My back was turned for just a few minutes to pack up the kids' toys. Then I heard the cries.
My 3-year-old daughter Mina was on the wooden floor with tears streaming down her face. I didn't see what happened, but her 8-year-old brother did: "She tried to jump like Wallykazam!"
The little climber had decided a low kitchen stool would make the perfect stage to groove along with the television, until the stool suddenly toppled over and she hit the ground. A cuddle and a lolly were all it took to comfort Mina and she quickly recovered, so I thought it was just a typical toddler fall.
A few hours later, we were confronted with every parent's worst fear.
By 8:00pm, Mina was getting tired. She kept rubbing the side of her head, but there was no lump or bruise, so I let her lie down. After about 10 minutes, she sat bolt upright and vomited.
I immediately thought of concussion, so I rang the after-hours GP service and a nurse recommended I take her straight to Emergency. She was breathing, her pupils seemed normal and she was resting. I didn't see any justification for an ambulance, so we waited for grandparents to come over to mind our son, then drove 15 minutes to the Sydney Children's Hospital in Randwick.
I never imagined Mina's life could be in imminent danger.
'Is she normally like this?'
When we arrived at Emergency, the triage nurse asked a list of routine COVID questions before she looked at Mina. She was resting her head on my husband's shoulder, eyes shut.
"Is she normally like this?" the nurse asked. At that moment her head flopped forwards and the nurse snatched Mina from her father's arms and ran, yelling "RESUS!"
Suddenly, there were more than a dozen people in gowns, ripping off her clothes and connecting her to machines. My adrenalin started pumping and I had a gut-wrenching feeling of helplessness. My husband sat in the chair beside me, tears streaming down his face.
Mina had suffered what's called an extradural haemorrhage. When the side of her head hit the floor, the impact ruptured an artery. After a few hours, a large collection of blood shifted her brain, causing her to lose consciousness.
One of the surgeons said that such a serious head trauma was more typical in a car accident or football injury — rarely in a fall from such a low height. There was no time for consent forms or discussions with doctors. Mina was taken straight for a CT scan and into surgery.
Had we put her to bed that night, she would never have woken up.
I paced the hospital corridor, dry-retching into a bag, while my husband sat white-faced with hands held tight. Several hours passed before the neurosurgeons finally emerged from theatre. Mina's haemorrhage was so massive they'd removed a chunk of her skull to give the brain space to swell and placed her in an induced coma.
Mina had been given a fighting chance, but the surgeon warned us that "not all children pull through, while others can suffer brain damage". I was shaking uncontrollably.
Anxious days in ICU
In the Intensive Care Unit, only one parent was allowed at a time, due to COVID-19 restrictions. "Just to warn you," a nurse explained, "there's a lot of swelling and bruising. It may be confronting seeing her for the first time."
Mina was completely unrecognisable. Her tiny swollen face was wrapped with bandages. Covering her mouth was a ventilator, carefully propped up by a donated teddy bear.
Despite the machine noises and blinding lights, though, there was an overwhelming feeling of compassion and warmth in that room. The nurses and doctors were meticulous, thoughtful, as they discussed and debated how to keep her stable.
Several anxious days later, an immense weight of worry was finally lifted when the head of the ICU looked me in the eye and told me: "I can say with certainty you will get to take your little girl home."
Hearing those words — that Mina was going to live — was the best moment of my life.
A determined recovery
When the sedation was gradually reduced and she could breathe on her own, the nurses soothed and cuddled Mina through waves of brain agitation. She thrashed around in pain, needing three people to hold her still. One nurse laughed off having to go home in scrubs, because her work clothes ended up covered in Mina's blood.
Even though Mina was regaining strength, her eyes just gazed around the room and she didn't speak. We were sure she must have suffered significant brain damage and would need a long rehabilitation.
It was only after her condition stabilised and she was moved to the ward that the lights behind those big green eyes flickered on. "Look at all the colours," she exclaimed, reaching for a small rubber toy on her bed.
That night, she grinned cheekily and recited lines from cartoons. The next day she stumbled to her feet and attempted to walk. She ordered physiotherapists to set up tea parties on the floor and treated music therapists like a jukebox, singing along joyfully to their guitars and shaking a maraca.
Mina's recovery was nothing short of astounding, her fearless determination inspiring. "I like doctors," she proclaimed, as they discharged her from the ward. She's living proof that the brain can bounce back to complete normality after a traumatic injury.
The resilience of a eucalypt after a bushfire
But Mina still had a large section of brain exposed behind a flap of skin, where the bone had been removed from her skull. She was very vulnerable.
We removed hard furniture from the house, wrapped pillars in foam pads, put down soft mats and slept on the floor. There could be no outings to playgrounds, no childcare and no kindy gym. Mina had to wear a special helmet, which was hot and uncomfortable but she somehow seemed to understand its importance.
After nearly five months, it was time for the bone in cold storage to be fixed back with titanium rivets. Despite the risks, we had no choice but to put Mina through major surgery, a period in ICU and another recovery.
It was daunting and terrifying to put her life back on the line, but we had faith in those surgeons, who had already performed miracles.
Mina took the entire experience in her stride. A few days after her surgery, with more than 40 stitches running from one side of her head to another, she was once again bouncing around the ward. A happy, healthy, vivacious child with the resilience of a eucalypt after a bushfire.
"You could say Mina was extremely unlucky, but actually she's incredibly lucky," one neurosurgeon put it.
For us — and perhaps for all parents — the lesson in her accident is to never assume a tiny bump to the head is just that. Look for subtle signs and don't go to bed, if in any doubt.
We're exceedingly fortunate that world-class specialists were able to save Mina and gift our precious child a second chance at life.
Marion Ives is a Story Producer on the ABC's Network and International news desks.
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2021-01-31 18:00:00Z
CBMibWh0dHBzOi8vd3d3LmFiYy5uZXQuYXUvbmV3cy8yMDIxLTAyLTAxL215LXRvZGRsZXItZmVsbC1vZmYtc3Rvb2wtd2hhdC1oYXBwZW5lZC1uZXh0LXBhcmVudC1uaWdodG1hcmUvMTMwOTkwMzDSAQA
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