Coming Out of a Coma
At the beginning of January 2021, my youngest sibling Luke was hospitalized from an accidental drug overdose. A friend walked into Luke’s home to find him convulsing, his eyes rolling back into his head, foaming at the mouth, and inhaling his vomit. Had Luke not be discovered soon enough, he would have died alone.
As the hospital allowed only one designated visitor for the first few weeks of Luke’s stay, my family-of-origin appointed me to be my brother’s designated visitor at the hospital.
I visited Luke in the hospital 22 times—anywhere from three to six hours at a time. I would have been there every day except that eventually other family members were also allowed to see Luke: one per day.
When I first started visiting Luke, he was going in and out of a coma. He had a feeding tube down his nose and he had a ventilator—which really disturbed me since, in the months prior, I had been noting the likelihood of how people who went to hospitals and were put on a ventilator ended up dying from the ventilator itself.
Fortunately, the hospital staff was smart enough to allow Luke to practice breathing on his own for blocks of time.
Every time I went to the hospital, I felt like I was stepping into a spiritual war zone and needed to pray for help to protect myself and Luke from those around us who strongly believed in letting Luke die. And by dying, I mean, they pushed for what they called “comfort care” from the beginning of Luke’s hospitalization. “Comfort care” sounds nice, right? In all actuality, “comfort care” means drugging the person up (so he can’t fight for his life), removing the ventilator and the feeding tube, and letting him die.
Our dad, sister and I fought for Luke to live.
I was the only person representing Luke who attended the care conferences in-person in a board room with several hospital staff members—from neurologists to chaplains to social workers to palliative care staff—all who looked at me as if I were a crazy criminal for believing Luke’s spirit was still in his body and for saying he should live. It was very intimidating, I kept as quiet and even-keeled as possible. But I would not be moved by their threatening and patronizing tactics.
During the hospital visits, I would communicate with Luke in the same way I communicated with my children when they were infants: intuitively, spiritually, and emotionally. I knew Luke was inside of his body. I spoke to Luke, I listened, I touched him, I wiped the sweat off his brow, sponged his dry mouth, I played music, I prayed for him, I adjusted his body, I set up Zoom and phone calls with Luke’s friends and family so Luke could hear them, I asked staff questions, I researched, I problem-solved. I made a stand for Luke’s life. I would tell him there’s a reason why he’s still alive.
Those who wanted Luke to have “comfort care” lost. Luke’s life won.
Because of this experience in the hospital with Luke, I changed my mind about what I would want for myself should I no longer be able to care for myself. I realized I would want to stay alive, making use of whatever was left of me. Through this experience, I gained a deeper understanding that we all have a purpose in this life. Even when Luke was in a coma, he touched many lives.
Luke was in the hospital for over a month. When he left the hospital, he was just starting to form words and short sentences, and was able to chew ice chips and swallow some liquefied foods. He was still being tube-fed and couldn’t feed himself yet.
Luke was discharged to a nursing home from the hospital, and I Zoomed with him daily until he was able to figure out how to operate a smart phone our dad got for him, and Luke was able to contact me, and others, by himself via the phone.
On March 10, 2022, he moved to a group home (a house in a residential area). Luke can feed himself, walk, and overall manage on his own with staff backup. He loves YouTube and Netflix.
Luke before coma 6-14-2018
Luke - A year-and-half later - January 2021
Luke after coma 8-26-2022