The night terrors are back this past week. I am sure the calendar is the trigger. I had one last night. On July 17, 2017, at 9:00 pm, Hayley was settled into the Cherry Hill ICU. It had been one of the worse days of my life. We felt better, even though the neurologist did not meet us there to discuss her treatment plan as she promised. We took this to mean it was not an emergency. We knew what was causing her excruciating pain, a blood clot at the base of her brain. They were planning to start the blood thinner, Heparin, at 10:00 pm to break up the clot. The ICU doctor did not tell us anything about her condition. We didn’t know the location of the clot. We didn’t know the treatment plan. We didn’t know that it was a one in a million type of clot. We thought she was finally diagnosis and let’s fix it. She was comfortable and out of pain. Only one of us could stay in the small room. We decided it would be Scott. My plan was to head home to check on Henry. I would sleep a few hours and come back maybe between 2:00 and 4:00. I had no intention of missing rounds. It was time to get answers and see how long it would take for them to fix her. This will always be the most traumatic and tragic decision I have made as a parent.
The episodes at first were very specific. PTSD is like that. It is not one symptom that is the same thing at the same time. People with PTSD have intense, disturbing thoughts and feelings related to their experience that last long after the traumatic event has ended. They may relive the event through flashbacks or nightmares; they may feel sadness, fear or anger; and they may feel detached or estranged from other people.
According to behavioral health experts one of the five symptoms of PTSD is: Internal reminders of a traumatic event. These signs of trauma typically present as nightmares or flashbacks. It’s important to realize that these are not simply memories. They are unwanted, intrusive episodes in which a person feels as though they are in the life threatening situation again – like they’re watching a movie or seeing it unfold in front of them. It feels very real to them.
I have nightmares that are so realistic and so detailed about things that had actually happened. It takes hours, even days to shake it. You wake up and you are stuck between the memory and current reality. The most terrifying dreams are when my mind takes me to after July 11th but before July 18th. In the dream I know the answer. I just need to get them to treat the issue before it is too late. According to the experts she could have been saved every single fucking day, all the way to about two hours before she crashed. I ask myself every single day what I could have done to prevent her death.
The dreams are terrifying. The general theme is trying to get help, trying to make the one person listen. I am running out of time. The terror is real. My mind and body truly do not believe I am in a bed in present day. It is like a runaway train, picking up speed. It never ends until I wake up screaming.
Sometimes the dreams make little sense. The one common thread is that they are very detailed and complicated. Sort of like a Tim Burton movie. There are real people in these “movies”. The genre is always the same. I am trying to find something or someone. I am always trying to convince someone or even Hayley herself that she is not dead.
Scott and I have slept in different rooms more and more as the years have passed. Not because I don’t want to share the bed with him. Sometimes it would be one of us snoring. Sometimes it would be moving too much. He has restless leg syndrome. He sleeps pretty soundly. I wake easily. Good sleep has eluded me for years. It has become more important since losing Hayley. I have spent so much daylight sleeping. Sleeping is an escape. I have worked hard and tried everything to make sure I can get as much of that depressed sleep during the appropriate hours. It is a battle I continue to lose. I also do not want him to be present for the night terrors. A year ago I took a trip to Mexico and had two different friends room with me. Both witnessed different versions of my night terrors. Both were very concerned. Sharing a hotel room is no longer an option.
Scott believes that if he does not acknowledge something, it does not exist. His ability to compartmentalize is a skill I envy. He has never confirmed that I wake up screaming. I just know that I do. My mouth and throat is dry, my heart is beating so loud, and many times I am soaked in sweat. Henry has heard the screaming. Everyone on the hospital floor heard it on June 18, 2017. I will never know if Hayley heard me.
On July 11th after the meeting with the anesthesiologist, I waited with Hayley. The surgical nurse came to get her. We hugged and kissed her. I assured her we would not leave that family waiting room. She reminded me that I needed to hit the prime day sale on Amazon to get what she needed for her new apartment in the fall. The nurse indicated how long the surgery would take. Packages from Amazon and home goods from Macys were waiting on the porch or in the house when I came home without her. I actually returned most of the items in a daze. “Why are you returning these?” “My daughter died two weeks ago and she won’t need them for her apartment” I was numb.
We settled in to wait. The amount of time we had been told came and went. A nurse came out to tell us that the surgery was running long. She assured us everything was going well. She turned to leave. Nope. “Excuse me, why is the surgery going long?”. Her response “The procedure got started late”. I groaned to Scott. I hoped that they gave her some anxiety meds while she had to wait. Her nerves must have been off the charts. I had no idea.
Within about 15 minutes of that update, the surgery coordinator came in to see us. She was the one that scheduled the surgery and the appointments. She was the one that dealt with the insurance. She had been a great support system for Hayley and I during the short amount of time we had been working with her. She felt very protective over Hayley. She indicated that she knew someone had told us the surgery was running long. She also suggested that they had not told us exactly why. She wanted us to know that it started late because there had been issues with the epidural. WTF? Evidently the epidural was difficult to place and that she did faint. That was why it was two hours late? Did that mean he worked on the epidural for two fucking hours? That must have been torture for Hayley. I was livid. What that meant to me was he did not listen to a word I said. Or he did listen and then ignored our very specific requests. I was not angry because I thought there would be complications. It did not occur to me that there would be a problem because the surgery went forward. But I was not a happy mama bear. As it turned out this delay and this arrogant man would end up costing Hayley her life.
