By: Emma Green
“Mama! Mama!” My 1-year-old daughter called from the baby monitor.
“Coming!” I replied, placing my freshly brewed coffee on the table.
I walked toward her room, ready to greet her with a cheerful “Good morning!” But as I opened the door, I found her not standing and reaching for me as she usually did. Instead, she was sitting down, mostly obscured by the crib rail.
And then I noticed it.
My daughter was sitting there, eerily still, her bed drenched in a thick layer of blood. It was streaming from her nose, staining her pajamas and skin, and matting her blonde hair into dark clumps. When I reached out, her head lolled to one side as if she were a lifeless doll.
“Something’s wrong with our baby!” I screamed to my husband, who was still in the next room.
He rushed into the nursery, his face reflecting my horror. He tilted her head back and pinched her nose, trying to stem the flow of blood, but it kept pouring out from her nostrils.
“We need to get her to the ER!” he urged, wrapping the blood-soaked blanket around her protectively.
Taking a deep breath, I nodded and followed him to the car. I could feel her heart racing against my body, a frantic rhythm that echoed through the tense silence on our way to the hospital.
Upon arrival, we were quickly led into a private room where we awaited the doctor. He entered with his assistant, both looking visibly shaken at the sight of our daughter. Every part of her and my own was drenched in varying shades of red. After a swift examination, we were told she needed to be transferred immediately to Texas Children’s Hospital.
In the ambulance, I anxiously scanned my daughter’s body, trying to reassure myself with each rise and fall of her chest. I held her limp hand, whispering how scared I was. Then, out of nowhere, her body convulsed, and a torrent of bloody vomit erupted from her mouth. It felt as if a million invisible strings were tightening around my throat, stealing my breath away. I was frozen in panic, unable to think or move, letting out one horrifying scream after another.
Once we reached the hospital, a flurry of medical professionals surrounded her, attaching her to various machines and tubes. The room was filled with the frantic sounds of high-pitched voices.
“Excuse me?” a nurse said, jolting us from our daze. “Please come with me.”
We followed her silently into the back of the ICU.
At Texas Children’s, the doctors discovered that our daughter’s platelet count was alarmingly low. For perspective, a normal range for children is between 150,000 and 300,000. Our little girl’s count was a shocking 3,000. This is concerning, as fewer platelets increase the risk of bleeding due to poor clotting.
When she developed a nosebleed, her platelets should have clotted to seal the wound, but they didn’t. Consequently, she lost a significant amount of blood, became anemic, and required a blood transfusion. Just the day before, she had seemed perfectly healthy, and now she was having an IV line inserted, donor blood being her only hope.
Over the next few hours, various specialists visited our room, checking her vitals and reassuring us that she was stable under the circumstances. They tossed around terms like leukemia and thrombocytopenia (ITP), letting us know more tests were necessary before we would have clarity.
“What’s happening now?” I would ask the doctor repeatedly.
“We will have answers shortly,” she always replied.
Early the next morning, we learned that our daughter did not have blood cancer but did have a blood condition known as idiopathic thrombocytopenic purpura (ITP). The doctor believed that she may have developed a viral infection the previous month, leading her immune system to attack not only the virus but also her platelets.
The prescribed treatment was intravenous immunoglobulin (IVIG) infusion therapy, intended to reset her immune system so it would stop attacking its own platelets. Thankfully, that’s exactly what happened. Within 24 hours, her platelet count returned to a normal level of 150,000, and just a day later, we could bring her home.
A year has gone by since that harrowing experience with ITP, and we still have no answers as to what triggered it. However, we do know that approximately 4 out of 100,000 children are affected by ITP each year, with symptoms ranging from bruising and petechiae to severe bleeding, and sometimes even death. Most children recover without it becoming chronic, and fortunately, it was the case for our daughter.
Nevertheless, the experience left a lasting mark on me. It taught me that life can throw unexpected tragedies at any moment and that there’s little I can do to prevent them.
What I’ve learned over the past year is that I cannot live in a state of constant worry. I can’t rush to the doctor every time she has a bruise out of fear that ITP has returned. I won’t let the emotional scars from that incident overshadow our lives. No way.
Instead, I choose to focus on the positive aspects of my child’s life. I celebrate the fact that I was able to bring her home and that she is still here today, thanks to the dedicated doctors who worked tirelessly to save her.
That’s what I can do, and that’s what I am doing. As a parent, it’s essential to set aside my fears and be a source of comfort for my child. I must believe, for both our sakes, that we will be just fine.