Editorial by Ricardo Bacchus
I don’t think your son’s going to make it,” said the chaplain at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore to my parents. “It’s not looking good.”
On April 4, 2009, during postoperative care for ulcerative colitis, something went terribly wrong. My left lung collapsed, I stopped breathing and fell into a coma. Code blue was set in motion, as nurses hooked me to every resuscitation device available. Conventional wisdom pointed to a young man’s death, and it was the chaplain’s duty to break the heart-wrenching news to my parents.