Hayley was home from her first year at WWU. Even if you did not see her, you knew she was there because her stuff was everywhere! All of her dorm belongings were piled up. We had about 3 weeks until her surgery. Hayley loved home. She was all about her home and her bedroom. This always made me happy. As a child I had moved often with my family. I went to a different school every year until High School. I was adamant with Scott that when or if we had kids it was very important to me that they stay at the same schools for their entire childhood. It bordered on obsessive. We bought our second home at the end of 1998 when Hayley was 6 months old. We thought that was the place. It was a brand new house and the community, Snoqualmie Ridge, was brand new. We were one of the first dozen houses built. We had been promised that the elementary school would be built in the neighborhood within 5 years. This was perfect, Hayley would start kindergarten blocks from home. This was our goal.
The world held their breath as the calendar rolled on New Year’s Eve 1999. Scott and I wanted a second child. We had made the decision that after 10 years at Washington Mutual I was going to leave. I could not work the schedule or hours required and have two kids. My upward climb had become stagnant. This was such a hard decision. I had started as a teller when I was 19 in 1990. Like so many of the senior managers I worked for, I thought I would be there 40 years and retire with a spectacular party and my name on a building. That job paid for Business School. It was a natural decision to accept the offer of the management training program starting within a month of graduation. I wanted to go to Law School. But it felt like an impossible decision to be 23 and be presented with a well paying job with a well defined career path. Law School was expensive. My academic scholarship had ended and continuing to work full time was not going to work for Law School. The last three years of college I had scraped by working two jobs to get to the end. I did not get to enjoy school like I always had. Scott worked selflessly for me to finish. We met when I was 19 and he was 24. Student Loans were not an option. So I chose my path.
When I started working at WAMU they had 40 branches in the state of Washington, when I left they had hundreds of branches in multiple states due to acquisitions. The growth was exciting. As a financial center Manager I had a front row seat to some pretty spectacular change and growth. I knew the CEO, my opinions were valued and I truly believed that I could climb the corporate ladder as quickly as I wanted. Scott also had joined me at WAMU working in the “back office” in various business analyst roles. He had found his thing and was good at it. I started at a time with very limited technology. We used what really was a glorified tap writer. 50% of what we did was actually on a real typewriter. Not only did the bank physically grow frantically, we lived one of the most significant decades involving technology change. This is why they call us Gen X. This was not going from an iPhone 6 to an 11. This was using savings passbooks, balancing with our brains with a calculator and being so in awe when we got a fax machine. Our phones had cords that kept you from walking more than three feet while using it. As the youngest it quickly fell to me to be the one to learn the new shit and teach it to the rest of my coworkers. I loved this leadership role. I loved to teach. The more I did the more competent I would become. I remember the management standing around behind me while I introduced them to “email”. The system we started with was called Wizard Mail. You would say “I will Whiz you”. Of course we always giggled. We went from thick files of paperwork being hand delivered to the underwriters in downtown Seattle to automated decisions to lend hundreds of thousands of dollars to a customer. If you recall this unprecedented growth and lending frenzy eventually led to Washingon Mutual’s demise.
As the nineties ended, I was a 28 year old Mom of a super fun 18 month old. My husband was an amazing father. He may have been one of the original examples of a true “girl dad”. I had stayed home for 3 months when she was born and he stayed home for 3 months. “Paternity Leave” was not a thing. He cried the day we took her to daycare and he went back to work. It broke my heart. So many times I almost said “you stay home, I will be the bread winner”. But I just couldn’t do it. She was way too much fun. I knew that I would grow to resent him. We compromised, Scott worked four tens and I worked Saturdays so I could have a day off during the week. This allowed us to only have to pay for daycare three days a week. My job was demanding. It was “exempt”. Meaning you are going to work way more than 40 hours a week, you will always be responsible and available when that branch was open. I even had a pager! After ten years I finally admitted reluctantly that I had reached as far as I was going to go at the bank. I denied that my failure to continue to move up the ladder had anything to do with being young and a woman. A woman could do anything. I really truly did not understand that most of the men in the power positions had started their own journey at a time when women were not in the board room. They were willing to tolerate us but not quite ready to promote us. Women could not even have their own checking account when these guys started their careers at the Bank. It just did not occur to me that if I worked hard and had success I wouldn’t meet my goals. Sexual Harassment was a new concept. We took required classes in the late nineties. You really did not absorb the information that Human Resource Professionals were trying to pound into your heads. Their audience was Men that had been “harassing”W omen for their entire careers and the Women, we sort of shook our heads and thought, do you really think I am going to report my boss to you for complimenting me more often on my legs than on my ROI. Do you think I am going to risk my career for a new concept that the men were not ready to hear? Nope.
