(Because someone, somewhere, needs to hear
this)
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the
shadow of death, I will fear no evil …
Part 1 Summary – My daughter has suffered a severe cerebral
hemorrhage at birth. The next day the doctor gives me the following prognosis:
1. Your
daughter probably won’t survive today.
2. If she
survives today, she probably won’t survive tomorrow.
3. If she
survives tomorrow, there is a critical time in two weeks that she will have to
get through.
4. If she
makes it through that, she will live with extensive brain damage.
No Hope
There’s no hope in that statement. I immediately sit down
in that hospital family room with my wife and her parents, and no one utters a
word. There is really nothing to say, and I am having enough difficulty
breathing to be able to speak.
It’s one of those rare moments when you experience a full
dose of negative emotions all at the same time. Pain, fear, anger, grief,
despair, anguish, heartbreak, anxiety, and panic – lots of panic.
It feels as if my brain is on fire, randomly firing
emotional pain and turbulence throughout my body and there is no way to stop
it. My emotions rage like a hurricane, spinning out of control.
And there were no prayers, either silent or as a group.
Because exactly what do you pray for? There is no hope for your situation. You
literally don’t have a prayer. Only pain - lots of pain.
But despite this internal torture, I start to become a
father. I begin to think like a father. The fatherly instincts kick in. Fathers
protect their children, fathers provide for their children, fathers fix things
for their children. Men are wired to take action. But what can I possibly do?
I am reminded of the story in The Book of a man (his name
is Jairus) who was told by a doctor that his 12-year-old daughter was going to
die. He goes and finds The Man and brings him to his daughter. The story ends
with the dead girl being brought back to life. We tend to focus at the miracle
at the end of the story and read past the beginning. Here we have a father who
loved his daughter so much he risked his job, status and reputation on the
sliver of hope he could save his daughter. Without those actions, there is no
story – none.
It’s Time To Act
I decide I have to do something – anything. The adrenaline
starts pumping and the brain gets focused. It doesn’t matter if this action
makes any sense or difference at all. But I will not just sit in that room
waiting for my daughter to die. I quickly rise to my feet and announce: “I’m
going over to Children’s Hospital to see her.”
And it was an announcement. Everyone in the room is
stunned. They all know how I dislike hospitals and avoid them whenever
possible. Sometimes I would get nauseous and light-headed when visiting people.
Under these dire circumstances no one would expect me to go anywhere near there.
This action was completely out of character. But fatherhood changes a man, and
in this case, I was maturing by the second.
It was time to step up, even if I didn’t expect to be a father much longer.
But once I made this decision, I was in a raging rush to
get to my daughter as fast as possible. I bolt out the hospital and jump in my
car. It is one of the most challenging drives of my life. I am delirious, not
in control of my emotions or senses. I am in no shape to drive. Fortunately, the hospitals sit just over a
half-mile apart. But, of course, I hit every red light and the tension every
time the car is stopped is unbearable. At the first red light, I start
hyperventilating and have to lean forward onto the steering wheel, and totally focus on keeping my foot on the
brake.
And it was during this short trip that I offered up the
first prayer for my daughter. It was not a good prayer. It’s the type of prayer
we should never make. We are never supposed to bargain with The Creator. It is
always wrong do that. But I’m delirious, and I’m not thinking about what a
righteous, appropriate, holy prayer might sound like. But putting myself into
motion gives me that sliver of hope and if you have any hope at all, you’ve got
a prayer. So, as flawed and as misguided as is was, it just flowed out:
“God, if you let her live, I promise I will raise her
the best that I can”
I get to Children’s Hospital and there are the typical series
of delays. I have to show I.D. Then I have to find the ICU. I finally get to
the ICU waiting area and then I still can’t proceed because I have
to “prep”. I can still remember vigorously scrubbing my hands with the surgical-grade
soap, it felt good to burn up some the nervous energy. I put on a protective
gown over my clothes and then wait some more for the nurse to return. I
anxiously stand there trying to maintain my composure and just want to burst
through that door and see my daughter.
Welcome to the Valley of the Shadow of Death
Finally, the nurse returns and motions for me to enter. It
is a large room with rows of over 100 sick babies in isolettes. My anxiety
level rises. I start to doubt whether this was a good idea. Everyone of these
babies have parents and everyone of these parents are going to hell on earth.
It is the most depressing room I have ever encountered.
There is a specific order to where the babies are placed in
this room. The patients are initially assigned spots based on the seriousness
of their condition and then as they improve, are moved towards the wall by the
door. The closer you are to door, the closer you are to leaving the ICU.
The nurse leads me down the side aisle at a good pace. Being
in a room of sick babies hits me hard. I begin to realize the gravity of the
moment. This is a place of life, and a place of death. And I can see the
shadow. I can feel the shadow. I can smell the shadow. Yea, I am walking into
the valley of the
The nurse keeps walking. All the way down to the last row
of isolettes on the far wall. We turn left and she stops. I may have thought I
was prepping in that waiting area. But I assure you, there is nothing,
absolutely nothing in life, that could have ever prepared me for this.
