Helpless But Not Hopeless

I remember the time my wife and I rushed our then 4-year-old son Brayden to the emergency room with a severe croup attack. While there, he stopped breathing and went Code Blue. His lips were blue; his eyes rolled back in his head; and his little body shook violently. I remember when the attending doctor called out, “Code Blue!” I thought my son was dying.

Everything was so chaotic as the staff worked frantically to get Brayden breathing and stabilized. I stepped back and found myself rocking side to side with my hands in prayer. Nothing could describe my feeling of complete helplessness. All my wisdom and life experiences were useless as I watched my son lying motionless, as they tended to him. I stood there with nothing, unable to console my wife as she cried, witnessing our son’s unreal situation unfold. I could not believe that just hours before, we were playing in the park and everything was fine. Now, here we were, and my son was not breathing. At this moment, I truly understood the meaning of feeling helpless.

The medical team in the emergency room stabilized Brayden and told us they needed to transport him to a pediatric ICU in San Francisco. They said an ambulance and team would be en route shortly. My wife decided it would be best for her to go home, grab some things, and arrange for our nanny to care for our daughter, Teya. Meanwhile, I was not leaving my son’s side until he returned home safe and whole.

Fast forward 70 hours, and the doctors said Brayden was past the worst. He was still in the pediatric ICU with pneumonia in both lungs and had a viral infection in his throat. He was no longer in an induced coma and is was slowly coming off the many medications I could not pronounce. He was still having difficulties breathing but was improving by the hour.

During those three dark days, where minutes felt like hours of uncertainty, I fought to find a new meaning of hope. In my heart and mind, there was no way my son was going to die. I would not and could not believe or accept that. The only option was to search for a belief unlike anything I had ever had before. Fear taunted and tested me as I watched my son lying there in the induced coma. Fear challenged me to abandon my faith and accept the worse outcome possible. But I would not give in to my fears. Every breath I took was filled with hopeful prayer that my son and I were going to walk out of that hospital together.

I recall on the third or fourth day, my wife telling me I should go outside and get some fresh air. But like I said, I was not leaving my son’s side. My wife can be very convincing at times, though, and I found myself walking down California Street to get a cup of tea. At a distance, I could see a homeless man, sitting on the sidewalk asking passers-by for spare change. As I approached him, he stared at me in silence. He gave me a look as if I was the one who needed a handout.

I saw my reflection in a store window and found myself face to face with a stranger, weathered and beaten down. I hadn’t showered in days, my hair was matted and I had on the same clothes I wore when I first entered the ER. Though fear had turned me inside out and I looked like shit, at least I was standing.

I got that much-needed cup of chai, and found solace on a bench, figuring I would blend in with the street people. I sat there, looking into my cup for answers. My innocent son did nothing to deserve this. And where was God while all of this was going on?

I believe I found my answer in about my ninth sip of tea. A deep calm washed over me as the hot liquid slid down my throat. I realized that the sun was shining and my son was still alive. I understood at that moment what hope or real faith was all about. It was to believe in something that could not be seen or proven. In my son’s case, it was knowing without any doubt that he was going to be fine, even as he lay in that hospital bed at his worst. I could feel that God’s love and mercy had been with my family and me throughout the past few days. I admit it was hard to see God through the fear and helplessness. In gratitude, I closed my eyes and raised my chin to receive the warmth of the sun.

I remember finishing my tea and walking into the nearest convenience store. I bought a disposable razor, a travel-size container of shaving cream, and some other toiletries for cleaning up. I decided my outside needed to match what I was feeling inside.

I found one of the hospital bathrooms and set about my task. I bathed in the sink, shaved, brushed my teeth and fixed myself up the best I could. My wife brought me a change of clothes, and I put those on, as well. The whole time I was cleansing, I was experiencing the hope that had found me on that bench with my cup of tea.

I share this experience with you because I want you to know that hope is the only thing that gave my family and me the strength to see this through. It steadied me through the storm of circumstance and uncertainty. Hope held my hand and gave me the courage to be there for my family, knowing Brayden was going to be OK. Even in my darkest moments of this ordeal, it was my unrelenting belief that calmed my heart and gave me peace.

So, yes, at moments like this, I will humbly accept that I am often helpless and must accept life’s terms. I also accept that with hope, I can live my best life when it appears to be at its worst. I am reminded that even when I am helpless, I am never hopeless.