You have all heard many stories about our kids here in Copan and how in love they are with our lollipop program. Well I'm about to tell you a story about one little girl, in particular, and her family. Her name is Yisel Espinoza and she is 4 years old, she and her family live at the end of our street, in a simple concrete block house. She also happens to have the biggest eyes and the most outgoing personality of just about any child we have ever encountered here. She is always visiting with everyone all over our barrio, and has managed to worm her way into all our neighbor's hearts and souls with her ability to count from 1 - 10 in English. Not always in the correct order mind you, but with an uncanny ability to charm the socks off anyone none the less.

First a little background. Yisel comes to PFC headquarters almost every day for a lollipop. We have developed a little verbal game we all have played with her for the better part of two years now. When we ask her who the lollipop is for she always, without fail, says it's either for her little sister Carmen or her older brother Maco. Then, when we ask her if she wants one also, the size of her eyes doubles and she breaks out into the most precious devil grin you could possibly imagine. Then she pays for her lollipop with very sticky kisses on our cheeks, and sticky-handed hugs, that somehow always manage to sneak into our hair. Those precious kisses and hugs are more than enough thanks for us for a simple lollipop. She has always given all of us great gifts simply by being who she is. We have all decided that with her gift of political gab, she will probably wind up being the first female president of Honduras. But what happened one day about 2 weeks ago is where my story actually begins. Rodger and I were sitting in the office finishing up the day's computer work when we heard someone screaming our names from outside. I got up from my desk and went to see what all the commotion was about and was confronted with Yisel's father, Teodoro. He was absolutely frantic, tears streaming down his cheeks, hollering for me to help him. He was telling me that precious little Yisel was dead. I wasn't sure that I was hearing him right and didn't want to panic (or maybe to believe it). I immediately went to his car where he was pointing and opened the door. What I saw almost dropped me to my knees right there in the street. He was right, the barrio's little angel was lying lifeless on the front seat of his truck.

I lifted her tiny body into my arms and went straight into auto pilot mode, I started inside of our headquarters, just about the same time Rodger walked out to find out what was happening. The looks on our faces told both of us, without the need to speak any words, that we were going to need to work very fast, and very hard, if this little girl was going to ever take another breath. We laid her on the cold tile floor. She had a pulse, but was not breathing. We immediately began breathing for her. I made a promise to myself in that very moment that if I had anything to say about it, this little girl was not going to be taken from any of us this night. I have worked some horrific calls with Rodger over the last 4 years, and all I had to do was see his face to know that he was thinking the very same thing. Her Daddy kept asking us between his sobs and tears, "is she going to die"? I kept responding with the same answer any paramedic would respond with, "not if we can help it" I kept saying. Not if we can help it"! We questioned and questioned Her daddy as to what had brought Yisel to this point and finally made sense of what he was telling us. Yisel had been alone in a car with her younger sister. The car was running and the electric windows were open. By now I'm sure you have guessed where this story is going. Yisel had her head out of the window and 1 ½ year old Carmen, had inadvertently hit the button. The window closed tightly across Yisel's throat. Teodoro returned to the car to find his daughter lifeless. He told us that she had been alone for more than 5 minutes and was not breathing and her face was incredibly blue upon his return. This news nearly panicked us because we had been able to get her breathing again, but she was still unconscious and her pupils were not responding. She was also beginning to show other classic signs of a severe head injury, and now we knew why. We worked and worked and stabilized her to the best of our abilities, with our limited rescources, and took her to a local doctor. He had agreed that there was nothing else that could be done for Yisel. He wanted her transported immediately to San Pedro Sula. This ambulance ride would last for over a 2 ½ long hours, but it was the nearest place for the more definitive treatment that she needed. Myself, Rodger and the doctor watched the ambulance scream away. None of us said anything, but silently, in our hearts, we all knew that there was only one of two outcomes, short of a miracle. Either she would die shortly, or she would have to live out the rest of her life with severe brain damage, which in Honduras, for a poor family, is equal to a death sentence. Now, we had another difficult job. All we wanted to do was go back home and fall apart, but professionally, that wasn't going to be possible. First we had to stop by Yisel's house and talk with her mother. She had no idea what had happened and we had to be the ones to tell her. By the time we got there she had heard something about her daughter being taken to the hospital, but had no idea why. She was devastated to say the least, and her little brother, who is old enough to understand, was uncontrollably upset as well. We needed to hold ourselves together and forget our own feelings for just a little while longer. I have to tell you all, this was the longest night of my life. No one in the barrio slept after finding out what had happened. The entire barrio pulled together to do whatever we could to help. What Rodger and I both knew and couldn't tell anyone, was that we truly believed that there was nothing anyone could do, except for God, and not many miracles happen in Honduras. What we didn't know, and could never have known, is that this night, God was watching over one little girl in Copan. Around 1:30 in the morning, Yisel woke up in the hospital. The first thing she asked for was a lollipop, an apple, and me. You'll never understand how that news lifted my heart. The next day the doctors performed a CAT scan and numerous x-rays and found absolutely no damage to either her brain or her trachea. She was home and visiting with us in PFC headquarters, and asking for her lollipop the very next day. Yisel is truly our miracle story child. As you can see, the tales of heartbreak never have an end here in Honduras. The best that the people here can hope for is that our contributors don't forget that fact. I, however, want to take this moment to personally thank every one of you who has ever volunteered for, or donated money or supplies to Paramedics For Children. Two weeks ago your generosity helped save a little girl's life. This little girl is a friend of mine. I love all the children that I work with here in Copan, and they are all special, but once in a while, one stands out and pulls at your heartstrings. Yisel is one of those children. This is a strong family, and they will somehow recover. Either from the generosity of someone who has a truck to donate or from sheer determination and hard work. Either way I believe it will happen. After seeing what I saw a couple of weeks ago, I now believe that anything is possible. About the author: Pam Cox is the International Training Director as well as the Vice President of Paramedics For Children and lives and volunteers full time with PFC in Copan Ruinas Honduras. She is an EMT-P and received her training in Belleville, Illinois. Before coming to Honduras, Pam worked with O'Fallon- Shiloh Emergency Medical Services in O'Fallon, Illinois for six years. Her email address is Pamatpfc@aol.com