Ryan and I arrived at DeVos Children’s Hospital with a sense of urgency and a deep, almost suffocating anxiety. By the time we got there, our son Jase had already been placed on a bypass machine to help move oxygen through his body. The severity of the situation became apparent as we walked into the room, seeing our little boy hooked up to machines that were working harder than his fragile body. He was struggling, both physically and emotionally, and there was nothing we could do to ease his pain.
Jase had been fighting for his life for hours, having received continuous albuterol treatments and multiple doses of steroids in an attempt to stabilize his condition. But despite the treatments, he was becoming more difficult to handle.
His small frame was wracked with discomfort. He was upset about the mask he had to wear to help with his breathing, crying for something as simple as water, and panicking without cause. His mind and body were in a battle, and we could do nothing but watch as he endured this fight, helpless to ease his suffering.
Ryan and I stood there, torn between wanting to comfort him and understanding that the medications, no matter how painful they seemed, were necessary for his recovery. We talked to the doctors about Jase’s worsening distress, and after much deliberation, we made the difficult decision to give him a small sedative to help him relax.
We had to make this choice for Jase, knowing that it was a temporary measure, but still, it was heart-wrenching to see him struggle so much. Watching your child in pain is one of the hardest things any parent can experience, but we knew that these drugs were essential for getting him the help he desperately needed.
Still, it was incredibly hard to see him cry, scream, and hit out in confusion. He couldn’t understand why this was happening to him. I wanted to hold him, to tell him everything would be okay, but I knew that there was little comfort I could provide in this moment. Each time we looked at the monitors, the numbers were continuing to decline, and with each passing second, our hope began to slip further away.
For the past 12 hours or more, Jase had been on a very powerful ventilator. The ventilator was pushing a significant amount of pressure on his lungs, and it became clear that the road ahead was going to be much more difficult than we had hoped. His body was not coping well with the treatment, and we feared that the pressure from the ventilator could cause further damage if it wasn’t managed carefully.
The doctors decided that in order to ensure Jase didn’t experience the trauma of the ventilator and to prevent him from moving while the machines worked, they needed to place him in a chemically induced coma. This decision was made to protect him and make sure that he didn’t feel the immense discomfort that came with the treatments. As his parents, this was one of the hardest decisions we had to make. We knew it was necessary for his recovery, but the idea of our little boy being sedated, unable to move or communicate, was terrifying.
As we sat by his bedside, watching the doctors and nurses work tirelessly to keep Jase stable, we realized that our ability to be with him was limited. The room was small, cramped with medical staff, equipment, and machines. There was little space for us to move around or be close to him, and the constant beeping and whirring of the machines only heightened the sense of helplessness we felt.
We could only be with Jase for short periods throughout the day. The medical staff had to move quickly, adjusting his treatments, monitoring his vital signs, and ensuring that every aspect of his care was being managed correctly.
It felt like we were standing on the sidelines, desperate to help but unable to do anything but trust in the team of doctors and nurses working around the clock. It was a humbling experience, and all we could do was hope.
During those brief moments when we could sit by Jase’s bed, we whispered words of love and comfort, even though we knew he couldn’t hear us. We clung to the belief that our presence, no matter how small, was a source of strength for him. We prayed that he would make it through this, that the machines, the medications, and the medical team’s expertise would be enough to bring him back to us.
In those quiet moments, we reflected on how far we had come with Jase. We had watched him grow from a tiny baby to a spirited little boy with a personality that lit up any room he walked into. We remembered how he would laugh, how he loved to play with his toys, and how his smile was the greatest gift of all. We held on to those memories, hoping that one day, Jase would be back to his vibrant self.
The days passed slowly, and every second felt fragile. We spent those hours by his side, talking to him, telling him how much we loved him, and asking for the strength to get through this. We knew that this was not the end of his journey, but rather a pivotal moment in his fight. We refused to give up on him, even as the situation seemed to become more uncertain.
It was painful, heartbreaking, and exhausting, but we never lost hope. We knew Jase was a fighter, and we had faith that he would make it through. This wasn’t just a fight for survival—it was a fight for his future. Every moment we spent with him, every prayer we sent up, and every ounce of strength we gathered was dedicated to seeing him through.
As Jase continued to fight, we held onto the belief that, no matter how difficult the road ahead, he would come out stronger. This Christmas, all we asked for was for Jase to heal, to wake up from his coma, and to come back to us with the same joy and laughter that we knew him for.
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