The Secret Survivor
Sunday 26th April 2009
My eyes shot open and darted around the dark bedroom. Why was my alarm ringing at this time of night? Confused, I looked over at my husband, Todd, 42, lying in bed next to me. Then I realised, it wasn't my alarm, it was the phone. It was 1.39am. 'Hello?' I said sleepily, picking up. 'I'm a nurse,' a woman said. 'There's been an accident. It's your daughter, Jamie…' My head span and I could barely take in what she was saying. Jamie. Car crash. Badly hurt… 'We need to get up!' I screamed at Todd. My whole body was shaking as we pulled on our clothes and raced to the car. The hour-long journey to the hospital felt like the longest drive of my life. 'She was so chirpy when I talked to her this morning,' I sobbed, remembering the last time I'd spoken to Jamie, at 9am. Since she'd moved 50 miles away from our home in Zimmerman, Minnesota, for her hairdressing job in the town of Minnetonka, we'd got into a routine of speaking at that time every morning. I'd always been close to Jamie, 22, and her older sister, Jessica, 26, so now, I loved our morning chats. I'd sip my tea as Jamie told me about her plans for the day.
'She said she was taking it easy today,' I said. 'Why was she out in a car at this time?' 'I'm sure she'll be OK,' Todd reassured me. As soon as we arrived at the hospital and I saw the doctor's face, though, I knew it was anything but OK. 'Jamie's in a coma, and on life support,' he explained. 'We're not sure she'll make it.' I felt as though I'd been punched. 'No,' I gasped, my legs going weak. 'I want to see her.' 'There's something I must tell you first,' the doctor added, helping me into a chair. I want to be with Jamie, not sitting here, I thought, flustered. Then, he dropped a bombshell. 'When we examined Jamie, we found she was pregnant,' he said. 'P-pregnant?' I stammered. 'Since when?' Todd shot me a confused look, and I reached for his hand. 'But she didn't tell me,' I said. 'She hasn't even got a boyfriend.' My mind raced. Normally, Jamie told me everything. 'She might not have known about it herself,' the doctor continued. 'She wasn't showing, despite the fact she was five months gone.' 'Was?' I croaked. 'So the baby's dead?' 'No,' he replied. 'We delivered Jamie's daughter by Caesarean section an hour ago. She's in the special care baby unit.'
I felt as if I was about to faint. I'd become a grandma, something I'd always hoped would happen one day. But not like this. Not now, as Jamie lay fighting for her life. I could hardly see through the tears as the doctor at Hennepin County Medical Center took us to intensive care. And nothing in the world could have prepared me for the sight of my daughter. Her face was so damaged, it was half-covered with a sheet, and her blonde hair was matted with blood. 'She doesn't look like Jamie,' I gulped, burying my head in Todd's shoulder as the machines around her beeped loudly. 'It's still her,' Todd insisted. 'Please fight,' I whispered, stroking her hair. 'You've got a little girl. You can't leave us.' Saying it aloud felt weird. You've got a little girl. Every bone in my body willed her to hear me. I waited for her to blink, to try to speak. But there was nothing.
I was still struggling to get my head around it all when, minutes later, Jessica arrived, and we were taken to the special care baby unit. 'She's tiny,' I gasped, peering into the incubator. Weighing just 1lb 12oz, the baby's skin was see-through and her arms and legs were like twigs. 'Is she OK?' I asked. The doctor looked worried. 'Tests show she was badly brain-damaged in the crash,' he told us. 'No,' I gulped, shaking my head. Could it get any worse? Two days later, Jamie was still clinging to life, but things weren't looking good for her daughter. 'We're certain she's brain dead,' the doctor said. 'We need your permission to turn off her life- support machine.' I felt numb as I nodded my head. But not before naming her Angel. We'd only just met our granddaughter, and now, we were gathered around her incubator as the doctors switched off the ventilator. There was a loud beeping, then silence. 'Angel's going to die before her mummy's had the chance to meet her,' I sobbed. Only she didn't. Her chest continued to rise and fall. 'She's breathing on her own,' the doctor gasped, amazed.
Further tests detected brain activity, so the three of us spent the following month to-ing and fro-ing between Jamie's bedside and Angel's incubator. 'Your baby's doing well,' I told Jamie. 'She's putting on weight, too.' Details of the accident started filtering through. Despite telling me she fancied an early night, Jamie had gone out with her friend, Kelsey Palmer, 22, and Kelsey's boyfriend, Frank Tregoning, 21. Tregoning had crashed his Ford Mustang on a motorway, and according to police, alcohol was detected in all three passengers. Before the crash, Jamie, who was wearing a seat belt in the back, had texted her friends. I'm in a car… I'm going to die. It broke my heart to think of the terror she must have felt. And as for Frank? He'd had a lucky escape, and so had Kelsey. In fact, Jamie was the only one of the three with life-threatening injuries. There was no time to think about blame, because before we knew it, six weeks had passed, and Angel was having surgery to repair a faulty heart valve. It was a miracle she survived the operation. But on the other side of the hospital, Jamie's condition nose-dived. 'Her lungs have collapsed,' the doctor told us, ushering us out of the room as a crash team surrounded her bed.
We all stood in the corridor, too scared to speak, until minutes later, the doctor re-emerged. 'Jamie's body is under too much strain,' he said. 'We're pumping blood into her, but it's just streaming back out.' 'Give her one of my lungs,' I begged. 'Just save her.' 'I'm sorry, Kari,' the doctor replied. 'We've done all we can.' We gathered around Jamie's bed one last time, and I had a horrible feeling of déj" vu as the life-support machine was switched off. Part of me hoped her chest would carry on rising and falling. But when the machine stopped, Jamie's chest did too. She was dead. 'I can't believe my little sister's gone,' Jess sobbed. Neither could I. In fact, I was so wrapped up in grief, I barely registered being at Jamie's funeral, five days later. All that mattered now was Angel. Which was why I spent every moment next to her incubator, praying she'd pull through. And you know what? She did. On 25 November last year, we brought her home in the same white romper suit I'd dressed Jamie in 22 years before, on the day she'd come home from hospital.
Sadly, the two days couldn't have been more different. 'It isn't right,' I sobbed, as I tried to settle into being a mum. 'I don't want to be starting again at my age.' Todd found it difficult, too. As my second husband, he'd become stepdad to my girls when they were teenagers. 'I don't know how to look after a baby,' he kept saying. But we owed it to Jamie to try. So we stuck at it. Taking it in turns with the night feeds, learning how to change her tiny nappy. Then one day, Todd was cuddling her, when… 'Look at her smile,' he said. 'She looks just like Jamie.' I peered over his shoulder and couldn't hold back the tears. 'You're right,' I gulped. 'She has her mum's blonde hair, too.' It was a reminder that with Jamie gone, we had to do all we could for her daughter. Angel is still hooked up to a portable oxygen machine, and in the future, she might need surgery on her eyes, which were damaged by all the medication. But it's a miracle she survived the crash which killed her mum. Frank Tregoning is yet to face charges, but for the time being, we're concentrating on looking after Angel and trying to find her dad. We don't have a clue who he is, but I'm determined to find out. Still, every morning at 9am, my heart sinks when I remember Jamie won't be ringing today. Or any day, for that matter. Then, I hear Angel crying for her morning feed, and I realise how lucky I am. I might have lost my daughter, but thanks to the baby she left behind, a part of Jamie will always be here with us.