So there I was sitting in my bed nursing 18 month old Hayley as I watched the ball drop on what may be the end of the world. I had a flashlight ready in case the power went off. Scott had to work that night in case the bank’s computer systems blew up. Which is actually funny, what was he going to do? Hold the fire extinguisher? I remember speaking out loud to sleepy Hayley at that time. I told her two things were about to change. Work was no longer my priority and she was done breast feeding.
In addition to some how coming home with more stuff than she started with in a 100 square foot dorm room, Hayley had decided that it was time for a big girl room. She wanted a full makeover to start her recovery and her new life with a body she didn’t hate. So we moved everything she owned into our “office, bonus room, storage room”. It has always been known as the Blue room. As long as we live here it will always be painted blue. We picked out a new bed. We made lots of fun trips to Homegoods. She chose paint and poor Scott spent many hours and coats covering walls that were either Chocolate Brown with a neon orange stripe or lime green. He had painted that room no less than 5 times in 15 years. Now it was a mature light Gray paint, Kensington Gray. She asked for a comfortable chair in her room instead of teenage lounge seating. She wanted a place for us and her friends to sit while they visited her during her recovery and took care of her every need. She piled her collection of pillow pets in the blue room, that collection was done. The magnet wall paint with the word-magnets to write poetry on was covered with a bookcase and a new tv. Of course, no poetry ever happened on that wall, just teenage versions of mad libs. New art that spelled out the word “HOME” was hung above her bed. Pillows and art that said one of two things was lovingly placed. “You are my Sunshine” or “Love you More”. She loved her new space.
Our plan was while she lounged in bed after her surgery I would start bringing in stuff from the Blue room for her to decide, Keep or Donate. It was only recently and only because of our pending remodel that the blue room was cleaned out. Most of the items are in bins in the garage or were shoved in her untouched room. Her stuff is everywhere in that room. Her Ikea laundry hamper with a few outfits still sits untouched. I am faced with a deadline, I will have to go in there and do what needs to be done before mid August. I wonder if her clothes in that hamper will still smell like her.
The week before her surgery I saw the perfect item in my newsfeed. Those that knew her cannot count how many times they heard her favorite phrase. Not really a phrase but a life motto. I don’t think a day went by that I did not hear her say “I fucking hate people”. It was her snarky response or answer to pretty much anything annoying. She worked at our local café as a hostess and table busser. I guarantee that a shift did not go by without that coming out of her mouth. I had found a pillow. Not any pillow but one of those new mermaid pillows that were all the rage. It looked like a bunch of sequins sewed in rows. These sparkly pieces made an image. The magic happened when you took your hand and rubbed them the other direction. The image would change. The pillow I ordered from this thing Etsy that I had never heard of, looked like a pretty floral pillow. When changed it looked like an old fashioned needlepoint pillow you would find at Grandma’s. This one said “I fucking hate people”. I had planned to surprise her with it but it was delayed when I found it was coming from the UK. So I sent her a screenshot. Her response was “I have to have that”. Mine was “it has already been ordered”. Sadly when I left her in Seattle Cherry Hill to save the lives of others, the package had arrived at the house, she never saw it in person.
We spent every day together leading up to July 11th. I was not working. She asked me to spend the summer with her. I agreed I could wait to go back to a new job in the Fall. We made so many plans including time at Seabrook after her post surgery check up. I was excited to show her this place that my cousin and I had discovered in May. I showed her pictures, she reluctantly would say it looked nice but it was no Cannon Beach. I told her it was closer and if she wanted ocean time it would be in this state as I was not comfortable going too far away from her surgeon in case there was an issue with her healing. I had no clue how wrong I was. Her breast healing was never going to be an issue.
The week leading up to her surgery she asked me one of many questions about the procedure. She wanted reassurance from me. I don’t recall where we were. My memory of the conversation feels like we were sitting close. She was unusually quiet. She asked me “Mom, can I die from this surgery?”.
Whoa, where was this coming from? I am not one to lie to my children. Hayley had a low tolerance for bullshit. I looked her straight in the face and I said “No, Hayley, you are not going to die.” I believed it with all my heart. Always one to insist on everything be a learning opportunity, I explained that surgeries always had risks. I had at least a dozen in my lifetime. I did tell her that it was always a possibility but leaving our house every day had risk of death. I explained that a lot of the risk was from the general anesthesia and I pointed out that she was having an epidural. I had never heard of someone dying from an epidural. I asked her do you trust your surgeon? She didn’t hesitate, absolutely he is the best. We both agreed that we did not think he would ever risk his patients lives. We believed it and it was the truth, that this was the reason he chose Epidurals. Lower risk and easier recovery with less complications. Google “can I die from an Epidural?”. A common sentence you might see is “the fact that anesthetic textbooks don’t even mention statistics of fatalities related to epidurals probably means that such an outcome is exceptionally rare”. I think about that conversation all the time. What if I had given a difference answer? What if I had dug a little more and found out she was having second thoughts? We could have delayed it a month and would not have had the same outcome. Her entire death was a string of “what ifs”, every single day something could have and should have been done to prevent her death. It was a string of negligence. I knew things were not going well, nothing felt right. I left messages for every doctor I knew that worked in that hospital and some that didn’t. I used her my chart and messaged, “We are in the Issaquah hospital. Hayley is not doing well and I feel we are not getting the care she needs, can you walk over to see her and help us please I am desperate”. Most did not respond, the ones that did said “the hospitalist is in charge of her care, trust that they will figure it out, I can’t get involved”. Really? Her surgeon got involved and he didn’t even have practicing rights there. I was beside myself pounding on nurses station. Why didn’t I walk my ass over to their office, two floor ups, and not leave until someone helped?
