I never woke up that night, as I was dying at the Omaha childrens hospital. My parents immediately rushed to the hospital to be by my side. When they arrived at the hospital, I was already in the operating room. The doctors and nurses were rushing to stop the bleeding from my head. It was only getting worse, the laceration that occurred on my skull was about the size of half-dollar and it was enough to make me go brain-dead. There was literally a hole in my head and somehow I was still breathing. The hardest part was for my parents I couldn’t even imagine what they went through, probably agony, suffering, and turmoil. Their youngest son was laying there in coma and unresponsive. As they bandaged my head and bandaged any laceration that occurred on my body. They came to my parents with the worst news any parent doesn’t want to hear.
I know I wouldn’t make it out that night. I was coming in and out of flatline and a decision had to be made, regarding life or death. The doctor requested a handful of neurologist to fly in overnight to take a look at how bad the damage really was to my brain. It was swelling up and getting worse. As the doctors started coming in they were studying me like I was some kind of test subject but my family knew I was in good hands. It only took them a couple of hours to make a decision that I was not going to survive. 5 doctors stated that there was 0% chance of surviving the surgery and one doctor said 20%. The doctor would then explain that if I happen to survive the surgery that I was never going to walk or talk or be able to do anything on my own, ever again. As they were explaining this to my parents, they broke down into tears because it must have been the hardest decision they were ever going to face. The only thing that would save me that day was hope.