August 3 Scott was transferred from L'Archet 2 Hospital in Nice to Hospital Nord in Marseille to receive ECMO treatment. Dr. Tran mentioned about this treatment as part of the absolutely worst case scenario. Basically, I did not plan for this to happen. But it happened. There was nothing else they could do in Nice to save my husband's life. The next closest place with necessary equipment was 2 hours west of Nice, which is Marseille. Extracorporeal membrane oxygenation or ECMO is a surgical procedure which involves tubes being inserted in a leg artery and blood drawn from the body and pumped through a machine that works like an artificial lung and heart delivering oxygen straight to the bloodstream. That gives rest to lungs allowing them to fight the bacteria and hopefully regain their function.
After that Tuesday night when they picked up Scottie, I made a decision to drive home to Garmisch. First thing Wednesday morning I packed my stuff and Scott's bike, cleaned a bit, got my bottle of water from the freezer and set off for North. Fred and Karen were at work, so we said our good-byes beforehand. Leaving France was hard. Facing my circumstances 5 weeks ago, I hated that place. Now, 5 weeks later, I got attached to it: Mediterranean breeze, loud crickets, marché aux fleurs, the Lafittes... And of course, the thought of going the opposite direction from where Scott was now. I felt like I should have followed him to Marseille. But the doctors told me that I would not be able to come and visit anyway, because everything had to be sterile for the fear of complications.
So, here I am, leaving la belle France, and entering bella Italia, and crying my eyes out. Driving for 8 hours completely solo was a torture! It's like death angels were next to me, whispering into my ear all the things that might go wrong. And at this point, they would be right. And there was nobody there to prove me otherwise, or distract me from my dark thoughts. Even Robbie Williams sounded really depressing (I will never be able to hear his songs again without bursting into tears).
In Italy I stopped to go to the bathroom, to buy some juice and stuffed animals for the kids and fuel for the car. Once I climbed over the mountains, gusty rainstorm slapped my car. I knew I was home because the temperature on the north side of the Alps dropped like 20 degrees. Garmisch greeted me cold and sad, just the way I felt inside. I haven't eaten all day and I don't know how I stayed awake during my drive. Probably the thought of my kids, who were anticipating my return and counted so heavily on my presence, that was what kept me safe. I needed to make it home, I reminded myself. No matter how much I wanted to cling to my role as a wounded soldier, a torn-up victim, or a lonely girl with broken heart, I needed to be the strongest one of all now. I AM the mother of my children and they needed me, my comfort, my experience, my faith, my testimony, and my LOVE.
My Mom was sitting on the couch, babies leaning on both sides of her under her arms, like under the wings. My babies looked quiet. They did not even budge when I flew into the apartment. They hid their chubby faces in my Mom's sides. They did not recognize me! They both had fever caused by stomach bug, Mom said. I could not dare to rip them out of my Mom's comforting embrace, though my heart squeezed a little harder releasing the pain I did not know before. My babies did not know who I was!
I hurried down the hall to Nadia's room. She was also sick, laying in her bed, looking out the window. My sunshine baby girl was not even finding comfort in her books. That was not a good sign. I got into bed with her and we laid there hugging and crying. She held me tight, I kissed her head that smelled of anti-lice shampoo. I was not going to see her wither. I promised myself to be her best friend and bring smiles back to her face.
David was like his siblings in bed, with fever. They all got struck by the same bug. Knowing more than enough about fevers now, I was alarmed yet comforted. Alarmed, because I remembered instantly what a scary indication it is for Scott. Comforted, because not all causes of high body temperature are deadly. I knew that my children's fever will soon go away. Maybe, Scott's would, too?
From that Tuesday/Wednesday when we hit ground zero and felt the most vulnerable, weak, bruised, and lost, things just had to get better. And they did. At least, at home.
At first, my only way to deal with our sad situation was to curl up on a couch and lick my wounds to the point that they would remain raw. So much was I reliving my pains that they seemed to increase. This was not working, I needed to change my coping techniques.
One of them was to ask and accept help. Anya Bikbaeva, from my Russian hometown, whom I have never met in my life before, but heard of a lot from my sister, who was friends with Anya, offered to come and help us. What's more is that she now lives in Wurzburg (she married a German guy.) She hopped on a train and 4 hours later made it to Garmisch Bahnhof where Kirill Tsekhanovski picked her up and brought her to us.
What a blessing she was for our home! My Mom was relieved from constant heavy burden of responsibility and a huge load of work that was on her shoulders all this time. I was not as much help to my Mom as Anya was. Anya speaks good English so my older kids were able to communicate more freely. She is young, energetic, and really great with kids while I was quite not in shape to take over. Plus, it was another Russian speaking soul in our household. Do you know what that means? That means tea time in the evening, Russian movies and a lot of talking, without constantly deviating towards heavy topics of life and death. In other words, good therapy!
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