The search for answers

After being airlifted to a new hospital, Kemiyah and her family search for answers. Doctors struggle to diagnose her condition, but a sharp-eyed nurse finally cracks the case. A second transfer to CHOP brings her closer to hope, but also a new reality—a VAD device that keeps her heart going as she faces the fight of her life.

Episode Transcript

(00:00):
Everything was a blur after that first hospital visit.

(00:03):
I remember being in that room, doctors everywhere, but no one seemed to know what was wrong with me.
They tried to talk to me, but I couldn’t talk back.
It was terrifying.
Then they decided to move me.
I didn’t know where I was going or what was happening, just that they couldn’t help me there.
A helicopter was waiting, and I was scared.

(00:24):
My mom was there too—she always was—and she held my hand as we flew through the night sky.
I remember staring at the lights on the ground and wondering if I’d ever dance again.
When we landed at the next hospital, my mom, my brother, and I were together for a while.
But it wasn’t the same as being home.
I missed Thanksgiving.

(00:44):
I couldn’t even eat.
Everything felt like it was slipping away—my voice, my body, my home, my family.
It felt like the doctors there couldn’t figure it out either.
But then—my mom told me later—a nurse finally noticed something the doctors missed.
She figured out what was really happening to me.
I don’t remember all the details, but that nurse gave me a lifeline.

(01:08):
So they moved me again.
Another helicopter.
But this time, my mom couldn’t come with me.
I was alone, except for the lady who held my hand the whole way.
They gave me medicine to help me stay calm.
I remember it was night, and all I could see were the city lights glowing like stars.
When I woke up, I was at CHOP—the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia.

(01:31):
Everything was fuzzy.
My mom was there, though.
That part is clear.
And then I woke up again, this time with a machine attached to me—a VAD, my mom later explained.
It was keeping my heart going.
I remember the tubes in my chest.
I remember the breathing tube in my mouth.
I couldn’t talk.
I had to use my hands to communicate, but I was so tired and weak.

(01:55):
My mom says I tried to write things down, but nothing made sense.
The days at CHOP were a mix of fear, exhaustion, and moments of hope.
They made me get out of bed, start walking again.
I tried to eat, but my body wouldn’t let me keep anything down.
I needed help, a feeding tube.
Every day felt like a test I had to pass just to survive.

(02:18):
And still, the worst part was the not knowing—would I ever be myself again?
Would I ever sing, dance, and laugh like I used to?

That was my new reality (02:27):
living in the in-between, waiting for answers.