The Story - From Someone Who Loved Cassie

by Mary Haydal, her Mom

Part I

I can tell you the last beautiful fall day of the year 2000. It was November fourth. The weather was crisp. All of the leaves had fallen off the trees and lay as crunchy carpet in our yard.
 
It was Saturday, my day off. I had a formal dress pattern and material sprawled out on the floor. The top would be strapless leather, with a v-cut in the middle. The bottom would be a fitted long skirt made of black silk. I picked it out myself for my 18-year-old daughter, Cassie. I knew she would look stunning in it, with long gloves, an antique purse (from my mother) and a delicate shoe to set it off. It was our tradition to make all of her formal dresses because Cassie was 5' 10" tall, and nothing in the stores was long enough for her.

I wasn't a very good seamstress, but Cassie wasn't picky. She looked beautiful in everything I made and she wore all of my mistakes proudly. It was a pleasure to sew for her. When I finished her first dress, I embroidered inside, "Made with love for Cas, "98".

Greg, her father, and a past insulator by trade, was excellent at cutting patterns of any kind. When he saw me struggling with the design of the matching drawstring purse, he took a new piece of left over material and laid it out on the floor. He cut the pattern for her purse. (Not too many people know about this past bull rider and rancher designing accessories for proms.) The finished product was lined with a place even for her lipstick.

The whole process charmed Cassie. From that day on, not only did we make all of her dresses, but we helped her friends make theirs as well. The two weeks before any formal was always busy with sewing, woman-talk, laughing and eating...

I had to get the dress started today. Formal was only 19 days away.

Cassie had an exotic beauty: beautiful olive skin, brown eyes with gold flicks, full lips and flawless features, a slim frame and light brown shoulder-length hair. Although she was very tall and graceful, she didn't consider herself beautiful though. Like most teenage girls, all she saw were the self-invented flaws.

Today was also busy for Cassie. It was the first day she started coaching her little sister's basketball team. Everyone was supposed to meet in the gym at noon. They were getting ready to play in a parochial school basketball tournament in Billings (150 miles away) in just a couple of weeks.

The day hadn't started out very well. Cassie had missed her curfew by a long shot Friday night. She told us she was going to stay the night with Grandma, who lived in a trailer in the front pasture of our property. Grandma called early to let us know that Cassie had not shown up to spend the night with her and she was wondering if Cassie had come home.
 
Although I was worried, I told Grandma not to worry. "Maybe Cassie had fallen asleep on Levi's floor. She's a good kid. I'm sure she'll call." And I hung up the phone. Levi was Cassie's boyfriend of three years. He had graduated the year before.

A short time later Cassie called to apologize for staying out all night. She said she had fallen asleep on her Levi's front room floor, as I had suspected.

I told her to get right home and that I figured that is what happened. I was still annoyed with the lack of her adherence to the rules. But I believed her -until I saw her.
 
A few minutes later, Cassie walked through the door. She looked horrible. I assumed, much to my dismay that she had been drinking.

I confronted her about my suspicion.

"Cassie, you have been drinking all night, haven't you?" I accused.

"No Mom, I promise, I haven't been drinking." She swore.

"Cassie, I'm not stupid, I can tell when someone has been out all night drinking." I assured her.

"Mom," She said sincerely, "I promise you with all that I am that I did not touch alcohol last night."

"Your Dad left upset this morning. He wants us to all sit down and visit this evening. I know you are 18 and feel ready to be on your own, but as long as you live here, you have to follow our rules. That includes coming home at curfew and not drinking!"

"Mom," She said softly, "This won't happen again. I'm sorry." And then she moved in to hug me. I accepted her hug and kissed her warmly.

"What do you want to do about practice?" I asked, moving on.

Cassie responded sheepishly, "I would like to lay down until 10:30 a.m. Would you wake me up then? I have to be at practice at noon." I agreed to do as she asked and she went to lie down.

It wasn't just this morning that Cassie didn't look good. She had been sick for the last three weeks. She had a real gravely, loose cough. She had dark circles under her eyes. Her hair was getting broken off and thin. She looked like she might be losing weight. She was never home.

