The Night My Son Came Close to Losing His Life

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I hold my son a little tighter than my other children. He naturally craves more affection, but the deeper reason lies in the fact that I almost lost him. Not due to an accident, but because of a sudden illness. My eldest, Lucas, nearly died from croup when he was just four years old.

An Ordinary Night Turns Alarming

It was an ordinary October Friday night three years ago. Lucas had come down with a cold, and we braced ourselves for the first bout of croup of the season. After settling both boys into bed, I dashed out to buy a humidifier. When I returned about thirty minutes later and set it up in their room, I heard the unmistakable sound of labored breathing. I steeled myself for what might follow—a likely doctor visit after a sleepless night. We had navigated this before.

Just fifteen minutes later, an alarming noise drew me back to their room. There was Lucas, thrashing in bed, struggling to breathe. In a panic, I scooped him up and rushed him to the living room. Within seconds, he was turning blue in my arms as I dialed 911. During the call, he stopped breathing, and the operator quickly began guiding us through CPR. I vividly remember that harrowing moment—laying him down on the floor by the front door, where just moments before we had prepared to take him to the emergency room, while my husband performed CPR on our young son. I stood frozen in horror, my mind racing with disbelief. Was this really how it was going to end?

The Arrival of Help

Suddenly, the scene shifted as ten firefighters burst in. I hadn’t even heard the sirens of the two firetrucks and ambulance that had arrived. They swiftly took Lucas, cutting away his beloved green pajamas, and began their work. I felt utterly helpless, my mind oddly fixated on the way they secured his car seat to the gurney—something I had never seen before. Before long, they were wheeling him out to the ambulance.

His condition was critical; his oxygen levels were dangerously low. Right there, in front of our building, they intubated him while he was strapped in his Cowmooflage car seat. My husband and I sat on the curb, tears streaming down our faces as onlookers watched. Once the procedure was complete, I hopped into the front seat of the ambulance, and we sped off to Children’s Hospital. Those fifteen minutes felt like a lifetime. I remember asking the ambulance driver if my son would survive. The things those first responders must witness! He assured me Lucas would be okay—and he was.

A Miracle of Survival

After a few days in the ICU and a hefty dose of steroids, he pulled through without any permanent damage.

Describing the feeling of nearly losing a child is difficult. It’s a profound sense of helplessness, akin to grasping for a rope just out of reach while plummeting from a great height. In those moments, the depth of love for your child becomes glaringly apparent, along with the realization that life without them is unimaginable. The relief when they recover is more than just a breath of air; it’s akin to gasping for breath after being rescued from drowning. Even now, three years later, October brings back waves of emotion. I still vividly remember that night, and I hold onto that green pajama top, cut in two. I can’t bear to look at it, yet I cannot part with it either. It serves as a tangible reminder of the miracle of his survival.

Though I didn’t hear the sirens that night, I flinch when I hear them now. I feel an overwhelming urge to hug every firefighter I see. The thought that if I hadn’t gone to check on him, I might have found him lifeless the next morning still sends shivers down my spine. Just this week, Lucas brought home a school project to create a timeline of his life. As we flipped through the photo books I’ve compiled for each of my children, he read aloud, chuckling at memories from his baby and toddler years. When he reached the story of that fateful night—a night he has no recollection of—he paused, tears streaming down his face. He stopped reading to give me a heartfelt hug and kiss.

Then, with remarkable ease, he turned the page. That simple act held immense symbolism for me: he is still here, and his life continues on.

This article was originally published on Sep. 23, 2013.

Further Reading

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Summary

In this heartfelt narrative, a mother recounts the terrifying night her son nearly lost his life to croup. The experience left her feeling helpless and profoundly aware of her love for him. Three years later, she still holds onto reminders of that night while celebrating the miracle of his survival.