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I would like to tell you all a story about an amazing little girl:
On March 16th 2009, an angel appeared into our lives and warmed our hearts. Her name is Layla Arianna Maeesomy (Formally Movahed). She was your typical baby growing fast, and surpassing the definition of adorable by every passing minute. My family and I redefined our adoration of life with this warm and lovable child.
All was well for a while, until an autumn night changed the course of our lives forever. At seven months old, Layla suffered a massive brain aneurysm that put her into a seizure. Her eyes wandered off in different directions and then her body lay motionless as the paramedics arrived at the scene. She was rushed to a nearby Children’s Medical Center of Plano, and then transported by helicopter to Children’s Medical Center of Dallas. My entire family, and my in-laws were all present at the hospital waiting for the helicopter to land. Everyone of them painfully sobbing, praying, and audibly bargaining with their respective Gods in hopes of a miracle. I learned something about myself that night, when dealing with a traumatic experience to such severity I became a rock. I became unable to convey my emotions in a physical manner. On the inside I may be screaming, crying, fighting with myself, and angry at the world, but seeing my family in that condition, witnessing my father cry for the first time in my life, I knew that this moment would define my responsibilities in my family. That moment of realization was solidified by the actions of one of the attending physicians. He noticed the entirety of my family uncontrollably sobbing and then turned to me and told me to follow him. Once he had separated me from my family, he put his hand on my shoulder and said, “I’ve read the file of your family member Layla, and I need you to understand something. Your family can’t handle what I’m about to tell you, and I need you to continue to be their support system. Layla has three ateriovenous malformations in her brain, and one of them had ruptured. This uncontrollable hemorrhaging caused her intracranial pressure to rise beyond what the brain can handle. We will do what we can for her, but I need you to know that your niece is going to die tonight. I need you to be their support system.” His final words met my comprehension as he turned my shoulder for me to face my family, and then disappeared in to the demanding haze of the hospital emergency department. From that moment on I knew that I needed to be the adult responsible for supporting my family.
Beyond all expectations my little niece made it past the first night, and every night I would return from my class to wait by my sisters side until I had to leave for class again the next morning. For a full month she was comatose, and then gradually started to respond to external stimuli. In five weeks she was well enough to be moved out of the Intensive Care Unit and into main hospital with minimal brain damage. A total of 9 weeks were spent practically living at the hospital in Dallas, observing Layla’s recovery. Many say it was a miracle from a higher power, or the strategic medicine that gave her that second chance; I’d like to think it was the right combination of the two that coupled with her relentlessness to survive.
I wish that I could say, “we lived happily ever after”, and optimistically we did for a while. We overcame the challenges faced by the dichotomy of a child’s desire to develop and play, coupled with the continuous restraint required to prevent any head injuries. We endured the constant worries of seizures, illnesses that could stress her system into another event, and CT scans that continued to show those dreaded AVM’s persisting after two rounds of gamma knife radiotherapy.
As of late Saturday night, on October 17th, I received a text message from my sister “Layla had a stroke”. In my mind I always feared this day would come, but I became accustomed to the notion that all would be well. Layla, our little angel, had suffered a seizure in the middle of the night that led to a rupture in the vasculature of her brain. Her unconscious body was again taken to where it all began at Children’s Medical Center in Dallas, TX after a brief stabilization at Children’s in Plano. We are hoping, praying, and pleading with any powers of might to give this girl a chance at life. We know that Layla is a warrior. She has the will power to overcome this tragedy as she has done in the past. She is already showing improvement as of today (10/20/2015).
This synopsis into our life is presented from the perspective of Layla’s uncle, Payam. I am currently a first year pharmacy student at Texas A&M University Health Sciences Center. Layla is my hero, my inspiration; my sobering reminder of the delicacies of life, and the optimism required to enjoy every vanishing second of it.
Although told from my perspective, this GoFundMe account is not about me, it is about Layla, and her courageous mother undergoing unfathomable anguish at this moment. I am using this venue to do what little I can to support her in her struggles. Of which is the financial toll this has taken on her. When Layla first fell ill Pegah was in college perusing her dreams. She had to drop out, and consequentially wasn’t able resume her studies until recently due to the compiling responsibilities of a single mother with an ill-burdened child. She currently has a wonderful job at Apple, Inc. and has been working very hard to overcome these adversities and continues to move forward.
Even with insurance, the co-pays, deductibles, and out of pocket expenses have driven her medical debt to over $25,000. This was before this weekend’s incident, which is expected to considerably add to that figure. I know how hard Layla is fighting to survive, and I understand what my sister has gone through in the past. This reoccurring nightmare has taken a toll on all of us. I pray that when Layla fully recovers, her and her mother have one less thing to worry about, and can optimistically enjoy every second of life as Layla has taught me. Any amount of support and prayers are cordially welcome.