On the morning of the surgery, Hayley was so nervous. I thought she was going to back out and I was so nervous that I was fine with that. She had one other surgery in her life and I nearly lost my mind waiting for them to bring her back to her room. I am not good at relinquishing control in general and really bad at doing it when it involved my children. Scott drove us into Seattle. I remember that she wore sweat pants, no bra, what was the point and my favorite zip up track jacket we had gotten on our last Disneyland trip. It was constantly being “borrowed”. I told her once, that is my favorite, that is not yours. She said, I am not taking it I am borrowing it, do you mind if I borrow it? I laughed and asked what was the difference between taking it or borrowing it. She said if I take it, it lives in my closet. If I borrow it I hang it backup in your closet or put it in your laundry basket. Made sense. It made me feel good that she liked borrowing my jacket because it made her feel good. She said wearing it was like having a hug from me. I remember rolling my eyes and telling her that was excellent bullshit, keep it up.
We checked in. She chose to sit on a couch with Scott and I on either side of her. She was not on her phone. She was nervous. When her name was called she jumped. We were led to the back of the surgery center into an exam room. The nurse showed Scott and I a family waiting room just out a door in the hallway where we could wait during the surgery. She indicated that Hayley should undress, put the gown on open down the front and cover her hair. Scott quickly backed out and said he would wait outside. She was no longer the child that walked around the house butt naked every chance she got. I honestly don’t remember when Scott came back in. He says he was there when we met with the anesthesiologist. I must have gotten him. But I don’t remember him being there and I know he did not speak. Hayley and I wanted him to feel a part of this “life altering” decision. She never wanted him to feel left out. Before anyone came back in, she snapped her signature selfie to document the day. I don’t know why but that photo, she chose to make it black and white before she posted it to social media. That was her last post, that was our last photo together while she was alive. It is both a beautiful and heartbreaking photo.
Her surgeon came in. He was happy to see her. She undressed and he quietly started drawing on her chest with a sharpie. It tickled. She was nervous but not shy. We both saw how focused he was and how much of a perfectionist he really was. He was using tools to measure that looked like what an architect might use. He would make sure they were even and absolutely exactly what she would be happy with. There was not much to talk about, we had asked a lot of questions at the Pre-Op appointment. He asked if she had any questions and was ready to feel better. She was ready. He told us we would meet the anesthesiologist next. I asked who it was and had he worked with that person before. That is when he told us he normally has his own nurse anesthetist, but she had already left on vacation. His own summer vacation was starting that week. I had never heard of a nurse anesthetist. Google: A nurse anesthetist is an advanced practice registered nurse (APRN) certified and trained to administer anesthesia for surgery, labor and delivery, emergency care or pain management.
I will always wish she had been there that day. She had been doing upper thoracic epidurals for 20 years. That is what she did every day she worked. I had no idea that the epidural Hayley would have would be any different than what I happily had to give birth to her.
Her surgeon left and said he would see her soon. He squeezed her shoulder and briefly squeezed my hand. I had 100% confidence in him. As we waited, I remember her looking down her gown and making comments about what she thought all the drawing meant, she asked is that permanent? I laughed. A knock on the door. This is the first knot in the string. Every day, if ‘A’ had happened instead of ‘B’, Hayley would be alive. If this knot didn’t stay tied the thread would slide through the needle. He introduced himself. My first thought was “shit he is young”. I remember thinking I was getting old if a doctor was named “x”. It was a young name, it was kind of a fashionable name. I actually said to my friends group chat that day “his name was X”. Which prompted a couple of the ladies to ask how old was he. I remember teasing Hayley after the meeting how good looking he was. Kind of like a Ken Doll. She rolled her eyes, “Fuck, Mom, he is old like you”, grinning as she said it. Always trying to push my buttons. I am not sure if she ever knew that she could not push my buttons and when I acted offended I was always feigning. I pointed out he was certainly younger than me. I was trying to distract her. The tension in the room had skyrocketed during his visit. I know that I told my friends chat that he was “Hot”. I said “hot” not “good looking” or “handsome”. Do you know why I know I wrote “Hot”? Because during the trial on cross examination of me and every chance they got, all of the defense lawyers put an exhibit on the screen. It was a screenshot of my messages that day. They always made sure that image included the line that said “He is Hot”. Why? Were they trying to embarrass me? Were they trying to make it seem like I was not being serious that morning so I could not have possibly made such a detailed request of the doctor? I don’t know. I don’t give a fuck. The first time was humiliating. Every time they showed that text after I held my head up and stared straight at the screen. Sometimes I may have slightly smiled thinking how funny Hayley would find this particular moment. I would look at him and think, you are not so hot anymore, you look like you have not slept in five years. I wonder why?
