile.
The thought sent a deep tremble across my body.
