Somebody Call 9-1-1…

Right now my kids are currently obsessed with the song ‘Fire Burning’ by Sean Kingston. They have only heard the real deal once, but picked up the basics from the kids on the playground at school. It’s pretty hilarious to hear their rendition… Somebody call 911 –  Shorty’s fire burning on the dance floor, whoa-oa!

Anyhoo, it got me thinking about calling 911. Did y’all know I have actually had to call 911 three times in my eleven years of marriage? Yep. Three times.

The first time was probably the most eventful, most surreal, most unforgettable Holy Spirit moment of my entire life. It was actually the first anniversary of the terrorist attacks of 9/11/2001. Scott had a shoulder reconstruction done that morning, at an outpatient surgery center. Just a ‘routine’ repair of some damage done from years of playing sports.

Our first sign that things were not looking up was when Scott’s shoulder block anesthesia also blocked his diaphragm and stopped his breathing on the operating room table, for which he was intubated. But, this was an outpatient surgery center, and their doors close at 2:30 p.m. sharp and they just sent us right on home with a morphine pump and a bottle of gatorade. (I will spare you the diatribe wherein I wax prolific about my hatred of this medical practice and their patient care. Ahem.)

Scott couldn’t get comfortable anywhere at home- we tried the sofa, the bed and finally borrowed a lazy boy chair from a friend and settled him in. My parents came to spend the night and help me care for Scott and we were up watching the 9/11 commemoration on TV. Scott was very tired and drugged up. His morphine pump was pumping away, yet he seemed really out of it and said, “I feel like I will stop breathing if I fall asleep”- which we thought were the meds talking, so we just told him to rest himself.

About two minutes later I heard the morphine pump pumping several extra times, out of rhythm. About one minute later, Scott’s eyes rolled back in his head and he made these odd noises, as though he was breathing out, but not back in. He turned completely gray and passed out. We couldn’t get him to wake up. We couldn’t find a pulse or hear him breathing.

When I tell you that this was the most ‘Holy Spirit Moment’ of my life, there really is no other way to describe it. My parents and I just jumped up and moved in complete sync with one another. No one panicked. I called 911 and my parents began CPR.   (Scott says later he was very thankful to be unconscious while receiving mouth-to-mouth from his father in law!). In God’s perfect providence, we lived one mile from a fire station. In three minutes from the time I placed the call, two firemen were walking through my front door. They resuscitated him in seconds.

We spent the night in the ER and we will never forget the grace of God poured out on us that night. Thank you, Lord, for saving my husband.

The second time, we were happily doing yard work on a Saturday afternoon in the fall of 2005. We had gotten a sitter and tickets to go to the USC football game with friends. Scott was out raking and somehow got into a fire ant bed in the front yard. He got about 16 bites. He came in to take a shower and started to wheeze and was covered in hives, head to toe. He probably would have survived a ride to the hospital with me, but I was scared he was going into anaphylactic shock and didn’t want to risk it. A little IV of epinephrine at the hospital and he was good to go, although we did miss the game.

The third call was the winter of 2009, and Scott got the flu. He was so dehydrated and delirious that I could not get him off of the bathroom floor to put him in the car to take him to the hospital. It was the middle of the night and I had to call some friends from church to come sit with the children while we went. Talk about a good friend, coming into a sick house to help! A few hours of IVs and we went home, never to skip flu shots again- and remembering to drink gatorade no matter how bad you feel!

So, I’m hoping that I’ve more than met my lifetime quota for calls to 911. But I will say that each time, I have realized more and more just how precious life is, and I am so thankful for the way the Lord cares for us. I was going to put the video for Fire Burning up here just for fun, but the picture alone on YouTube lets me know it’s probably a little too shady for this blog! 🙂




One response to “Somebody Call 9-1-1…

  1. My children LOVE this song too, they think it’s “shiny fire burning on the dance floor,” and sing it almost CONSTANTLY with various revised lyrics!! Their father has taught them to adapt it to any circumstance, “Watch out for fire burning on your hot dog…” etc. But the next time I hear it, I will be thankful that I have never actually had to call 911 — wow, Scott keeps you on your toes!!!!

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