He had introduced himself and shook her hand. He started to ask her questions. I tried very hard not to answer for her, she was an adult, I did not need to speak for her. It didn’t take very long for her to look at me with her heart in her throat. I asked her if she wanted me to answer the questions for her. She nodded. This didn’t seem to surprise him, she was clearly in that weird time of life where you are not a child but you are really not an adult. He had asked her if she had any concerns about the epidural. He had not bothered to explain to her any details about an epidural but it wouldn’t surprise anyone that I had explained it to her in detail prior to that morning. She had answered “needles”.
I explained to him that she was really concerned about Fainting. He immediately interrupted me and said “she won’t faint”. I thought “arrogant”. But I continued explaining that Hayley had a history of having a Vasovagal response with needles.
A Vasovagal syncope (vay-zoh-VAY-gul SING-kuh-pee) occurs when you faint because your body overreacts to certain triggers, such as the sight of blood or extreme emotional distress.
I shared with him that she had fainted multiple times when getting blood drawn or most recently getting an IV when she had her wisdom teeth out. We had already discussed this with the surgery nurse during her pre-op appointment. She also had blown us off and assured us she would be there the entire time and it wouldn’t happen. I remember saying well that was what the nurse told me at the Wisdom Teeth when I suggested she put the arms up on both side of the chair. I may have said I told you so to her when I had to catch Hayley as she slid off the right side of the chair. That nurse seemed personally offended by the fact that Hayley fainted. (yes feedback was given to the doctor)
Again Dr. Ken Doll indicated it was no big deal. Nope. Not good enough. I explained to HIM that I was familiar with the position she would be in when he administered the epidural. I knew she would be sitting up rounded forward and that it was so important that she hold very still as he slid a needle into her spinal canal. Trust me I was familiar with this rodeo, twice. Again, he blew me off. Nope. Again.
I asked, how will you handle it if she faints? I think he realized this was not going to be a drive by meeting like he was used to. It was obvious he expected it to go like this. “Hi I am Dr. Ken Doll, I am doing your epidural today, do you have any questions, please sign here”. Remember a dozen surgeries here, I was very familiar with the drive by meeting with the anesthesiologist. It often comes across as arrogant and confident. Not necessarily a bad thing. But he clearly had not met me before or dealt with any patient and their mother.
Hayley knew I was getting annoyed, she was not smiling anymore. I pressed him, “what happens if she faints?”. He may have realized that my chair blocked his exit because he finally addressed the fucking question. He told me, if she fainted he would abort that attempt quickly as to not do any damage. I looked at him like “And?”. Nothing. Let me be more specific Ken. “Will you then switch to general anesthesia?”. Remember as a frequent flyer in the surgery ward, I really did not have trepidation about general. I had not had a bad experience. An epidural for surgery was new and scary to me. I had pressed upon Hayley before that day that she needed to try her absolute hardest not to faint and hold perfectly still or she could get hurt. Here is exactly what he said. I have no doubts about my ability to recall this conversation verbatim.
“If that is to happen, which I am sure it won’t, I would have to lay her down on her side to perform the epidural. This is not ideal” insert a long pause, “And why is it not ideal?”. Am I going to have to drag every word out of this fucking guy. Is he an anesthesiologist because he prefers to put people to sleep to talking to them? Seriously, if you have followed my writing at all it should not surprise you that all of this is exactly what goes on in my heard. Yes, it is exhausting.
He says, “because the vertebrae up high where the epidural would be needed are closer together therefore the space I have to thread the needle in is smaller, laying down makes the space even smaller, by rolling forward in a sitting position you are opening that space and therefore laying down would be more risky”. Insert alarm bells in my head. Hayley looked green. Again he said “but I am sure that is not going to happen”. NOT. A. GOOD. ENOUGH. ANSWER.
Here is what I said on the morning of July 11, 2017 and in my deposition over and over AND when I testified in the recent wrongful death trial. Interestingly his recollection of this exact same conversation changed three different times during HIS deposition which I was present for AND in trial. All times under oath. Just to be clear I have watched this man, a man responsible for my child’s death, LIE under oath directly to my face. More than once. More than one different lie.
I said “Dr. Ken Doll that is not going to happen because if Hayley faints while sitting up YOU are NOT to proceed with a risky attempt while she is laying down. YOU are to come back and talk to Scott and myself about other options. We would be willing to consider general anesthesia at that point.” Hayley nodded. I was not yelling, I was not speaking in a negative manner, I was not questioning his credentials. It was just stated if “A” happens you must do “B”. I know I was nice about it I know it was a statement not a question. I remember being a little shocked at my firmness. I had never advocated like that for myself. But it is no surprise that I was not going to just “trust” when it came to my child. I was also modeling behavior for Hayley. This is how you advocate for yourself, are you taking notes babe?
His response? Did he argue? Was he arrogant? No, he was not.
He said and I quote “Duly Noted”.
Again, it’s me.
“Are we on the same page?”
I looked between him and Hayley; both said yes. She signed the consent form. The knot was tied.
