Noel
Probably I won’t ever forget that day. I looked at my phone: „Kindergarden”. Since Noel's first day in the kindergarden I had often asked myself if it would happen. „OK, he broke his arm” I told myeself. I was even smiling. „Even we cannot avoid broken bones”. But when I heard the director’s voice asking me if I knew what had happened, I knew it was something horrible and I was already crying.
We had only lived for a couple of month in Budapest, I didn’t know the city and the routes, but I knew if he was the first one to transport to the hospital it must had been a serious injury. I called a taxi and then my family. While I was waiting the police called and I was told he was in the Hospital Heim Pál.
When I arrived he was in the CT. When they brought him out he was covered up to his nose. His face was full of bloodshot, I thought it was all broken. The head of the department told me it was only a rupture. I thought „Thank God, his bones are alright”. I had to wait hours and hours until they installed every machine and put him in his bed.
It was horrible. I can feel it, even today. It was horrible to see him like that.
They said we had to wait 72 hours to know if he would survive. We were talking to him, praying and crying. We were reading his favourite stories and listening to music.
The doctors on the intensive care unit were really patient, they answerd to all my questions. The nurses were always there. Minutes and hours passed. After 72 hours it was a relieve to talk about his condition. Still bad, but he was not hovering between life and death anymore.
He wanted to wake up, and once the doctor all owed him to have a look at us. He smiled and said „Mum”. I can’t describe the feeling.
The support of people and the way they expressed it meant a lot. The firemen sent him a small toycar, an old lady sent us juice, people sent him through the radio a song from Magna Cum Laude, a lot of people sent him presents. I got connected to the Foundation „Hajrá Peti” and met the mother of Péter, Virág. She told me their story. It was also good to read the encouraging messages on the internet.
„Strong kid, he made it to the hospital, he will survive this” I thought. He wanted to wake up, so he was taken off the ventilator, and he was able to breathe alone.
Finally I could take him in my arms. We were sitting in a chair and he slept three hours. I cannot discribe the feeling. I could finally hold my little son, I could hug him while he was sleeping.
The next step after the ventilator was waiting again. In order to see how serious was his injury,he had to came off medication. Suddenly he turned and squeezed his hand, which indicated the brain injury.
The next days were hard and long. It was painful to come off medication. He had a fracture in his arm, he had to be operated. He was constantly in pain, he could not sleep and his muscles were squeezed.
I was tired and my heart was broken. I can still remember the pain in my chest, I was on my knees on the hospital’s floor and all I could do was crying.
But then he could finally sleep 24 and then 12 hours on the Department of Neurology.
Right before the accident the children had been photographed in the kindergarden. His teacher brought us some pictures and when he saw his friends from the group, tears rolled down his cheeks. As hard as it was for me to see him suffering, it was good to know he remembered them.
It was important to know, what was still there and what was gone. It was good to know he had memories.
On 26. December we were playing with his toys and he finally smiled. These moments proved to me my son was a hero, he was alive, he recognized us and he understood everything.
He was a strong little guy and he wanted to live, and God held his hand.
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