We sincerely thank you for your support.
On March 16th 2009, an angel appeared into our lives and warmed our hearts. Her name is Layla Arianna Maeesomy (Formally Movahed). She was your typical baby growing fast, and surpassing the definition of adorable by every passing minute. My family and I redefined our adoration of life with this warm and lovable child.
All was well for a while, until an autumn night changed the course of our lives forever. At seven months old, Layla suffered a massive brain aneurysm that put her into a seizure. Her eyes wandered off in different directions and then her body lay motionless as the paramedics arrived at the scene. She was rushed to a nearby Children’s Medical Center of Plano, and then transported by helicopter to Children’s Medical Center of Dallas. My entire family, and my in-laws were all present at the hospital waiting for the helicopter to land. Everyone of them painfully sobbing, praying, and audibly bargaining with their respective Gods in hopes of a miracle. I learned something about myself that night, when dealing with a traumatic experience to such severity I became a rock. I became unable to convey my emotions in a physical manner. On the inside I may be screaming, crying, fighting with myself, and angry at the world, but seeing my family in that condition, witnessing my father cry for the first time in my life, I knew that this moment would define my responsibilities in my family. That moment of realization was solidified by the actions of one of the attending physicians. He noticed the entirety of my family uncontrollably sobbing and then turned to me and told me to follow him. Once he had separated me from my family, he put his hand on my shoulder and said, “I’ve read the file of your family member Layla, and I need you to understand something. Your family can’t handle what I’m about to tell you, and I need you to continue to be their support system. Layla has three ateriovenous malformations in her brain, and one of them had ruptured. This uncontrollable hemorrhaging caused her intracranial pressure to rise beyond what the brain can handle. We will do what we can for her, but I need you to know that your niece is going to die tonight. I need you to be their support system.” His final words met my comprehension as he turned my shoulder for me to face my family, and then disappeared in to the demanding haze of the hospital emergency department. From that moment on I knew that I needed to be the adult responsible for supporting my family.
Beyond all expectations my little niece made it past the first night, and every night I would return from my class to wait by my sisters side until I had to leave for class again the next morning. For a full month she was comatose, and then gradually started to respond to external stimuli. In five weeks she was well enough to be moved out of the Intensive Care Unit and into main hospital with minimal brain damage. A total of 9 weeks were spent practically living at the hospital in Dallas, observing Layla’s recovery. Many say it was a miracle from a higher power, or the strategic medicine that gave her that second chance; I’d like to think it was the right combination of the two that coupled with her relentlessness to survive.
I wish that I could say, “we lived happily ever after”, and optimistically we did for a while. We overcame the challenges faced by the dichotomy of a child’s desire to develop and play, coupled with the continuous restraint required to prevent any head injuries. We endured the constant worries of seizures, illnesses that could stress her system into another event, and CT scans that continued to show those dreaded AVM’s persisting after two rounds of gamma knife radiotherapy.As of late Saturday night, on October 17th, I received a text message from my sister “Layla had a stroke”. In my mind I always feared this day would come, but I became accustomed to the notion that all would be well. Layla, our little angel, had suffered a seizure in the middle of the night that led to a rupture in the vasculature of her brain. Her unconscious body was again taken to where it all began at Children’s Medical Center in Dallas, TX after a brief stabilization at Children’s in Plano. We are hoping, praying, and pleading with any powers of might to give this girl a chance at life. We know that Layla is a warrior. She has the will power to overcome this tragedy as she has done in the past. She is already showing improvement as of today (10/20/2015).
This synopsis into our life is presented from the perspective of Layla’s uncle, Payam. I am currently a first year pharmacy student at Texas A&M University Health Sciences Center. Layla is my hero, my inspiration; my sobering reminder of the delicacies of life, and the optimism required to enjoy every vanishing second of it.
Although told from my perspective, this GoFundMe account is not about me, it is about Layla, and her courageous mother undergoing unfathomable anguish at this moment. I am using this venue to do what little I can to support her in her struggles. Of which is the financial toll this has taken on her. When Layla first fell ill Pegah was in college perusing her dreams. She had to drop out, and consequentially wasn’t able resume her studies until recently due to the compiling responsibilities of a single mother with an ill-burdened child. She currently has a wonderful job at Apple, Inc. and has been working very hard to overcome these adversities and continues to move forward.
Even with insurance, the co-pays, deductibles, and out of pocket expenses have driven her medical debt to over $25,000. This was before this weekend’s incident, which is expected to considerably add to that figure. I know how hard Layla is fighting to survive, and I understand what my sister has gone through in the past. This reoccurring nightmare has taken a toll on all of us. I pray that when Layla fully recovers, her and her mother have one less thing to worry about, and can optimistically enjoy every second of life as Layla has taught me. Any amount of support and prayers are cordially welcome.
We sincerely thank you for your support.