We left the hospital and went to Jenny's house to get Stewart's car. All the kids were there, and aunt JoAnna was there to take them home. I somehow managed to pull it together long enough to hug them and tell them JoAnna was taking them home and that everything was going to be ok. They asked questions, of which I don't remember, and that I didn't answer. I noticed Jenny's husband Tanner was there taking down all the decorations. I felt sincere concern for Jenny and Tanner. I hoped they knew how I felt about them. That the only person I was blaming at the time was me. That even though I didn't really know him, I wouldn't trade their friendship for anything.
As we walked into our house, I couldn't catch my breath. It was just as we left it- a beautiful mess. Cash's shoes were in the middle of the floor, clothes and toys scattered all over. His EE monkey was on the footstool. Our daily life was scattered everywhere and all I could think about is how this would never be the same mess again. I sat down with his EE and cried. I smelled it and tried to take it all in. I couldn't. Stewart buzzed around packing a bag to head out. My dad came. Stewart's parents came. The let-downs just kept coming. Every time I saw them I just felt so much guilt and pain. Here I was supposed to be taking care of their precious grand-baby, and I couldn't even do that simple thing. I hurt for them. I hurt for me. Both our Father's took the time to give us a blessing. They were beautiful, and all I can remember is feeling love from both my earthly Fathers, and my Father in Heaven.
Right after our blessings my Dad mentioned that one of the life flight members was friends with one of the Bingham boys. They said that Cash had some movements on the helicopter. That bolted me into action. I got up, got my clothes in a bag, threw some things into a bag and got moving. Maybe this was our miracle. Maybe it was just meant to get me moving.
Wally and Nancy drove us to Boise. It was a quiet car ride. No one talked much. We stopped at Mountain Home and I dry heaved in the bathroom. I felt so sick to my stomach. The drive felt like it took forever. By the time we got to the hospital Cash was settled in his room. The doctor there was a younger guy. He had big eyes and shaggy hair. He started off by stating that the odds of this type of thing are not good. 99% not good, and the 1% that survive, are not good. Again. I knew. It was like something was trying to lighten the blow by just letting me know. Maybe Heavenly Father knows that when I get my hopes up, they're high, and when they fall, it's a real crash. Maybe that's why I just knew when I did, at the very beginning, straight out of the water.
The doctor asked if we were spiritual. He wanted to pray with us. He put his hand on Cash's belly and prayed that things would work out the way they were supposed to, and that we would be okay with it, and that the doctors would do the best they could. I remember appreciating that prayer so much. It touched me that the doctor would call on God to help us all through this.
From a medical standpoint: Cash's heart started beating on it's own after about 30 minutes of resuscitation. His breathing was controlled by the machine he was hooked up to. On the life-flight his heart gave out, but they re-started it. By the time he was settled into Boise he had his own steady beat. They were trying to get his body temperature to rise with a heat blanket. They weren't sure if he had any brain activity (they couldn't rule it out) but he had no pupil activity. Thus began the waiting.
Jaime brought my kids and my brother and sister up. We had to explain to the kids what had happened. I don't remember how any of that went. It had to have been a divinely led conversation. Addison understood. She seemed to have an understanding of Heavenly Father and him needing our angels. Brogan wasn't so sure about it. The hospital provided a sleep room for our family. The first night the kids wouldn't go to bed without me. My dad and I took them and snuggled them till they slept. A few hours later I woke up and headed back to Cash. I walked into the room to find my little sister sleeping over Cash, holding his little hand. My brother Josh was sleeping so uncomfortably in an upright armchair, and my mom was curled up on the narrow window seat, covered by a few thin blankets. Stewart and Jaime were in the next room, similarly uncomfortable and trying to sleep. It was a sad and beautiful sight all at the same time. How lucky I was to have this family of mine surrounding me in my time of deepest heartache.
The Pediatric Intensive Care Unit (PICU) where we were was very accommodating to our family. They opened the door to the adjoining room, and told us we were welcome there until morning, or until they needed the room. In the morning they told us they would probably only allow 3 visitors at a time (since that is their policy) and that we'd only have the one room with Cash. But they never did kick us out of that room, or hold us to the 3 visitor limit.