It has been a very long time (February 2021) since I posted an entry on this Blog. It’s purpose will always be to share my grief journey with the hope that it helps someone on theirs. I hope it helps you understand those around you that are grieving a loss. The reason that I had to stop posting is pretty simple, two words, Legal Action. We filed a wrongful death lawsuit on behalf of Hayley in July 2020. This alone has been a huge learning experience that I will get more deeply into at another time. We were able to mediate with one of the parties and chose to take the other two entities to trial. The trial was 5 weeks long, on Zoom and the Jury got it wrong in our opinion after deliberating less than a day. This happened a little over two weeks ago. Almost 5 years to the day of Hayley’s death. The entire battle has taken every ounce of energy I could spare. The trial took everything I had left. It is public now. We provided proof of negligence. Hayley died a week long painful death. Each day she could have been saved. She could have been saved up until an hour before she crashed. By doing that we hope that the medical professionals involved have made changes in their practice and that the hospital has made changes in protocol; both to increase the probability of this never ever happening to another family.
I have chosen today, because it is July 11, 2022. This is the five year anniversary of the elective procedure that Hayley chose to have. I want to tell her story. My plan is to walk myself through each of the days of that terrible two weeks. I hope I find silver linings or even silver dust in each retelling of MY version of the story. (legal disclaimer, this is my own personal opinion based on what I witnessed, information I have learned from legal proceedings and experts that were interviewed for the lawsuit.) If I am very lucky this will be the last time I have to tell this story in detail. But I need to do it. I have sat through days and hours of depositions, testimony and research for the last 5 years. My opinions are educated but they are only my own. Her story started long before July 11, 2017.
In Hayley’s Junior Year of High School after being on a competitive dance team since the 2nd grade, something went very wrong during a performance. She was in her third year as a member of the Eastlake High School dance team, a competitive program with an over zealous and insensitive Coach. By the end of the first year, we regretted making the switch from studio dance to high school sports. Her Studio experience had been a warm and supportive environment for her to enjoy her love for dance and at the same time navigate all the changes a little girl goes through from age 7 to 14. This was thanks to great coaches and kind teammates. This was not the case for her at Eastlake. I had a wonderful High School experience and it did involve a dance team. The difference was we were allowed to be more than a dancer or a popular girl in a very short skirt. I was able to hold student body office both my junior and senior year. I competed in the DECA program. I had high grades that got me into my first choice college. I had friends that were not on the team. We were good at the sport. We practiced a lot and worked incredibly hard. But not once did I ever feel like there was nothing more to me than that team.
That was not Hayley’s high school experience. This can be directly attributed to the Coach and the Administration at the school. This team won. It had a long history of winning. The coach would expect nothing less than for the program. It had to continue to win at all costs. You could not play another sport. At her studio team she was able to participate on a soccer team most of the years. She had a social life and lots of friends during the studio years. On the high school team it was difficult to hold down a part time job. You could not have any other commitments. It was EHS dance 24/7, WSPS. Wolf Strong Pack Strong. That WSPS still makes me want to gag. I am not able to speak about the present, but I can share my observations for the 8 years my kids attended the school.
WSPS. It was a motto. It had good intentions but for most students it was not positive. Only the popular kids were WSPS. It was not inclusive at all. So many students were left out. The computer nerds, the gamers, LGBTQ, the disabled, the bookworms, and so many more. WSPS was meant for an athletic and popular group of students that considered themselves better because they believed in a motto. Being chosen to be in the leadership class at this school was not always because you were a true leader or had the potential to learn those skills. I was very involved with the school. Part of my actual job was working with leadership classes at High Schools on a Heart Health awareness month. I had direct contact with these kids. The teacher was the football coach. Many of the kids I met and worked with in that class were some of the meanest and self absorbed teenagers I had ever met. On the other hand there were many sincere, kind and true leaders. But overall the Motto was a bunch of bullshit to the majority of the student body. A great idea. Poor execution.
The school website says; Eastlake believes that students need to develop the intellectual strength and character necessary for success now and in the future, as captured by our mission and motto Wolf Strong, Pack Strong (WSPS).
There were many positive aspects of the High School Team experience. She made some strong new friendships and strengthened existing ones. They spent a lot of time together and their shared adversities with the program was very bonding. They were a part of the school’s spirit and legacy. They cheered and performed at home football games. It was always a fun time under the Friday Night Lights. In their uniforms they felt special. Plus it was a lot less expensive than Studio dance. For a middle class family living in an affluent community during tough economic times, this was a huge blessing.
When Hayley made the team, at the first Parent’s meeting before the agenda started parents were chatting. I heard from more than one returning parent, “do not piss off the coach no matter what or she will take it out on your daughter”. I scoffed. If an adult in a power position hurts my child or any other child, you can be guaranteed I am going to say something. With Hayley’s guidance I did have to let a lot of battles go unfought. She saw that it was 100% true, piss off the Coach, your daughter suffers. You were not allowed to miss practice on holidays or ones scheduled during breaks. So there goes your family vacations. Her second year, during February mid winter break I took the kids along with my back up mom and her kids to their company house in Palm Springs. It was an amazing time. We had to fly standby on a family members airline benefits, but you do what you have to do to make things work in your budget. After finally getting there we knew coming back was going to be very difficult. The next practice was on Monday, Presidents Day. Just as we were leaving we found out if you missed that one practice you were disqualified from performing in the next competition. This was not even in the rulebook. It was a verbal command from the controlling coach. In the official rulebook you had to miss a certain number of practices for that to happen. We called those demerits back in my day.
