Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Post 13 - S's Surgery

About a week ago, S had a minor surgical procedure to correct a malfunction in his left kidney. We had known about this issue since he was about 6 months in the womb, and we were monitoring it since he came out of the wife. Since a person only needs 1 kidney to function, there was no impact on his life thus far as his right kidney is perfectly fine. For the most part, this is the kind of thing where most people don’t even realize there’s an issue until they start drinking in high school/college years and one’s kidney starts to go into overdrive. Nonetheless, the doctors recommended that we perform this procedure now since the sooner this is corrected, the better. Given that it had a high 90s success rate (and little downside, other than the fact that he had to go under), we acceded.

The simplicity of the process notwithstanding, we were still a little queasy about a 4-month old having surgery. Yours truly has managed to avoid the medical system for most of his life and has never so much as taken prescription medication. The one time surgery was recommended for a torn labrum in my right shoulder, I decided to instead enlist in the help of our church’s prayer team- and I am happy to report that a lot of prayer, and a little change in diet, and some simple physical therapy has led to a shoulder that has completely healed itself. The thought of S going back to the same hospital months after his birth really irked me. I probably have a slightly irrational fear that only bad things happen when engaging with the medical system, and so I am admittedly not at my best when dealing with hospitals and doctors.

The surgery was totally fine. It took a little longer than expected, but as of now, it’s been deemed a success. It was after he came out of the operating room and entered the recovery wing is when things got difficult. I had figured that since sleep is essential for a recovering child, we would have our own private (i.e. quiet) room in the pediatrics ward to get S back to 100%. However, they showed us to a room which was set up for two, and there was another patient behind the curtain in the room where we were assigned. As we settled into our designated quarters for the next 24 hours, I was annoyed with our situation as the child on the other side of the room had his television on at a volume that was likely to preclude S from getting the sleep he needed to get well. Even more disruptive was the manner in which he would holler/moan loudly every 5 minutes or so, thus pretty much ensuring that as soon as S was lulled to sleep, he would be startled awake by the sounds on the other side of the curtain. I had finally had it after S was woken up the umpteenth time, and I decided to make my way over to the other side of the curtain to politely ask the young boy to turn of the television, and quiet down so that my 4-month old son who had just endured a surgical procedure could get some sleep.

When I rolled back the curtain, what I saw could only be described as heartbreaking. On the bed was a quadriplegic child with the face and torso of a 10-year old, but arms and legs that were emaciated and mangled in a way that rendered them physically useless. He clearly could not communicate in an articulate fashion. When I made eye contact with him, I wasn’t sure if he saw me, but I was sure that he had no idea that I was the man sharing a room with him. What was probably the most heartbreaking of all was the sadness in his face. There was no parent in the room with him, no family member tending to him, the only contact he received was the nurses who came in every so often to change the channel, feed him, or give him a sponge bath. Here I was dreading the fact that S would have to spend another 24 hours at the hospital, and I later learned that this poor young fellow had been in the hospital for quite some time, just laying in bed all day, alone the vast majority of the time, unable to communicate meaningfully with other people, and no family or friends by his side.

I thought about these two young boys- my son and this severely disabled fellow briefly sharing a physical space, and yet their lives could not be more different. S had both his parents in the room with him, 2 of his grandparents, and countless other friends and family praying for him during his brief stint in the hospital. This other boy was completely alone. In a matter of hours, S would be back in his home, being tended to and loved on by so many, continuing a life full of blessings and promise. This boy right now is likely still in the same bed, watching the same cartoons, and moaning and hollering in the same unexpectedly predictable way. It all seemed just so... unfair. How is it just that one child is dealt a hand like S, and another is given such a drastically different lot? I had a moment where I was just so upset at the boys parents- how could they just leave him in a hospital like this, and then it occurred to me that perhaps the boy’s parents are not alive, or perhaps they just couldn’t take trying to tend to him anymore. Indignation quickly became empathy.

I first felt a deep sense of shame as my frustrations with this helpless boy revealed how self-centered and myopic I can be when it comes to the comfort of my precious son. I turned my anger towards God, and I was reminded how in The Brothers Karamazov, Dostoevksy shares his view that the suffering of children is an inescapable objection to God’s goodness. This objection to my faith was never more poignant than in seeing this boy’s situation. I recall when reading TBK many years ago, issues like “the problem of evil” and “how can a good God allow innocents to suffer” were something to ponder, but it was always done at a safe distance. I knew (know?) so little about genuine suffering- it was more of an academic exercise where reconciliation of two seemingly contradictory ideals was the goal. But everything changes after becoming a father. The same question is out there, but the power of logic is subordinated to narratives and personal context. It’s a little bit like what happens when I see a homeless person on my street- I used to try and assess the likelihood of individual X- as a recipient of a random act of kindness- might allocate those resources towards unproductive/addictive substances. These days though, it’s less about assessing that probability and more about realizing that at some point many years ago, these people too were probably being doted on and receiving the same kind of love, affection and hope that S is experiencing today. We all begin with such unbridled hope and endless possibilities for infinite upside. My mind can’t help but to ponder, “What went wrong between then and now?”

I’ve always felt that those (like Dostoevsky) who criticize our faith for its inconsistency had a very valid point. However, a gentlemen who I’ve gotten to know recently mentioned to me that he likes our church because we are comfortable living with the inherent contradictions in our faith. I thought that was keen insight into one of the key attributes of our community. Seeing S’s life path cross this boy’s in the pediatric ward of NYU was a perfect demonstration of the kinds of contradictions I am forced to get comfortable with. I suppose when God told Adam to “fill the earth and subdue it”, He was telling us that the evil in the world is not something that requires an explanation, but instead something that must be confronted and subdued by the children of God.

Samuel learning how to do praying hands on cue:


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