We thought between work and school she was getting too run down. We thought she had the same virus that I had had a few weeks before - one of those hang-on viruses that I couldn't get rid of. In the past three weeks, we had taken her to two different doctors. The last visit was just two days ago. Both doctors told her she needed to quit smoking. Her lungs were in terrible shape, but all of our, well thought out lectures hadn't deterred her from smoking. We blamed her "bronchitis" on the smoking and the fact she wasn't getting well. She told me she would try to quit and she had even asked me to pray with her about it.

At ten thirty, we started trying to wake Cassie. We called her and called her. She finally roused, looking worse that when she laid down, workout would be good for her. Sweat out the poison.

At 11:30 a.m. Cassie and Nicki left for basketball practice. They had to pick up another little girl who lived on the way. So off they went, Cassie looked willing and happy to be coaching her little sister's team but because of her activities the night before, she looked kind of like working out was the last thing she wanted to be doing. Nicki was full of expectation and pride that her sister was going to be the coach. She worshiped Cassie. You could tell by the way she looked at her. Her eyes were always on Cassie. She asked her opinion on everything and she always respected what Cassie told her. Her face was especially bright when Cassie was around. Cassie could make her madder than anyone. She was always trying to be included with Cas and her friends.

The girls were 6 1/2 years apart. Cassie was more like a mother to Nicki. She baby sat her, gave her rides, helped her with her homework, offered advice and served lectures. She gave her basketball pointers, rides on her shoulders and swimming lessons. Because Cassie was going to be her coach, this was a big day for Nicki.

While they were gone, I busied myself with my to-do list at home. Time passed quickly. The girls came tumbling in two hours later, exhausted, sweaty and laughing. They had had a great practice. They said it was lots of fun. Everyone had enjoyed it. Nicki said all the little girls loved Cassie for their coach. She made practice fun and taught them a lot in just a couple of hours. You could tell Nicki was proud of the way things went. She had mentioned that she was really looking forward to the tournament now...

Cassie went into her room to change. She put her robe on over her clothes. I thought that was strange, but blamed it on the fact she wasn't feeling well. I guessed she was feeling chilled. I offered to fix her something to eat, but she declined.

After practice, when she still looked horrible, I felt concerned that maybe the bronchitis was turning into pneumonia. I made a mental note to keep her home the rest of the weekend to keep an eye on her. I thought it was strange she would drink to begin with, much less when she was ill. Cassie interrupted my thoughts.. .

"Mom, those girls are going to kill me! I'm so out of shape!" She kissed me and hugged me and said, "I love you. I'm sorry I was out all night. I told her I loved her too. I kissed her cheek, three times and hugged her tight. (I never just kissed my girls once. They knew after the first kiss, to leave their cheek out, because there were always two more coming.)

After we talked, Cassie went into the bathroom.

Nicki was in the bedroom playing a computer game. We both heard a loud crash. We met each other in the kitchen. We asked each other what that noise was. I offered, "It must be that shelf again." The shelf in the dining room fell sometimes when someone closed the door to the bathroom too hard.

I went into the dining room to put the shelf back on the wall, but when I saw it was still in tact, I felt panicked and called out, to Cassie in the bathroom, but she didn't answer.

I called out again with a voice that expects an answer, "Cassie!"

I felled a cold chill run through my body and I stiffened. I tried to get the bathroom door open. Her legs were blocking the door. All I could see were her feet. When I pushed my way in, she was bluish and her head was cocked against the tub. Right away I thought she fainted and then hit her head on the edge of the tub. I suspected a severe concussion. Seconds later, I realized that something else was terribly wrong and I started screaming to Nicki.

"What's wrong with Cassie!"

I drug her out into the dining room and called 911. I instructed Nicki to take the car and drive over to Shannon's house. Shannon is a nurse who lives across the country road. She did as I asked and ran out the door.

Imagine sending a twelve-year-old with a vehicle all by herself to look for help. She had learned to drive over the last two years with Grandma, Dad and myself on the country roads. She was a good driver, but driving alone, she could have been injured or injured someone else. At the time I wasn't thinking all of those possibilities because my oldest child was dying.

