"This spring, the Minnesota Senate will vote on the adoption of cardiac emergency response plans for Minnesota schools," Ryan Youland writes. (Dreamstime)

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I gently laid her limp, pale, 12-pound body on the trunk of a red Mazda to get a better look. “Ryan, is she OK?” my wife, Kelly, had just asked me. We were a block from Wrigley Field after a rare Cubs win on a sunny spring day in Chicago. “Go Cubs Go” was still ringing in my ears.

Our 3-month-old Emma was unresponsive, her mouth was agape and, after removing her puffy snowsuit, I was unable to find a pulse. As a physician with regularly scheduled training in life-support algorithms, I was briefly paralyzed, uncharacteristically uncertain. “Start CPR!” Kelly exclaimed as our eyes met in a panicked gaze.

Right, I thought to myself. Digging deep into the memory reserves I placed my hands around Emma’s rib cage and my thumbs on her sternum. I pressed down and let the chest recoil. I did this again and again as I counted to 30. It was time to give her two breaths. Her chest rose effortlessly as I wondered if my exhaled air had enough oxygen to sustain her. I repeated this cycle as my own heart raced. Someone on the phone was guiding me through CPR, though I was not processing their instruction. There was only one focus and everything else in the world faded to white.

“Do you need help?” A man in a black hat and scruffy facial hair asked as he approached with confidence. Of course I needed help, I thought. I had only given CPR to stiff plastic mannequins. “Are you trained?” I asked him. He nodded as he jumped in to do chest compressions and I gave Emma breaths.

If there was a siren wailing in the distance, I did not hear it. In what felt like seconds, there was an ambulance parked in the street just to my left. Two men came out and calmly said “We got it” as they cut off her clothes and put a plastic board beneath her still-lifeless body. One continued CPR as she was moved to the ambulance. I followed them inside. They swiftly placed electrodes on her chest, checked for a pulse and looked at the monitor. “PEA” one said, and they all nodded in unison. My heart sank as I realized there would be no way to shock her heart back into a rhythm.

What happened next was a cycle of multiple rounds of CPR in what felt like an endless loop only punctuated by the sound of a drill going into Emma’s tiny left shin, and then her right shin, for administration of epinephrine to increase blood flow to the brain and heart. The compressions were pumping her blood when her heart couldn’t, and a laryngeal mask airway forced oxygen into her lungs and carbon dioxide out. I do not remember the ambulance moving more than a block but, outside the vehicle, Chicago Police Department halted traffic to a standstill as they blocked every intersection between Emma and the nearest hospital. As the wheels came to a stop, one medic looked up and said he felt a pulse. “Sixteen minutes,” another said. It had been that long since Emma’s heart had last beaten on its own.

Ten months later, Emma’s arms reach toward the sky as she takes her first steps. Her five teeth and belly are proudly on display as she squeals in excitement. She reaches my arms and collapses into me. We both breathe in. And then out. Time stands still. She squirms free.

An estimated 2,000 children will die this year from sudden cardiac arrest. Survival rates more than double with prompt initiation of high-quality CPR and automated external defibrillation. This spring, the Minnesota Senate will vote on the adoption of cardiac emergency response plans for Minnesota schools. Proper training for all school personnel represents a giant step forward so more children suffering the unthinkable have a chance to live. Most cardiac arrests in children end in tragedy. Not for Emma. Prompt recognition of the arrest and early initiation of high-quality CPR saved Emma’s life.

Dr. Ryan Youland lives in Woodbury. A hearing on cardiac emergency response plans in schools is expected as part of a meeting of the Minnesota Senate Education Policy Committee that begins at 12:30 p.m. Monday.