A COMA FOR CHRISTMAS
Everyone knows the first twenty four hours are most critical. I had just left the tinkling of jingle
bells and the gayly decorated Mall, for wail of sirens and the sterile interior of a waiting room.
Instead of being a ‘shopper rushing home with my treasures’, I found myself racing through
holiday traffic to the University of Maryland Shock Trauma Center.
Ruptured spleen, collapsed lung, broken ribs and significant head trauma….these were the grave
words coming from the mouth of the surgeon who had just removed two liters of blood from the
stomach of my seventeen year old nephew. His honest prognosis was, “We are on mile one of a
twenty six mile marathon.”
At the scene paramedics found the black, crumpled T-boned car, with Christian’s head protruding
from the shattered driver’s side window. He was gurgling – (I can barely stand to recall it). Two
witnesses stated that they had no doubts that there had been a fatality. He was resuscitated twice
while being airlifted to Shock Trauma. A ride he’ll never remember. A ride we’ll never forget.
Waiting is the hardest part. Why aren’t there kleenex’s in the waiting room? Our grief stricken
family held hands as we strongly felt the need to pray for Christian, who was being sustained by
life support. Strangers bowed with us. We implored God to intervene on our loved one’s behalf.
Somehow that night, I knew in my heart that God had heard our prayers and tipped the scales in
one transcendent moment!
In sets of two, we were finally permitted to see him. We walked reverently past rooms of silent
silhouettes, intruding on each private tragedy. Instead of seeing familiar blonde hair, blue eyes,
and a crooked smile, we were taken to a figure covered in white tape, attached to a myriad of
tubes, with a shaved head and eyes swollen shut. You are never ready for that first look. No
Lord, it cannot be him! His limp fingers felt cold to the touch. There was no response, no in-
dication of acknowledgement. Yet, his nurse was so compassionate, surely he sees this fresh
raw grief every day I thought. He scribbled the room’s phone number on a napkin for us. The
personal touch meant so much that I wanted to hug this kind stranger.
With every update, I phoned my daughter who immediately posted notifications on Facebook.
Exhausted, we left trauma unit at 4am.
News spreads fast. By Sunday morning there were literally hundreds of people praying on his
behalf, with prayer chains stretching through several states. One elderly neighbor called to say
that she had added him to the 700 Club’s list.
Christmas was a painful blur; our snow-globe had completely been turned upside down. It was
hard trying to feign a merry spirit when the one thing you most desire cannot be found under the
tree. At home, Christian’s stocking still hung by the chimney with care.
The fourth day after the accident, Christian was still in a medically induced coma. They removed
the Propofol that afternoon, but Christian was now remaining comatose on his own. Doubt be-
gan to creep in as hope had begun to grow thin. Still, we prayed that God would work a miracle
and mend his battered body.
Tuesday afternoon I phoned, as usual, to get the updates, expecting to hear the same news as be-
fore. But there was excitement in the nurse’s voice this time as she confided that she didn’t often
get to deliver such uplifting news. Christian had awakened from the coma and was responding
with a ‘thumbs up’. (I think I literally jumped up and down.) Christmas was beginning to get a
whole lot brighter!
Three and a half weeks later, I had the honor of attending Christian’s post-op visit with the de-
dicated doctor who had operated on him that frightful night. He was very surprised at Christian’s
remarkable recovery! I’ll never forget his words, “If someone had bet me money that I would be
sitting here [today] talking to the young man I’d operated on that night, I would have lost my
money!” He turned to Christian, sitting nearby, and replied, “Someone is looking out for you!”
“That someone is the Lord!” I interjected. I told him about all of the people praying for Christian
and of our ‘special prayer’ said aloud in the waiting room, when God had lifted the heavy burden
from our hearts. Christian certainly was our Christmas miracle!
Neurological testing showed that there was no brain damage! The occasional headaches are now
gone, but there are still thirty-seven staple tracks running vertically down his abdomen and a few
residual pieces of glass healed under the twenty-six stitches in his face. Christian says that the
worst of it was when he had to wear an immobilizing neck collar for several weeks. Within three
months, Christian was able to go back to school and start making up for all his missed work. His
grandmother was thrilled to find his name in the newspaper for being on the honor roll!
I asked my nephew what advice he would give to others, and he answered, “Don’t take [other]
people for granted.” He also said that after you go through something like this, “You find out
who your real friends are.”
Some people might say that Christian was lucky, but I’ll tell you first hand— HE IS BLESSED!
Victoria Robbins August 27, 2013
