The Day She Turned Blue: Our First ER Visit

One week after Tulla was born, we had a moment that changed everything: she stopped breathing and turned blue in my arms. In this post, I share what happened and how we ended up in the children’s hospital for a week of tests and unknowns. If you’ve walked a similar road, please read this at your own pace and take breaks if you need to.

One week after Tulla was born, we were sitting in the living room on a quiet afternoon, enjoying what I thought was the start of us finding our rhythm. I had her tiny body propped up in my hands. Her little eyes were open and looking around.

The sun went behind a cloud, casting shadows around the room, and her eyes slowly closed. At first, I thought it was a trick of the light, but then I saw it—she turned blue. Her face, ears, and hands were all completely blue.

“What’s going on?” I asked out loud. Her father, across the room, didn’t see it at first, but the worry in my voice immediately caught his attention.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, because I truly didn’t. I brought her close in my arms and gently shook her chest as the adrenaline pumped through me. I remember saying, “She was…blue.” But her color was already coming back. The whole thing happened so fast and felt like slow motion at the same time.

I grabbed my phone and looked it up. I found information about BRUE—Brief Resolved Unexplained Event—so I felt reassured that maybe it wasn’t anything serious. She was sleeping so peacefully, like nothing had happened at all.

I didn’t call the doctors right away. I didn’t think about calling 911. I called my mom instead. She was the one who suggested I call the nurse line, just to get a professional opinion…just in case.

After some telephone tag, I finally talked to a nurse who explained that BRUE is usually something experienced by older babies. The recommendation was that she be examined within 24 hours, and I already had a weight check scheduled for the following morning. As long as it was an isolated incident, we could decide to take her to the ER or wait until the appointment.

There was no way we were going to sleep that night, so I knew I had to take her in.

I was only one week post‑cesarean, so I couldn’t drive. My sweet sister‑in‑law came and picked me up so my husband could stay back with the boys. We figured they’d observe her for a few hours and then send us home. By all rights, she looked perfectly healthy. The doctors in the ER didn’t sound concerned.

She proved us wrong again.

While I was telling my sister‑in‑law that I kept staring at Tulla and obsessively checking her color, it happened again. I told her to go find someone, since there was no nurse or doctor in the room with us. I placed Tulla on the table and a nurse came in. She rubbed Tulla’s chest and was able to bring her back.

That’s when the tone shifted. This was no longer an isolated event.

“I guess we’re not going anywhere,” I tried to joke.

No, the doctor informed us. We were going to the children’s hospital about an hour away from our home.

That set everything else in motion. Labs were ordered. An EKG. A chest X‑ray. An MRI. An IV line was placed in her head after they blew the vein in her foot. The ambulance took us, and my husband drove our van and met us at the children’s hospital.

It was the start of a very long week filled with lots of unknowns.

I was in shock, moving through each step but not really believing what was going on. One week earlier, I was holding my perfect newborn, thinking the hardest part was behind us. Now I was watching her tiny body covered in wires and tape, trying to understand how we got here so fast.