On the morning of October 23, 1993, a young man was found unconscious in a stairwell at 2100 N. Sheffield. When the Fire Department paramedics arrived a 9:12 a.m. they found the patient posturing in the field and hypotensive with a Glasgow Coma Score of 3. He was bypassed to the IMMC trauma center as a code 30. When the patient, identified as Francis "Kit" Callahan, 23 years old, arrived in the emergency room at 9:32 a.m., his Glasgow Coma Score had risen to 4. That same morning, in Burke, Virginia, Kit's mother, Katherine "Kim" Callahan, receive the phone call that is every parent's nightmare. Her son, newly graduated from college and working in Chicago, was a victim of violence and in critical condition with a head injury. Kit's friends maintained a vigil at the hospital until his mother arrived, around 6 p.m. For the next three and a half months Chicago is where she would be. Usually the stories of our lives slip by like the subtle turning of pages. But occasionally something so catastrophic happens that it completely changes the direction of the story. So it was for Kit Callahan. For a time, the story of his life would be chronicled in pages of a medical record and would be a story of family devotion, faith, hope, and the tremendous resilience and reparative ability of the human body when given sufficient time and medical expertise.

Dr. Harold Blake Walker, an IMMC Trustee, once said: "A hospital at its best is a caring community, dedicated to a ministry of healing…" There are few tasks more difficult for such a caring community than the care of a comatose patient. In good health the human body is a fine-tuned machine, with bodily systems autonomically and synergistically working together. It takes the collaborative efforts of many disciplines to accomplish what the body does for itself under normal circumstances. At best, we are a poor second to the body's own processes, for every procedure and every invasive device carries risks and complications. Following surgery Kit was returned to the trauma unit, intubated and on a respirator, with multiple venous access and monitoring devices, drains and tubes. On October 27, 1993, two physicians, a social worker and Kit's parents met to discuss the situation and the "grave prognosis". The following day Kit's siblings arrived in Chicago. The family members supported one another, struggling to maintain a spirit of hope. Kit remained in a coma. Day after day, shift after shift, response to painful stimuli and pupils would be checked. He would be fed, cleaned, turned, suctioned and exercised. By mid-November the EEG was still severely abnormal and there was no objective improvement in his condition. It was unknown whether Kit would ever regain consciousness. A social worker provided Kim with head injury education material. Discussions were begun regarding discharge planning and rehab options. However, a series of complications were to delay the discharge process. During this time, the family learned coma stimulation techniques and explored future options. They visited the National Rehabilitation Institute in Washington D.C. If possible, that wanted Kit closer to home. Social service began exploring air ambulance transportation to Washington. The cost would be between $3,400 and $9,000. Kit's fraternity and an outside benefactor offered to pay for his transport.

On December 10, 1993, Kit was transferred to Unit 475, the respiratory unit. The nursing note on that day was: "Patient is non-responsive to all stimuli except pain. Eyes may open, but not to command." Then, on December 24: "Patient seems like he responds to painful stimuli and opens eyes and looks." Kit's family joined his mother to be with him for the holidays. Small glimmers of hope continued to appear. 12/27/93, Occupational Therapy: Patient opened eyes to voice and remained open during session. Patient turning, tracking to therapists voice during therapy." 1/20/94, Occupational Therapy: "Flexed right elbow when asked. Identified a circle, triangle and square." Finally, on February 10, 1994, the following was noted in Kit's Chart: "All arrangements have been make for air jet transport to Washington……. Patient Discharged." Kit's progress from then on is known to us only through letters. Every step would become a milestone for Kit and his family. By May, his communication skills had advanced from blinking his eyes for yes and turning his head for no, to using a spelling board, and finally to speaking. Imagine Kim's delight when she heard that first "Hi Mom!" By August Kit was relearning to walk with braces and a walker. He was then transferred to a transitional facility where he world learn to deal with more real-life situations. By December Kit was computer literate and wrote the following letter back to IMMC:
Merry Christmas Everyone!

I'm doing fine at Learning Services in Manassas. I'm walking around with my walker by myself. My coordination is coming back slowly but surely. As part of my therapy I'm working two mornings a weed for the Sheriff's Department of Manassas. I type summons receipts into the computer for them. Don't get picked up in Prince William County or I'll know! In my free time I go bowling (with a special ball) and play pool with my friends at Learning Center. I also go to the movies a lot. Mom and Dad bring me home for the weekends sometimes too. I'll be home for Christmas and New Years!
Kit Callahan

I never took care of Kit Callahan, but when I saw the delight of the nurses on 475 when they received that Christmas letter and a photo from Kit, I said to myself, "This is it! This is why we entered the nursing profession". On a smaller scale we help make miracles happen every day. We can see them if we are aware and watching for them. "Expect a Miracle!"

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