Agape love is selfless love . . . the love God wants us to have isn’t just an emotion but a conscious act of the will—a deliberate decision on our part to put others ahead of ourselves. This is the kind of love God has for us. ~Billy Graham, 20th Century American Evangelist

* * *

After 5,083 days, I returned to the scene of the crime. The scene was Room 2301 in the ICU at Kaiser Santa Clara Medical Center. The crime was being “intubated, sedated, and paralyzed.” That’s my medical record’s way of saying that I was on life-support machines, in a medically induced coma, on heavy muscle relaxation medication. The suspect was Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome (ARDS), a rare disorder that shuts down the lungs.

The reason for my return was visiting a family member who was recovering from heart surgery. Just as she had done 14 years earlier, I sat in the waiting room from Summer in the Waiting Room: Faith • Hope • Love. I experienced the anxiety, uncertainty, and hope my family endured that fateful summer. The room was full of the same faith, love, laughs, concern, and ultimately relief when the surgeon reported a successful operation.

Much has happened in those 5,083 days. I returned to work as chief of staff for an elected official only to be unceremoniously walked out of my office when the politician resigned. I wallowed in uncertainty as a 47 year old man with severe congestive heart failure and a career in tatters. I started a consulting business with a couple of clients, but it didn’t take away the sting of failure or cure my deteriorating heart. As my badly damaged heart weakened, so did my mental health. 

I embarked on a faith and mental health journey that continues to this day. I’ve learned that faith is accepting God’s will, hope is an action word, and the meaning of true love is agape, the ancient Greek word for God’s love of putting others ahead of ourselves. The Buddhist principle of mindfulness, defined by mindfulness guru Jon Kabat Zinn as “paying attention, on purpose, in the present moment, without judgment,” is now part of my consciousness. I’m learning how to focus on the here and now.

I wasn’t sure what to expect from returning to the ICU where my life hung in the balance for more than a month. According to the National Library of Medicine, ARDS survivors experience “a high prevalence of substantial symptoms for depression, anxiety and PTSD.” I’ve experienced all three during the past 14 years. I wondered if returning to the scene of the crime would trigger one or all three of the psychological conditions. Regardless of those concerns, agape inspired me to be there to support the family.

Walking into the cardiovascular ICU waiting room was surreal. I surveyed the space and imagined what it was like 14 years earlier. Family members brought my imagination to life by sharing stories of that fateful summer. Water and sodas were stacked in that corner. Food brought in by visitors sat on this small table. Tío Pancho and Nino Miguel chomped down pupusas on those chairs over there. The summer of 2010 came to life as we anxiously waited for the surgeon.

Six hours after we arrived, our loved one was rolled into the ICU for recovery and the surgeon reported a successful operation to the waiting room. We were allowed to see her in pairs. When the heavy double doors to the ICU slowly opened, it was like walking into a time capsule. The names and faces were different, but the scene was the same. Doctors, nurses, and other healthcare professionals were busily caring for patients and keeping a close eye on the monitors that measured the progress of each patient.

As Sandra and I weaved our way through the ICU trying not to get in the way of the healthcare teams, we walked by Room 2301. The room was empty. I tentatively peered into the unoccupied space as a range of emotions washed over me. I pictured myself on the bed with a breathing tube in my mouth, a ventilator by the bedside, and a forest of IV stands holding bags of fluids and medications.

I thought about the suffering combined with hope that Sandra, the girls, and family and friends endured day in and day out while in the waiting room on the other side of the wall that summer 14 years ago. Surprisingly, I had no negative reactions. My stomach didn’t do a flip as it does when anxiety sets in. Neither sadness nor depression creeped into my psyche. For a few more seconds, I stood in front of an empty Room 2301 in awe of the power of faith, hope, and love.  A nurse leader graciously took a pic of me standing by the door.

The next few days turned out to be a reunion of sorts. In the hallways of the ICU and later the cardiac unit, I ran into the occupational therapist who taught me how to use my hands again in 2010. Nurses and technicians who cared for me after my LVAD (mechanical heart pump) implantation surgery in 2018 heard I was in the unit and stopped by to say hello. Their smiles and genuine hugs of joy to see a former LVAD patient thrive with a heart transplant warmed my soul.

At the end of the week, I felt a sense of profound gratitude. Kaiser Santa Clara’s top notch cardiology team performed another successful heart operation, its patient was comfortably recovering at home, and I was able to see my own journey from another perspective. The uncertainty of heart surgery and being bombarded with data, numbers, and medical terms difficult to understand is stressful. I saw my fellow heart surgery warrior and her nuclear family endure the week with grace, courage, and their trademark humor.

Perhaps more important to me, I took another step in my faith and mental health journey. According to Dr. Daniel Boscaljon, Executive Coach and Founder of the Healthy Workplace Academy, practicing agape “improves someone’s emotional well-being, offering a sense of deep connection and meaningful belonging to each situation.” I grew a deeper connection of belonging with the family. I also felt at peace in a place that caused so much suffering for me. 

As my mom used to say, Gracias a Dios. “¿Qué más quieres?” (Thank you, God. What more do you want?).