Heart Attack Moments

I've written before on the blog about how having a child is like having your heart walking around outside your body.  While it's the greatest love you can experience, it also produces the greatest vulnerability.

That's just par for the course, but then there are those (thankfully) rare moments, which I call "heart attack moments," where it really hits home how vulnerable you are, and how vulnerable your child is to the dangers of the world, and how much you love him or her.

In moments like these, something happens that scares you half to death and you are confronted in an immediate, very real way with your worst fears about losing your child.


We had a heart attack moment last weekend on our drive home from visiting Uncle Keith. We had already made two stops, one for a potty break and one for food (which also involved poopy underwear which we left behind - good times).  As we drove, Anna was drinking water and complained that it had spilled beside her seat.

Of course, driving down a highway at 65 miles per hour, my options for managing the situation were limited. Besides, the water hadn't spilled on her, it was just beside the seat and I promised to take care of it when we got home.

That was when Anna decided to open her car door. As we were driving down a three-lane highway at the speed limit.

I have never felt panic like I did in that moment. "Stop the car, mom!" she yelled, instinctively clinging to the door handle, which thankfully remained just slightly cracked.

"I can't yet! Oh my God!" I yelled back, trying not to panic. Yeah right. I was freaking out on the inside AND outside as I alternately watched the red "door open" indicator light on my dashboard, kept my eye on Anna's door, and kept my eye on traffic, searching frantically for an exit as I heard the steady, ominous "whoosh" of air outside Anna's door.

Fortunately we reached the next exit quickly and pulled off, only to be confronted by another problem:  there wasn't much of a shoulder around the curve, and I didn't want us to safely get off the highway only to be rammed by another car on the exit ramp. But I also didn't want to continue coasting down the road with an open door and the fear that my little girl's seat might be jarred out of the car.

So I stopped by an embankment and pulled the car halfway up on it so we were just out of the lane. I was concerned it might pop my tires, but at the moment that was the least of my worries.

In the moment, I did all I could think of doing - I screamed at the top of my lungs.  "DON'T YOU EVER DO THAT AGAIN!! YOU COULD FALL OUT OF THE CAR! YOU COULD GET HURT OR DIE! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH YOU JUST SCARED ME?!"

I have never yelled like that in my life. Anna began to whimper and repeat that she was sorry. I tried to get a grip. But my heart was racing so fast I thought it would pound right out of my chest.

I rushed out my door between cars on the ramp and went around to her door. I grabbed her in my arms in a fierce hug and cried a little myself.  She held me tightly.  I told her I would die if anything ever happened to her and that we were so lucky it didn't open all the way. I told her that was the most scared I'd ever been in my life, and that she should never, never, never, never, EVER open the door while the car was moving. EVER.

In case you were wondering, I had all of the doors locked, and she had unlocked hers. I also thought the child lock was engaged, but apparently it may not work. I will be dealing with that ASAP.

Also, Anna was, of course, firmly buckled into the seat, and the seat was buckled into the car. However, that wasn't much reassurance given that we were driving on a highway at a high rate of speed with crazy drivers in larger vehicles everywhere.  You just never know what might happen if you get hit.

But I digress. I held Anna for a few minutes and said I was sorry I got angry, but that it was because I loved her and I would never want anything to happen to her. I asked her about ten times to promise me she'd never open the door again until the car stopped and she promised.

I slowly climbed back into the car, shut the door, and looked back at her. She still looked like a deer in headlights. I was relieved but still freaked out. I told her not to put one finger on the door. She didn't.

We then went on our way, and shortly afterward, she fell asleep. I remained traumatized for about the next hour.

Later that evening at home, I was recounting the car door story and Anna hugged me and said, "I'm proud of myself that I didn't get dead." A little lump formed in my throat as I held her.

I was taken aback by her comment, and said I was very glad, but reminded her that she was very lucky and it was a very serious thing because she could've been badly injured - and she was NEVER to open the door while we're moving. She nodded somberly.  I hope this experience scared her enough to prevent a repeat attempt.

Meanwhile, I'll get the child lock checked.

There's no moral to this story, and I didn't even feel any cute pictures were appropriate for this post given the severity of this incident. I'm just writing about it because it scared the hell out of me, it always helps to talk about things, and I learned there's no feeling as awful as being confronted with the fragility of your child's life in such a head-on way.