Our Story of Hope-The Jackson Family (Isla)

It was June 4th, 2019. Summer had arrived, and our kids were excited about the fun  events going on that day. Our oldest, Isla,  was wrapping up her final days of second grade, and our twins, Ellie and Liam were graduating from preschool. Their little brother Elijah was just two months old, so he was along for the ride on everything. 

As I was driving everyone home from the day’s events that afternoon, I could tell Isla was tired. She wasn’t her usual bubbly self, chatting about this and that, and singing along to the radio. I told her to lay down when we got home, assuming she was exhausted from all of the fun over the past few days and later bedtimes with the summer weather. Little did I know, there was a lot more going on than just being tired. 

During the night, Isla began experiencing other symptoms, and by 6 in the morning we were heading to the ER with a fever, shortness of breath, and abdominal and leg pain. Over the next several hours Isla had lab work and imaging done that all came back normal. Despite this, the providers were concerned about the unknown cause of her fever and other symptoms, so the plan was to stay the night at the hospital for observation. 

We took the lull in the day as an opportunity to call my husband, Robert. He had flown out of town a few days prior for a training for work. I had briefly spoken to him earlier that morning to let him know what was going on, but other updates were over text amidst the business of our time in the ER, juggling childcare for our other children, and his work schedule that day. He and Isla were able to chat over FaceTime. I remember thinking she was such a trooper as I watched her talk to her Dad. She hadn’t been able to eat all day, and I knew she was really uncomfortable, but there was hardly a complaint out of her. Her face lit up while she was talking to Robert. I, on the other hand, felt like a mess! Our child was sick, we didn’t know why after a whole day in an ER, and my husband was hundreds of miles away. Fortunately, our parents had all jumped right in to help that day. 

Shortly after we got off the phone we were headed to the pediatric floor to stay the night. Isla was finally allowed to eat a clear diet, so she was savoring a grape popsicle as the nurse took her blood pressure. I will never forget the sweet smile on her face as she had a taste of it, and then offered some to me. What a thoughtful kid. 

While the nurse was having trouble getting an accurate blood pressure reading (in reality it was accurate, but Isla was showing no other signs that her blood pressure was fatally low), the provider stopped by to say she wanted to get one more ultrasound. We got Isla back on a transport bed to take her to imaging and things started to feel “off.” We hadn’t gotten a blood pressure reading, she was starting to sweat (maybe her fever was improving?), and her behavior had quickly changed; she seemed to be in a lot of pain again. 

We were in ultrasound for maybe 15 minutes. Once again, there was nothing of concern that came up. As they started to wheel her out she yelled “I want to go home!” It was completely out of character for her to yell like this. I was baffled by the statement because she knew we were spending the night. Walking alongside the stretcher she was laying on, I leaned over to offer some encouraging words. The pink in her freckle-faced cheeks was fading quickly and she was unresponsive. 

I remember every detail of what followed. This was a scene I was very familiar with, but one I never could have imagined being on the patient side of. Isla had gone into cardiac arrest. I watched as staff quickly worked, crowding around my daughter’s pale and limp body, her chest heaving up and down with compressions. I felt helpless and terrified. What was going on? 

A chaplain arrived at some point. She lovingly held me and prayed with me as I paced and kneeled at Isla’s feet. She asked me who I needed to call. I decided to call Robert’s parents first because they lived the closest. Next I called my parents, who had probably just gotten back to our house from the hospital with our other kids. I didn’t even tell them why they needed to come back. I couldn’t. 

I knew I needed to call Robert, but how could I tell him his daughter had gone into cardiac arrest? I couldn’t even process what was going on myself. After that call, I didn’t get to talk to him again until he arrived back in Minnesota at 1 in the morning, hours after I had updated him with Isla’s critical condition. 

Staff had been coordinating a helicopter transport to our local children’s hospital to start Isla on ECMO, a process that would act as her heart and lungs, allowing her body time to rest and hopefully recover. When the life flight team arrived, I helplessly watched them race her to the pad. I would have to drive to meet her there. The separation was agonizing, and yet in a room just around the corner were our three other children, also needing me. The twins were waiting with questions and concern. “Why can’t we see Isla?” “Why are you crying?”  

The events of the next nine days were the most devastating and challenging days both Robert and I, as well as our families, have ever experienced. We found out Isla had Influenza, or the flu. The virus had found its way to her heart, instead of the more common respiratory system infection it usually causes. Isla’s immune system responded excessively, and she developed something called Fulminant Myocarditis. With this diagnosis, we watched and waited while she received excellent care, hoping for God to do a miracle and heal her. 

Ultimately, Isla’s heart never recovered. Her brain, lungs and kidneys had been impacted as well, giving us signs God had called her home. The medical team took the time to answer all our questions, paused with us while we attempted to process the unfathomable, and gave us an extra day to explain what was going on to Ellie and Liam so that we could say goodbye as a family. 

On June 13th, 2019, surrounded by all of her family, Isla was disconnected from ECMO and we gave our final hugs and kisses to our sweet girl. Our worst moments of saying goodbye and walking home without her are synonymous with her best moments of meeting Jesus and experiencing heaven. 

Telling this story is never easy. I am brought right back to the crushing devastation of those days, and yet I also see God’s presence throughout it all. He was preparing us long before our world shattered. He was with us through every second of those nine days we had in the hospital, and he has been with us since. As we’ve surrendered our grief and heartache, he has revealed how intricately involved he was and continues to be in our lives, giving us confidence and hope in his love and plans for our family. The story isn’t finished.