I remember walking into the room where they would be performing Laurel’s 2^nd CT scan.  Since we were at Primary Children’s Hospital, the walls in the room were painted with flowers and I can still remember the effect those flowers had on me.  Somehow, this room wasn’t so terrifying.  I didn’t feel the coldness of the machines as they wheeled Laurel’s bed in and got it into place.  Maybe this wasn’t really happening… maybe I’d be waking up soon.  Yes, this was just a nightmare…

But there is something stark and foreboding that comes with the cold, lead-lined jacket I needed to wear during the scan.  Suddenly the chair I was sitting in felt like it was carved from stone.  The weight of the jacket settled on my shoulders in a way that made me feel like reality might not be far away.

I don’t remember much about the walk between the CT scan and Laurel’s PICU hospital room.  For some reason it has stuck in my mind that this is when my Uncle Bob texted me.  Word had been spreading fast within my large extended family and many were eager to know what they could do to help.  I asked him to please get everyone involved in a family-wide fast.

My mind wasn’t yet accepting what was going on.  My texts with Uncle Bob were about the celebration we’d have at Laurel’s favorite ice cream shop as soon as she was better.  The very fact that I took a picture of Laurel during her CT scan tells me that I was still fully expecting her to be able to appreciate her amazing comeback.  It was the last picture I would take that day.

When Matt first approached Laurel’s PICU room, he remembers being told by some nurses that Laurel’s condition was not good and that her chances of recovery were low, he needed to prepare himself for this to not end well.  But I don’t remember hearing this.  Perhaps I chose not to.

Laurel’s arrival in the PICU was followed by another flurry of activity as the ER doctors brought the PICU doctors up to speed.  Doctors and nurses were running everywhere and Matt and I were told to wait outside in the hall.  The doors were pulled shut and the curtains were drawn while Laurel’s doctor performed a neurological exam and a reflex assessment.

Doctors finally came out of Laurel’s room where Matt and I were waiting.  Her doctor started to pull up some chairs outside Laurel’s room so we could discuss her condition.  But then he stopped himself and suggested we go to a consultation room.

It felt like the consultation room was miles away.  We seemed to be walking for the longest time.  I remember leaning into Matt and telling him that there was only one reason that we would need a consultation room- they didn’t want us to scare the locals when we freaked out.  Reality was coming to settle on our shoulders.

The doctors explained to us that even though the drain had been placed correctly to help relieve the pressure on Laurel’s brain, it wasn’t actually draining much.  Her brain was too swollen to allow drainage and the swelling had actually increased.

They were able to determine that Laurel had experienced a cerebral herniation earlier that morning.  This was due to the masses of cancer cells that were causing the pressure on her brain and brain stem.  Doctors believed Laurel’s brain had gone without oxygen for a couple of hours at this point even though she was still breathing.

The brain pressure had pinched off the blood & oxygen flow.  The smaller spots they were seeing on the CT scan were lesions on her brain and the larger masses showed where the cancerous cells or blood was pooling (they are pretty sure they were tumors but needed an MRI to confirm).

At this point they explained that Laurel’s white cell blood count was 716,000 when it should only be around 10-12,000.  This was an indication that she had Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia (they were waiting for an oncologist to confirm).

They believed the headaches and flu-like symptoms Laurel had been feeling were related to the Leukemia and the complications (tumor growth & blood thickening) had caused the cerebral herniation or hemorrhage.

The doctors explained that Laurel now had almost no brain activity (the only function left was some slight breathing).  Matt and I were told that it was unlikely that Laurel would wake up (if she did wake up, she’d most likely be in a vegetative state) and that she would most likely die from these complications.  Matt and I were devastated to learn of the full nature of Laurel’s condition.

Finally, the doctors told us that there was no way we could have known that this Acute Leukemia had developed and that we shouldn’t be hard on ourselves.  Even if we had brought her in the night before she still could not have survived.

Laurel was unstable and her blood pressure and heart rate were low.  She had been intubated in the Emergency Room, so machines were breathing for her, but in order to stabilize her, the doctors were going to do a procedure to put a catheter into an artery in her leg.  The procedure would take 30-45 minutes.  This would give us time to speak to the specialists and oncologists.  It would also allow more time for family to continue arriving from out of town.

Following the consultation but before the procedure, I returned to Laurel’s room while Matt went to update the family in the waiting room.  We asked Matt’s sister, Linda, to check Rhett and Jackson out of school and bring them to the hospital to be with Laurel.  Since Travis was only 3 and would not understand what was happening, we decided to have him continue staying with our neighbors.