We’d talked about it earlier in the week, but hadn’t really made a definite decision to go. Then, Sunday morning I came downstairs to find this Washington Post story on the computer monitor.
On Wednesday, Oct. 7, 6-year-old Heaven Skyler Wilson dragged herself off the school bus that dropped her in front of her home on a rural road in Jetersville, just south of Richmond. The little girl, who had never had so much as an ear infection in her life, was pale and feverish and complained of an upset stomach.
The next day, Heaven’s grandmother, Pat Sparrow, took her to a nearby clinic. Heaven, usually a bright, bubbly girl with blond pigtails, dimples and effusive energy, had a sore throat and a 103-degree temperature. The doctor swabbed her for the flu, and the test was positive.
It was just something going around, Sparrow said she was told. The doctor told Sparrow to take Heaven home, give her Tylenol and chicken broth, and let her rest.
By the next morning, Heaven couldn’t breathe. Sparrow called 911.
…Two weeks later, on Oct. 21, ravaged with double pneumonia and a staph infection that deprived her brain of oxygen, Heaven was disconnected from the respirator. She lived for four minutes.
At 11:18 p.m., Heaven died in the arms of her mother, Sara Wilson. “You never heard such an awful scream from someone who loved her child so much,” Sparrow said, her voice shaking.
He was already packing the kids lunches at that point. So I knew that after swimming lessons, we’d be headed to the H1N1 vaccine clinic held this Sunday in Montgomery County. The end of our H1N1 saga — that is, the saga of getting the kids vaccinated — was finally in sight. And, as my husband said when he asked if I saw the article, “You just want to know you’ve done everything you can to protect your children.”
But, until Sunday, there wasn’t much we could do.