The next day was a tough one, although I felt like I was empowered with an outside form of strength. Whenever my kids were there, I was able to hold myself together enough to be there for them. As visitors came I knew they were grieving along with me, so I tried to be ok enough for them. (Everyone who came genuinely loved Cash. There was just something about that boy that made everyone want to be around him. I knew they would miss him too). When people weren't around, or whenever I was being held or consoled by my Mom or Dad or Stewart, I allowed myself to let go of the "tough" and just feel what I needed to feel. I felt so much guilt. So much loss. And so much heartache. I didn't know how to imagine life without my baby. I remember sitting next to my dad. He had his arm around me and I was sobbing. I was just feeling so heartbroken. I muttered to him, "this is just such a terrible thing. It shouldn't have happened. I'm so heartbroken. I've never felt pain like this. What a terrible thing". My dad sat quietly for a minute and let me sob before he said anything, but replied, "ya know, this isn't so terrible. It's not, because you know that Heavenly Father always has a plan. You know where that little boy is going, and you know you can be with him again someday". That really sank into my heart. That was all too true. I do have a testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I do believe in Eternal Families, and I also know that because of the sealing power of my temple marriage, I will be with Cash forever. That was the first solid, comforting advice my dad gave, with many to come.
Stewart and my mom were the only two I felt comfortable sharing my guilt with. I knew that they would both understand a parent's responsibility and sense of guilt, but also that they would tell me not to think that way. I think they both did just that. They understood, but they didn't allow it. I even knew that I couldn't feel guilty, or place blame on anyone, but that doesn't mean I didn't blame myself. The whole time in the hospital it was all I could do to apologize to my precious baby that lay ever so still in that bed. It did feel like my fault, and no one could have made me feel differently.
The days and nights in the hospital seemed to mesh together. It seemed like one big long, exhausting day. Through the mess of it all we had so many family and friends come. Throughout the time we were there we had a steady stream of friends and loved ones that came to see us, and ultimately say goodbye to Cash. Jaime and Steve, Lee and Beca and all their kids, Rick and Debi and their kids, Spencer, Micah and Lindy and their kids, Dorothy came up and brought the kids, Jon and Lisa came. Audry, Bruce, Bryce, Krista and Brian. My Grandma and Grandpa Jensen, Grandpa Funk, Sandy and Kerri Craig, Aunt Bonnie came and brought lunch for everyone at the hospital. Kelly Midbust (came in the middle of the night when we got there). Misty Wood, Danielle Lofgran, All of the Cristopherson families came. Jordon and Sharon Braga. Amy and Lizzie Winmill, my gym girls- Gentry Whittle, Amy and Rylee Dunn, Laura Bunn, Rachel Diamond. Austin and Sydnee Rasmussen, Kelly Bauman, Rosa and CJ Beadz, Penny and Dave Swarner. I'm even sure I'm forgetting someone. There were so many people there. It felt good to have them around us. It felt good to feel loved. I know there were so many people who were planning on coming the next day, but as the evening came, the decision we had to make became more clear.
Cash had several brain scans to determine his brain function. They came back and concluded that he had enough function to keep his heart beating, and that was about it. The simple way they explained it was that the brain has two "levels". One is what makes you who you are, your thoughts, memories, personality. The second is breathing, and heartbeat kind of stuff. when the brain is traumatized, it does everything it can to keep the body alive. So Cash had the smallest amount of brain function keeping his heart beating, but the rest of him was ultimately gone. I think the doctors were well-meaning as they tried to give us a little hope in waiting for things to change, but I knew. Stewart knew. After the doctor had given us the results of the brain scans, and given us the ultimate outcome Stewart and I spent a few minutes alone with Cash in his little room. We talked with each other and cried with each other. Our family and friends were in the hall, ready to comfort us. We decided that no saving miracles were going to happen, and that maybe our miracle had already come and it was simply his time to go home. We decided to take him off life support. We also decided that if possible Cash should be an organ donor. They decided to give the transplant team notice and have them take Cash in the morning. Late into the night though Cash's heart started beating very irregularly. The doctors didn't know how long it would be able to stand that fast pace, and moved up the transplant. The team was on their way and would be there at 3 in the morning.
