Expressway: A son lost, and lessons learned
Matthew Rush and her mother, Katie Rush, of Ridge. Matthew died of cardiac arrest Jan. 16, 2011, at age 24. Credit: Courtesy Katie Rush
A year ago Jan. 16, I was making snacks in my kitchen before a Jets playoff game. It was sunny out and snow covered the ground.
The phone rang. Caller ID said it was my son Matthew, but it was one of his friends.
"Matt just passed out!" I was told.
The news shocked me, but the nurse in me replied, "Did you call 911? Did you start CPR?"
Those things had been done, but I feared the worst and got a neighbor to drive me from my house in Ridge a few miles to where Matt was, in Coram. On the way, I called Matthew's dad and his brother, who was skiing in Vermont.
Matt, 24, had spent the night at his friend's house. They had just finished working out and were playing a video game when Matt collapsed.
When our car pulled up, I saw an ambulance and police cars. I ran inside. In a bedroom, I saw my baby -- 6 feet 4 and 185 pounds, a proud member of the New York National Guard's 106th Air Rescue Wing -- lying on his back. Ambulance workers were doing chest compressions.
I've been a nurse for 30 years and have taught advanced cardiac life support, so I knew the lack of a heart rhythm on a monitor was very bad news. They started intravenous fluids and put an oxygen tube down Matt's throat. Then they scooped him up into the ambulance. I sat in front. It was surreal; I was an observer when normally I would be the caregiver.
This could not be happening, I thought. Matt's a good kid. He doesn't do drugs. He doesn't drink and drive. This is a nature lover who built a hummingbird sanctuary and koi pond in the yard. College wasn't for him, but after various jobs he found his passion in the Air National Guard. His motto: "Believe and act as if it's impossible to fail."
En route to the hospital, police cars blocked intersections along Route 112. I sensed the urgency of officers and volunteers to save a young man's life. I called my sister-in-law and my minister. I knew I would need my family, friends and faith.
At Mather Memorial Hospital in Port Jefferson, coincidentally my workplace, Matt's father and I watched doctors, nurses and assistants administer medications, do blood work and chest compressions. But after about 25 minutes, a doctor turned and asked if they should continue.
"That's enough," I said. Matt was gone.
In a nearby room, family and friends cried with us. Among those who came were the two police officers who had arrived to aid Matt first. They looked spent.
The most difficult part was telling my other son, Keith, 21, Matthew's best friend. After my call, he'd rushed south. I met him at the Port Jefferson ferry. Hearing the news, Keith collapsed in the parking lot, overcome with grief.
An autopsy revealed that Matt suffered cardiac arrest due to hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, a condition where the heart gradually thickens, forcing the muscle to work harder. I have that condition. Knowing this, doctors had checked for it in Matthew since his birth, but found no signs in conventional examinations.
Now a year since that painful day, we miss Matt desperately. I'm recalling those details here to highlight the humanity and love that our tragedy produced.
Our emergency and health care system, though imperfect, is wonderful. Picture a young man suddenly falling over lifeless. A 911 call sets in motion opportunities not only for professionals to save lives, but to show love and compassion for others.
I want to say thank you and God bless you to all those strangers who touched our lives. In a world of cynicism and anger, we must look to see the love and humanity that exist. The sun shines brightly behind every cloud.
Reader Katie Rush lives in Ridge.