I opened the front door wide so the firemen would know which house to come to. I saw Grandma, who lived in a trailer a few hundred feet away. She was shaking her rugs off of the front porch. She smiled and waved. But I let her see the full panic on my face. I waved to her to come over.

I ran back into the house where Cassie lay and I stared down at her blue, still body. I remember thinking, "My God, I have to start CPR!"

I used to work in the hospital. We all had been trained in CPR, but that's when I was pregnant with Cassie. I couldn't remember how to start. I begged God to help me.

I begged, "Please God, please don't take her. Please don't take her."

I screamed at Cassie to come back, and I started CPR.

Pushing into her I coached, "Come on baby girl, don't leave mama. Come on Cas."

I breathed into her. Her lips were getting tight and cold. Her stomach would rise with every breath and an eerie hollow sound would come from deep within her. The sound of my own breathes searching within her for her body to respond back.

"I'm ok now Mom, you don't have to do that anymore. I just fainted."

But all I kept hearing were my own breathes echoing back inside the emptiness of my daughter. Her hands and feet were turned inward, like the knuckles were turning the hand and the toes were turning the feet toward the center of her. I did not know at the time that this was a sign of permanent brain damage. She was cold and blue. I kept breathing into her, terrified and stricken with only what was happening that second. I had no idea what was going on around me. Like someone in the front of the world's biggest roller coaster, I was gripping to endure the downhill ride.

At one point it dawned on me that she could have some poison or chemical in her system. I slapped her face. I had never done that before.

"Cassie, wake up! Did someone give you drugs last night?" I checked her jean pockets for evidence of this. I didn't know what I was looking for, but I knew then that something was in her body.

Grandma had come in and I heard her yell Cassie's name. I blocked her out. I had to focus.

Nicki came back. Shannon wasn't home. Nicki saw I was doing CPR and started screaming. I told Grandma to take her outside.

It was forever before the paramedics and sheriff came. I was sure they would push me out of the way and do CPR the right way. But they told me, "Keep going". As they set up their equipment, I was counting, "One and two and three and four," Shouting it out loud.

CPR is very painful for the person receiving it. Done correctly, it breaks ribs and causes bruising. It was hard to push hard enough into my child's chest to do any good. I knew I was deliberately hurting her.

"This wasn't right. It wasn't right"! I was yelling at myself.

I desperately wanted someone else to take over. I felt like I was trembling so much I was losing control of my body. Cassie was still cold and purple.

Finally, the paramedics took over. They hurriedly surrounded my daughter with small machines and tubes. One machine was attached to her chest. I remember being so surprised and afraid when the machine started talking out loud and it was telling them to shock her.

I remember asking a sheriff deputy, an acquaintance who was standing in the kitchen, "Pat, is she dead?"

He didn't answer me. He looked right at me and then at Cassie. He had a drained, panicked look on his face. The kind of look you might have if you were watching someone drowned. We had known them for years. His wife had taught Nicki at the country school, just two doors down. He had helped Greg chase bulls when they got out of the fence. He knew us. This doesn't happen to people you know. Mostly, it doesn't happen to you.

I wasn't thinking of any of this now. All I could think of was how much time I had wasted, doing improper technique and not having the right equipment when I needed it. I wanted to get her to the hospital as fast as possible. Surely they could make a miracle happen there.

Someone told me I could not ride in the ambulance.

"You and Nicki take the car and follow us. There is no room in here for anyone to ride."

Pat said, "I will go look for Greg."

One of the deputies called dispatch to send a patrol car to find Greg. (Months later, Greg shared with me that he did not know why the sheriff had come to get him, except for the fact that someone in the family was in the emergency room) He thought maybe his Mom was having trouble breathing because she has asthma or maybe one of us had broken our leg.

The ambulance backed slowly, awkwardly out of our long driveway that Greg and I could back out of with our eyes closed. If ever there was a time I wanted to yank someone from behind the wheel and do it myself, that was it. The sheriff car left behind the ambulance. Nicki and I backed out last.

