My son, Aidan, wound up in the hospital today with a fever of 107.8.  Yes, that’s correct, 107.8.  It was the highest temperature several of the doctors we encountered along the way had ever seen.  It threw his body into shock and brought him right to the edge of multiple organ failure.  A harrowing day.  I can say now that he is stable and safe, carefully watched over in the pediatric intensive care unit at Bay State Medical Center in Springfield, a place we know well.  When I left him this evening, the fever was under control and the danger was subsiding.  We can only hope that he will recover well in the next few days.

   The worst of it came in the emergency room of a hospital closer to our home.  The fever was not coming down, even after a hefty dose of ibuprofen.  They had ice packs under his arms, a "cooling blanket" over him.  They were inserting a "central line" (a large IV into his chest).  His heart rate was high and irregular, his breathing was labored and shallow.  A white pallor had settled on his face.  It was not at all clear what might happen.  My wife, a nurse by profession, was in the thick of it with the others and I was alternately lending a hand where I could and trying to stay out of the way. 

    Then, I realized what my job had to be.  We have, over the years, discussed what we might do when we faced the most difficult emergencies.  We have been to the brink of death with Aidan before, and we have agreed that if his heart stops, then it stops.  We will not allow an aggressive assault to try to bring him back once he is gone.  For cardiac arrest this is fairly clear.  For respiratory failure it is a bit murkier (there are circumstances in which a respirator might be called for to get through a difficult short-term situation).  After a hurried exchange with my wife, reminding ourselves of our limits, I took the lead doctor aside and informed him of our modified "do not resuscitate" order.  He understood, but steered the conversation toward what could be done.  And he was right to do so, because, in the circumstance, we did not face that most terrible moment.  But we were close today.

    Of course, in the midst of it all, my emotions started to well up inside me.  And that is when the Taoism helps.  I have come to live by those words: "in yielding there is completion…"  As I felt myself utterly helpless to save my son, I yielded to the moment.   There were any of a number of ways that things could go wrong, and at least as many ways that things might turn out alright.  The complexity and pace of the situation were beyond me, or any single person.  As long as everyone was trying to do their job – and that was happening – then it was largely a matter of fate.   Chuang Tzu turned in my head:

If you know what’s beyond your control, if you know it follows its own inevitable nature and you live at peace – that is Integrity perfected.  Children and ministers inevitably find that much is beyond them.  But if you forget about yourself and always do what circumstances require of you, there’s no time to cherish life or despise death.  Then you do what you can, and whatever happens is fine. (54)

    So, I tried to forget about myself, my fear and sadness, and just did what circumstances required.  We got him to a place where he is out of danger.  We will have another day with him tomorrow, which, at some points today, did not seem altogether possible.