During our seven-hour drive to Johns Hopkins Childrens’ Hospital in Baltimore, my mom and I listened to the many cassette audio tapes sent to me by Mister Rogers a few days after his call. His soft voice discussed so many topics that concerned young children. My favorite cassette was the one where he sang, “I like you just the way you are.” While in the hospital, I endured back-to-back medical tests to determine if my body could survive the 12-hour surgery to remove my entire left hemisphere. I was confused and scared, but believed my doctors and parents wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. In between the tests, I was able to spend time with my beloved brother. We played games and watched movies. I didn’t realize it at the time, but my older brother was worried he might never see me again. He was only ten years old.
The very last thing I said to my parents as I was wheeled into the operating room was, “No more seizures.”
My surgery went well, and my doctor told my parents they could see me in the recovery room. I lay swollen with tubes and wires in and all around my head and body. My parents had faith in my surgeon and neurologist, but later that night, for reasons that have never been explained, I fell into a deep coma.
What Mr. Rogers Did For A Sick Fan Will Make You Miss Him More Than Ever
With the sounds of life-support machines beeping, IV fluids being pumped into my body, nurses and doctors running in and out of my room, and my parents softly sobbing, you could hear Mister Rogers singing “I like you just the way you are” from a cassette player in my ICU room. My mother was called from the room to the nurse’s station where she was handed the phone. It was the Mister Rogers, and he wanted to know how I was doing. My mom gave him the bleak news that although the surgery went well, I suffered severe brain stem swelling and was in a coma. They talked a little more and he told her that he would pray for me. What we didn’t know was that Mister Rogers was an ordained Presbyterian Minister.
For the following two weeks, Mister Rogers called every day to ask about my status and to pray with my mother. One morning he called and asked her if it would be OK if he visited me the next afternoon. My mother told him that sadly I was still in a coma and wouldn’t know he was there. He said he would come anyway. He asked that she not tell anyone he was coming because he wanted it to be a private visit and didn’t want the press to be there.
The next afternoon, Mister Rogers flew from Pittsburgh to Baltimore with only a clarinet case in tow. A minister friend from Baltimore picked him up from the airport and drove him directly to the hospital. My parents, brother, grandparents, and many other family members took turns keeping vigil by my bedside, each trying in their own way to wake me from my coma. They immediately recognized the tall man with the kind face as he stepped inside my room. Mister Rogers gently placed his clarinet case on my bed, opened it, and took out King Friday, Lady Elaine Fairchild, and my favorite, Daniel Striped Tiger. For the following hour, I was the star in his neighborhood.