Crisis of Identity

First thing Friday morning I attended my weekly meeting with the developers in their city office, to report on the progress of their build; a 30 storey apartment complex with ground floor retail tenancies, on the fringe of the city.

After this meeting I took the opportunity while in the city to visit the council offices to follow up on permits we were waiting on.

Once I was clear of my morning commitments I met Mitch for a mid-morning coffee at our usual café. As it turned out it was only a quick catch up because Mitch had to be at a meeting by 11am.

From the city I decided to head back to my office, via mine to pick up my gym gear for an after-work session. During our cuppa Mitch asked about mum, which reminded me that I still have to check in on how she went with the cops and her DNA test. She attended to it first thing this morning.

As I drove I hit a number on my speed dial and called mum on the hands free. It took several rings before mum answered.

‘Hi Mum… Just checking in to see how everything went with the cops this morning.’

‘Hi darling. It went OK, I suppose.’ Mum’s tone lacked her usual zest.

‘Was there much to the test?’

‘Not really. Some paperwork then they handed me the swab and I had to take my own sample.’

‘Relatively painless then...’

‘No it wasn’t Kade.’ Mum’s tone firmed. ‘I hated it. I was so upset. I felt like a common criminal when they escorted me out the back for the test. People were looking at me…’

‘Are you OK, mum?’ She sounded like she was heavily medicated.

After an unusually lengthy pause mum responded. ‘I think so. I’m just… I feel a little dizzy. It upset me doing that this morning, Kade, maybe a little more than I realised. But I’ll be fine. I’ll just makeammummab.’

‘Make a what…?’ I threw a U-turn. My trip home was now a detour to mum’s. ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’

Silence.

‘Mum…?’ My pulse rate quickened at the lack of reaction.

Silence.

‘Mum…! Are you there…’ I checked the connection. ‘Mum…’ My stomach started to churn.

‘Oh… Oh my lord…’ Mum began. ‘I’m. I just… I, I don’t… I feel... I think I need tositdunnnon….’

‘Listen mum. Sit yourself down and take it easy. I’m coming over to see you. OK…? I’ll make you a nice cuppa when I get there…OK…?’

Silence.

‘Mum…’

Silence.

I was only a couple of minutes from mum’s by this time. Speed limits and road rules no longer mattered. I overtook cars like they were standing still.

Something is clearly wrong. I have never heard her sound like that before. She was tripping.

I gave mum one more try. ‘Mum… Can you hear me…? If you can hear me… I’m getting worried. I’m going to call an ambulance…’ There was no response. I ended the call and dialled 000.

By the time I finished explaining my concerns and gave them mum’s address, I was pulling up at mum’s. I was out of the seat before my car came to a complete stop, sprinting to mum’s front door.

All I could think of as I ran was please be alive… Please be alive… This is my mum. She is all the family I have left.

After bursting through the front door I called out to mum as I ran through her home, searching for her. There was no response. My stomach churned.

When I reached the kitchen mum was nowhere to be seen. As I moved towards the lounge I caught sight of mum’s legs. She was unconscious on the kitchen floor, lying on her side.

My heart raced as I moved to her. She had a sizeable puce coloured bump on her forehead. Mum was non-responsive to my voice. I checked her pulse. I couldn’t find it. I started panting.

I had to stay calm. No pulse… Shit. I have to preform CPR. What is it…? ABC… Airways Breathing Circulation. After I checked mum’s mouth was clear I rolled her onto her back and opened her airways. I listened for any breathing. There was nothing. I re-checked her pulse. Nothing.

There was no time. I have no idea how long ago she stopped breathing. I started chest compressions, pausing to puff two breaths into mum’s mouth, before continuing. I repeated this action, hoping the ambos will be here soon. I don’t even know if I am doing this right.

As a sixteen year old, I applied to work part-time as a pool lifeguard, which required me to qualify for my pool bronze medallion. Part of that achievement was the requirement to demonstrate efficiencies in performing CPR—on a CPR manikin. I did it and did it well.

Shortly after I passed my Bronze Medallion my interests changed and my sporting pursuits took me away from the pool, so I have not practiced CPR since.

That was over twelve years ago and it was on an inanimate manikin, not a person and certainly not my mum; l cannot fail.

Mum’s sternum compressed under each downward push, causing her body to heave slightly. There was no reaction. Was I doing this right? I kept hoping CPR hasn’t changed since I last did it.

Where are the ambos? Come on guys.

Thirty compressions followed by two puffs of air. Thirty compressions flowed by two puffs of air. I continued this rotation, stopping only to check for a pulse. Each check returned the same result—nothing. I kept working, all the time pleading with mum to start breathing.

‘Hello…’ A voice yelled from the front door.

‘Down here… In the kitchen. Quick...’

A Paramedic burst from the hallway and raced around to us in the kitchen. ‘You’re doing a great job… Are you able to keep going while I set up,’ he said.

‘Yes. But I’m not sure if I’m doing this right.’

‘You’re doing perfectly. Just keep going,’ he said as he set up a defibrillator.

His colleague followed behind with the stretcher. He moved over to me and quickly checked mum’s heart with a stethoscope before taking over with the compressions. I stepped back and watched. Tears rolled down my cheeks.

Watching ambulance officers frantically working on an unconscious parent is terrifying and something I never want to experience again.

‘Is this your mother?’ The first ambo asked.

‘Yes.’

‘How old is she?’ The second ambo asked as he continued the compressions, stopping to squeeze puffs of breath into mum with what looked like a plastic bag attached to a mouthpiece.

‘Um…’ I cupped my forehead. My brain was clouded. I couldn’t think. ‘Um. Fifty-eight.’

‘Does she have a history of heart disease..?’

‘No. I don’t think so… Is she going to be alright?’

The first ambo applied the pads from a defibrillator to mum’s chest and activated the device. The second ambo used the stethoscope to check for a pulse. He shook his head.

Following a brief pause, a second shock burst was administered with the same result. No pulse.

My stomach churned. My legs felt like I had run a marathon. Come on, Mum…Breath.

It took the 3rd shock for mum’s heart to respond, albeit erratically. Once stabilized the Ambos loaded mum onto a stretcher and then into the ambulance.

After I gave them mum’s details I asked, ‘Which hospital are you taking her to?’

‘Royal Perth…’ The ambo said closing the ambulance rear door, after mum was loaded.

‘OK. I’ll see you there.’