Hayley was stressed out about getting back so we decided to attempt standby out of Los Angeles instead of Palm Springs. More options. As Sunday and Monday approached it was clear based on plane loads we were going to have a difficult time flying back in time. I alerted the coach. I let her know that if one seat was open I would be willing to let Hayley fly back on her own for the first time. We did everything we could to make that happen. On Monday morning it was clear we were not getting on a flight until Tuesday. I emailed the Coach to let her know. She did not indicate it would be a problem as it was unforeseen. I decided to be spontaneous and teach the kids to make lemonade out of lemons and took them on a one park one day pass to Disneyland. The coach found out. I didn’t hide it. At Tuesday’s practice Hayley called me on a break, she was very distraught. She had been cut from the dance because she had missed Monday. Others missed Monday but were not cut. I asked her if she wanted me to be mama bear or not. Her choice. She said yes. I went to the door at the end of practice. I motioned to speak to the Coach privately with Hayley. I explained again what had happened. Her initial response, “Well you didn’t try that hard to get a flight because you went to Disneyland instead”. Needless to say it spiraled from there. Hayley was a strong personality, she worked hard, yet the coach had her on her dislike list from the start. Probably because of me and because she was not the best dancer on the team. But she had the biggest heart for it. Long story shortened a tad, Hayley did not get to perform and the rest of her time on the team, that woman treated her like crap along with most of the other girls. These were girls! Not women. This was High School! This was not division one NCAA. This “Coach” treated them so badly. She messed with their psyche. Girls ended up with anxiety, eating disorders and so many injuries. I wanted Hayley to quit so badly. But she would not give the coach the satisfaction. She kept going with a smile on her face and made it her job to entertain and get her teammates to smile during the grueling practices. This won her the honor of being voted “class clown” on the team three years running. The speeches for this award at the end of the year team banquet always contained the line “Hayley is the one we can count on to lift our spirits when we are down”. The first year I wasn’t sure if Class Clown was a compliment. But it was and it really said a lot about who Hayley was.
Don’t even get me started on the costumes. Think little girls in pageants inappropriate. This became a problem for Hayley that year. Despite me being a late bloomer, Hayley blossomed that year. She was also dealing with a hormone disorder that made her gain weight and her breasts became very large. Her flat friends said they wished she could share. Many of the costumes were backless or low cut requiring special dancer undergarments. This meant strapless bras or backless bras. Have you ever seen a Ballerina with triple Ds? They assume dancers will be petite in this area. Hayley was the one that was not. I drove to every dance store in the western part of our state trying to find a solution to this problem. I ordered a pile from online. It looked like it had thrown up nude colored bras on our kitchen table. (Poor Henry) I begged the coach for help. She did not give a fuck. But she should have. During that first competition, during their performance, Hayley’s right breast decided to make an appearance. She came out of the costume. It is hammered in to their heads, no matter what happens you smile and keep dancing. If that hat falls off leave it. If you lose a shoe, leave it. The performance always goes on. Hayley as a rule follower, took this very seriously. She kept going doing her best to shrug, sneak a pull on the top during a floor move, anything to stop this humiliation. I was supposed to video tape the performance, I stopped. I watched her be humiliated for over 3 minutes with an audience of other teenagers. There was nothing I could do. When they exited the floor I ran to the hallway to find Hayley crying outside the locker room. I held her. I told her I was proud of her. Then the Coach walked out and started chewing her out. Then she started in on me for not finding a bra to hold up and work with that awful costume. Yes. She did. I made it clear that I had spent weeks trying to find the solution and thought I had. That she needed to get involved and help her dancer. She was not empathetic or kind. She was mean and humiliated Hayley further.
Hayley and I argued all the way home. I told her she had to quit. She refused. An email response from the coach indicated that they would make a change to the costume for everyone on the team. Many girls thanked us, indicating that they had felt uncomfortable not having better support and coverage. This would allow all of them to wear a normal and supportive bra before the state competition that was a few weeks away. State was the one day they start working towards the previous summer. The routines Hayley had been a part of the first two years had placed first in the state. It was even held in the same venue I had competed in.
As it approached I was not getting an answer as to what the costume solution was. I should have known. The solution was that Hayley was pulled from the routine a week before state and the coach therefore does not have to make one change to her awful costume. This was a win for her. I took it to the athletic director. I took it to the administration. It took a week, a day before they left for state, for them to tell the coach she really should have changed the costume. Thanks guys for taking a week to half ass do the right thing. Hayley, her Dad, her brother and I still went east across the state to cheer the team on. Hayley stood on the sidelines. She was the only team member not allowed to dance in any of the three routines. I was so proud of the grace she displayed.
I went to the administration. I escalated the situation. You cannot in a PUBLIC school penalize a girl for having large breasts, that is not in the rules. You can’t body shame them with tiny costumes. I told the vice principal, “I am telling you right now, that even though Hayley would be a 4th year senior on the team and never had a returner in that situation not made the team, even though they were still required to try out for their spot, the Coach would cut Hayley from the team. She would do this to punish Hayley for daring to cross her. Tryouts were that week. Results would come out on Saturday. I told him if my prediction was correct to expect me to be sitting in a chair outside of his office before he arrived or had coffee on Monday.