Nicki and I drove to the hospital together. I had my left hand on the steering wheel and one pulling on the top of her shirt. We were praying fervent, loud prayers. Every memorized prayer we knew. The ambulance seemed to be driving so slowly. I kept thinking, don't let her die...just get her to the hospital. Go faster. Oh my God, why are they going so slow? "She must be dead", I kept repeating to Nicki, "Otherwise they would be going faster."

We only had to drive two to three miles to reach the hospital. I parked the car and jumped out even before it completely stopped. Nicki and I walked hesitantly towards the sliding Emergency room doors. The ambulance had disappeared inside doors of its own. In between both sets of those doors stood Sister Patrick Leonard Murphy, a good friend. Her face and her eyes scared me. I've never seen her look like that before. She was truly shaken. Cassie had been one of her first fledgling volunteers when she was just in 5th grade. Sister, used to pick up Cassie and Nicki and take them to the county rest home on the edge of town to visit the residents. They always had incredible, sometimes funny stories to tell when they came home. They enjoyed their time with her very much. Now she waited for us and embraced both Nicki and me as we entered the sliding doors together.

She said, "When they described the youth they were transporting on the scanner, I never dreamed in a million years it would be Cassie!"

I wandered dumbly towards the room where they had taken Cassie, but I was sent to the registration desk to sign permission forms and give our insurance information. When I went to sign the form, my hand wouldn't hold the pen. I told the lady I couldn't sign the forms, because I couldn't control my hands. They were violently shaking. I kept trying, but wasn't able to write and I kept looking past her into the emergency room I was pleading with that woman to let me go. She kindly told me just to make a squiggle line ~ I did.

We stood outside the room where they had Cassie. But they wouldn't let me in. Just then Greg pulled up and I ran outside. Before I could greet him, I had to bend over and grab my knees to catch my breath. I felt like I was going to pass out... Up until now, nothing had seemed real, but seeing his form move toward me made me realize I would have to recount the last half hour to him That made it real. When he reached me, I told him briefly what had happened. His face drained. We leaned on each other and walked inside.

He pushed his way into the room where Cassie was. Nothing was going to keep him from her. He had his hand on her leg when they went to shock her. He said he felt the shock, but did not move his hand. The priest was in there to give her the Last Rights - A Catholic sacrament administered to the seriously ill and dying. It was at that time, they got a pulse. We thought that was a sign she was going to pull through.

By now it was late evening. She was in critical condition, but they finally got her stabilized enough to put her into an ICU room. She was in a deep coma. Doctors went in and out. Finally, her doctor came out to talk with us. He is a quiet, gentle man. He always had a good bedside manner with children. He had taken care of Cassie since the day she was born. He and his family lived up the road from us. His pig, Frances, would always get out of her pen and she would be in the middle of the road sometimes when Cassie, Nicki and I went for walks.

He didn't seem like our neighbor now. He came out of the ICU area looking exhausted and tense. He searched our faces as he told us our daughter had tested positive for meth.

His words bounced off of me. I felt cold. We all stood in a numb row. This wasn't happening. There had to be some mistake. I talked to her about drugs every day from the time she was in junior high. We did not use drugs. We were adamant about drug use. We went to drug talks together and attended church every Sunday. People like us don't have kids who use drugs. Country towns like ours don't have drugs...He left us to our numb disbelief to digest what we couldn't even chew... 1 knew he would be back to tell us he was mistaken. Wait a minute...I thought; someone must have slipped Cassie the drugs. That must've been what happened. Well, we would deal severely with whoever had given our baby girl drugs.

The police chief had been sitting quietly in the waiting room. 1 wondered what she was doing there. The drug task force arrived. Everyone was asking questions. The doctor or hospital must've called them. The drug task force agent asked permission to search Cassie's car and bedroom. They left immediately. Later I leaned that they had found nothing.

