*Part One*
One of the worst (possible) experiences I have had as a parent was when my son, Johnathon, then just over one year old, contracted a virulent strain of meningitis. One minute, Johnny was an active, happy baby; the next, he was fighting for his very life.
Johnny had the symptoms of what appeared to be a bad cold: he was sneezing and coughing, he ached all over, and he had a low-grade fever, which only added to his misery. To hear Johnny being miserable in his sickness made me feel horrible because he couldn't tell me what was going on. He was just a very young toddler: he didn't have the verbal skills in order to effectively communicate.
A few short hours later, Johnny's cries escalated into cries of pain. When I went to his room and turned on the light, so as to check in on him, Johnny screamed out and went into a horrible, head-to-toe spasm. It freaked me out. I grabbed my son, who was now in the throes of a convulsion, and had Louisiana, my wife, drive us to the nearest emergency room.
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In the emergency room, Johnny continued to seize. A nurse struggled to get an I.V. line inserted into a flailing arm while a second nurse bathed him with a wet rag, trying to lower his temperature, whcih was over 103 degrees, which is high for anyone, let alone, a very young child. EKG leads were attached to his chest, and an infant-sized oxygen mask was strapped over his mouth and nose, so he could breathe easier. Johnny was desperately sick, and as he continued to writhe in his seizure, the air in the ER suddenly took on a new sense of urgency.
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A doctor was summoned; he ordered an emergency spinal tap, to rule out the possibility of encephalitis (inflammation of the brain) or meningitis (inflammation of the meninges surrounding the brain and spinal cord). If the collected cerebralspinal fluid (CSF) came back clear, Johnny would probably be okay; if the fluid was cloudy, then that meant that Johnny had either encephalitis or meningitis.
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While Johnny ws being tended to in the ER, I sat in the waiting area, trying to keep my mind at ease. It wasn't easy because I was worried about Johnny.
In the ER, Johnny underwent a battery of X-rays, numerous needle-sticks and blood tests, a second spinal tap, and other tests. He lay on the table, whimpering weakly between seizures. A new, alarming symptom had since manifested itself: tiny, purplish, pinprick-sized spots began popping out all over his body. New spots would appear every few seconds, it seemed; it scared the living hell out of the nurses and doctors tending to him. That was when the attending physician doctor said, "We've got to do something, fast. He has the classic signs of bacterial meningitis. If he lives the day, it will be a miracle! Get him into isolation, in the PICU, STAT!"
Any type of meningitis is bad news, but bacterial meningitis is one of the worst types possible. Besides the high mortality rate, bacterial meningitis can cause overwhelming infection or tissue death, resulting in amputation of the affected body part or limb. It can also cause severe physical or mental disabilities, ranging from blindness, hearing loss, or worse, brain damage. The news was shattering: when I'd heard it, my heart nearly stopped.
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Johnny managed to survive the rest of the day, but was still in critical condition. To see him lying in bed, on his back, in the PICU, tubes sprouting from him everywhere, ws disconcerting: it ws one of the hardest situations we could ever face as parents.
********************End of Part One. ***************************
*Part Two*
For three long months, either Louisiana or myself would sit with our son. Johnny continued to languish in a lengthy coma, and he was being closely monitored by machines and the medical staff. Johnny was hooked up to a whole myriad of tubes. There was no indication as to whether he would ever wake up. If he did wake up again, he would, more than likely, be disabled or severely brain damaged--or both.
Louisiana and I would pray, cry out to God, asking Him to spare our son, asking Him to perform a miracle, to where Johnny would wake up again. Johnny continued to lie there, oblivious to all that was going on; worse, he had no idea that he was even sick. It was as though he was in a long, permanent state of deep sleep.
Finally, after weeks of uncertainty, worry, and fear, Johnny started exhibiting signs that he was coming out of the coma: his vital signs (temperature, blood pressure, respiration, heart rate, response to painful stimulus) were becoming more normal, he would move if lights were shone into his eyes, or when the doctors or nurses tested his reflexes or pain response. It was a huge answer to prayer, and we finally had something to celebrate. The worst was behind us.
Little did we know that Johnny's life (and ours) would change when he fully awoke from the coma.
**********************End of Part Two. *************************