Hayley and I sat there at 6:30 am on Monday, eyes red and swollen from a weekend of crying. I even left messages for the coach begging her not to do this. I promised I would never speak to her that year, she wouldn’t even know I existed. No response. Hayley faced after 10 years on a team, not having a team for her senior year. None of the milestones. Last football game, senior night, honoring her parents, nothing at all. She couldn’t go back to her studio team. They had moved on above her ability. There were so many meetings, the district brass was involved, not one person was willing to force the coach to reverse her decision. She tried to say it was not her decision, she had brought in judges from other teams. What she didn’t know was that one of my coworkers knew one of those judges. When asked she gladly confessed that the Eastlake Coach told the judges that under no circumstance was this one girl to make the team. Yes, the Coach was an adult woman. Do you want to know what her day job was? She was a school counselor at Eastlake. Hayley was that “girl”.
Every administrator at the school and the district level were men. The district hired an attorney to do an independent investigation of the situation. At least she was a woman. She looked at the costume. She interviewed Hayley, the coach, other teammates. We were hopeful. We were naïve. The attorney took until the end of December to file her report. Hayley had missed football season. She didn’t go to one game. She had teammates bully her at school when she wore one of her past year’s team hoodies. “You can’t wear that, you are not on the team”. Hayley was depressed. Her weight went up because she went from being physically active for 2 to 3 hours at least five days a week to staying home and being sad. It was heart breaking. She was not looking forward to Prom or other senior year milestones. Her close friends were her lifeline. She still stayed positive in public, she made people laugh, she made people feel good, she was an amazing friend if you were lucky enough to call her that.
The attorney reported to the superintendent that yes, Hayley had clearly been discriminated against, the coach was not a positive influence, had no business influencing teenage girls, and that the administration (men) had botched the entire situation. She indicated we had grounds for a lawsuit. We didn’t care, Hayley had just wanted to dance. By the time it worked its way through the system the team was way into their practices for the State competition. It was too late to make it right for Hayley. The coach won again.
Shortly after the costume malfunction is when Hayley mentioned wanting to have a breast reduction. We were not on board. We understood why she would want this but our fear was that just like tattoos you don’t make that decision unless you have wanted the same thing for more than 4 years. We told her that she may not be done growing. I had gained a cup size when I turned 18. We told her that if she still wanted the procedure after college we would support the decision.
She looked forward and headed off to WWU for her freshman year of college. She had an amazing roommate that she had met online. She loved the school. She loved that she could come home on weekends when she wanted to and work her hostess job at the local café. She loved that my job brought me near her many times. We were able to go no longer than 2 weeks without seeing each other. We talked many times each day while I was on the road for my job. She was intensely homesick. We were both struggling. My person was not in my house every single day. We had not let her take her car up fall quarter because we believed, rightly so, she would come home every chance she got if she had an easy ride. She was so homesick and probably depressed still. In January we let her take her car. This helped so much. Just knowing she could come home if she needed to seem to reduce her anxiety. She was going to the gym. She was talking about trying out for the school hip hop team.
It was Spring Break when she brought up the idea of the breast reduction surgery again. I had failed to notice that her breasts HAD continued to grow. She was uncomfortable. It was difficult to find clothes to fit. She was in pain. It made it difficult to be physically active. It was keeping her for trying out for the non competitive dance team. Her self confidence was low. At this time my current job was ending. I agreed that we would go see a surgeon and get an opinion and a cost estimate. Her primary doctor was supportive. I found out the name of a surgeon that was highly recommended by several women that had reconstructive surgery after breast cancer. These patients said he was the best, he was a perfectionist but not a man to show his emotions. Just a caring and talented doctor in a quiet way; so don’t be turned off by that, he was who they trusted. I warned Hayley. We discussed the costs. I was going to be job hunting with a kid in college. She accepted that if my current insurance would pay for the procedure that we would move forward, but if not, we would need to postpone and she would need to contribute to pay for it. I really thought it would not be approved.
On our first consult with the doctor, we both thought he was fantastic. He and Hayley immediately clicked. Hayley had a way of connecting with people quickly. She had a way to know who was a good person and who was not. She trusted him and was not uncomfortable undressing. When she did I almost fell out of my chair. I said out loud “OMG”. He gave me a questioning look, I explained I had no idea they had gotten that large. She wasn’t at home now walking around naked like she tended to do. With tears in my eyes I said “Hayley, honey, I get it”. She was a 34 DOUBLE H. Yes, that was two. HH. I didn’t even know there was such a size. Her pain and discomfort was obvious. The doctor agreed that she would benefit extremely from this procedure. He said he could help her and that it would be life altering.
The insurance approved the procedure quickly and she was scheduled for July 11th. He was going to be leaving on a big trip and wanted to get her in before he left so she had the full summer to recover before going back to school. I made sure my insurance stayed in place until the end of July. My job officially ended on July 7th. We felt this was a good decision for her. The opportunity to regain her self confidence, be healthier and dance her heart out.