The waiting rooms and hallways started to fill with Cassie's friends. They slapped us with the truth that we wanted to deny. Cassie had been using Meth for a year and a half. I was cold to their tears and their apologies and even though they kept vigil outside of the intensive care unit, I remained in a disbelieving, angry distance from all of her mends - The very ones who I welcomed into my home, the ones who sat on my bed and visited for hours at a time, the ones who ate meals with us and had been like one of my own, the ones I trusted, had used drugs with my daughter. The others standing there had known the truth, but did not tell us.

Greg's family was on their way from Billings. My family from all over the country had to be called.

People were kind. They brought us food and coffee to the private waiting room, but we didn't take any. I remember not being able to even swallow water. I had terrible anxiety attacks, one after another. My entire body felt cold with fear. I shook and trembled, as I awaited my daughter's fate. I couldn't sit still. None of us could. We paced. We looked into each other's expressionless faces. Time was moving so slowly for us now. Hours went by one second at a time.

The heart specialist came out half way through the night. His face was very strained. He had a heavy accent and it was hard to understand him. He wanted to shock Cassie's heart to stop it because it was beating too rapidly.

We had never heard of such a thing: deliberately shocking a heart to slow it down and maybe stop it. Later, when things quieted down, the doctor explained that Cas had blown out the bottom of her heart and that the damage could not be repaired. He said if she recovered she would always be weak. She would never be able to go up a flight of steps, workout, and run or exert herself. The other doctors told us if she came out of the coma she would need months and months of rehabilitation. We asked, "What would you do if it was your daughter?"

Hastily he replied, "I would shock her." He urged us to hurry with our decision. Reluctantly, we agreed to let him do the procedure. We paced the halls, passing each other, but no one spoke. It felt like my nerves were exposed on the outside of my body. I couldn't talk. I couldn't stand people's touch. He came out a half hour later, looking strained but satisfied with his work and said the procedure was successful. Again I thought this was a sign she would survive.

The next morning I felt "rescued" when the emergency flight team came and prepared her for the trip to Billings. They had to change many tubes and transferred all of the equipment to their portable system. It was a great effort between the two teams. I had felt relief to know we were going to a bigger hospital.

The maternity nurses let me use their shower. All of the items they brought me to shower with were for babies. I let the hot water penetrate into my soul. Everyone in here was having babies, I thought, I was losing mine... Someone brought me some warm clothes and my purse. I was ready in a few short minutes. I waited with some administration personnel from the hospital who were friends. They were very caring. I believe I could've asked them for anything at that moment and it would have been delivered.

As a family, we decided that I would fly with Cassie, and Greg would drive the rest of the family to Billings. It was starting to blizzard. We embraced each other and left

It was so cold outside and the snow was coming down in big, thick chunks. Heaven was purging snow. I prayed for my family driving in this. You couldn't see a foot in front of you.
The flight team and the ambulance drivers worked quickly. They put Cassie in the plane first. They had her so bundled, and you could see were a cocoon of tubes, IVs and blankets. I worried she wouldn't be warm enough. Even though they had her wrapped well, the blankets were those thin kind with the little holes in them. I wanted to sit in the back with her, but they couldn't let me.

I got into that tiny plane. Strangely, I was without fear. I had been filled with hope that going to a larger, more sophisticated hospital would give us our daughter back. They strapped me into a very small fold down seat at the back of the plane. Everyone was smiling big, bright, comforting smiles. I got my rosary out and started praying intent prayers. No one spoke. They just kept smiling all the way to Billings.

I stared out the window as I prayed. The blizzard outside seemed insulating and safe. My mind kept altering between my prayers and my thoughts. I couldn't take my eyes off of the long, sleeping white bundle. I embraced this time alone with her.

I was ready to face months of rehabilitation with Cassie. I didn't care what parts of her were left. I only cared that she didn't die. As I stared out at the huge flakes, I started making mental notes of what we could do to speed her recovery. We could sell our house to pay expenses and get a small apartment somewhere. Of course, I would quit my job and help with her therapy. I would read up on whatever condition she was left with. We would make it as a family, I decided.

We were only in the air a half hour. An ambulance was there to meet us. We went to St. Vincent Hospital, where they whisked Cassie away.

Link to More of The Story "From Someone Who Loved Cassie" |  Part II |  Part III  |  Part IV |