Heroism: How My Life Philosophy Developed Through Personal Experience

If there is one universal truth that unites every one of the six billion people on earth, it is the fact that life, by definition, is a finite endeavor. For some, it comes after a long and full existence. For others, the experience befalls them before even consciousness or awareness. But perhaps the most jarring time the inevitability of death transpires, especially for that person's loved ones and friends, is in young adulthood. I personally witnessed the passing of a close friend named Justin Rodgers in the spring of 2008. And though an untimely death is not a completely uncommon occurrence statistically, there are certainly very few things that make such a deep and lasting impression on a personal scale.

The best way I can characterize Justin is through a New Yorker allusion to Ernest Hemingway. A simple cartoon, it continually stands out in my mind. Against a dark background, a weathered, muscular arm clasps a stark red rose. Of course, Justin himself was not quite so dramatically inclined. He was, however, emphatically masculine and stoic (not to mention his vicious sense of humor). He loved and pursued weightlifting and rugby to the point of excess, and was easy to get along with. Up to the time of his passing, he had been in a long relationship with another close friend named Stephanie. Though it was, on the surface, a typical high school relationship, it was easy to see that just beneath the exterior lay an exceptionally mature and unyielding mutual passion. They were the envy of may; Stephanie was Justin's rose.

In mid April, Justin became sick. He had all the symptoms of a common cold: sore throat, congestion, sinus problems and aching. His family doctor gave him some antibiotics for strep throat, and told him he'd be fine in a week. But by the time prom had come he had gotten progressively worse. The tuxedo he bought just a few weeks before fit him noticeably loose. Weight he had worked so hard to gain throughout that year was being shed at an alarming rate. The Monday after prom weekend I returned to school with the news that Justin was in the hospital with what doctors suspected was double pneumonia. Needless to say, there was a certain amount of concern. But most of us shrugged it off. Justin, if anything, was a hell of a fighter. I figured he'd fully recover and be bragging to us about his good looking nurse within a couple of weeks. Then, a short time later, came news that he was on a ventilator. He couldn't breathe on his own; unbelievable. Many of his friends, including me, made hospital visits regularly to show our support for his family, who had already lost two children to a miscarriage and a freak accident. His dad, affectionately known among us as Ed, always had the latest on what Justin's doctors were saying. Up to that point, it was still a mystery as to what was causing his lungs and heart to struggle so much.

Medically, Justin's case made no sense. It looked and behaved like a common cold with an acutely severe sore throat. But the way that it was ravaging his vital organs was absurd. Physically, Justin was young and in excellent shape. There was simply no way to explain what had taken place over the last few weeks. Then, in a frantic, fear ridden explanation from Ed, we learned that a blood culture revealed Justin had been afflicted with Lemierre's Syndrome. Immediately, we scrambled to figure out what this mysterious disease was and what it meant.

The search conceded what was, for me, the shock of a lifetime. Lemierre's Syndrome, we learned, is a rare infection caused by naturally occurring bacteria in the mouth. It is so rare, in fact, that there have been less than two hundred cases in the last century. When the pathogen, called Fusobacterium, is triggered to invade the body, it forms an infected clot in the jugular vein. This clot then breaks off and sends the infection straight to the heart and lungs. From there, the bacteria goes on a rampage against the vital organs.

To our dismay, the medical definition of what Lemierre's Syndrome does was actually taking place. It was decimating Justin from the inside out. On our last hospital visit, nearly a month after he was admitted, his family was staying there around the clock. The doctors had by then found the infection, and were able to easily destroy it with antibiotics. But the damage was done. Heis heart and lings couldn't function on their own, and he was placed on an ECMO machine, which according to his nurses more or less pumped and oxygenated his blood for him.

Seeing Justin in the hospital for the last time was an experience I will never forged. A few close friends and I were granted permission to enter his room in the Pediatric ICU of the hospital. The unit was filled with infants and small children, save for him. My first glance at Justin was, in a word, astounding. Once very lean, his body was bloated to what seemed like the point of bursting. Tubes ran in and out of him from a central location directly in his neck, doing everything his body couldn't. It was sadly ironic that, after all of his effort in maintaining physical and emotional strength, he lay in front of us in a position of such vulnerability and weakness. Regardless, I refused to accept the gravity of the situation. Justin would be fine. He had to be.

That refusal was demolished less than a week later. At around 6 A.M. On May 12, I received a phone call from Stephanie. I couldn't pick it up, because it was too painfully obvious what it meant. Justin's body had begun to reject the blood coming from the ECMO machine the night before. His medical staff's only choice was to disconnect it. His decimated organs, literally riddled with microscopic holes eaten away by the bacteria, were only able to hold on for a few hours.

Needless to say, our graduation was a somber one. But with the grief and sadness came another experience I will never forget. All of Justin's friends, acquaintances, and even a few who didn't really know him came together in support of his family. We worked to raise money for Justin's immense medical bills, and more importantly spread the word about the seriousness of Lemiererre's Syndrome. Because of his case, many in the medical field changed their lackadaisical practice on using blood cultures for strep throat diagnoses. And though Justin paid for this mistake with his life, because of him many others will potentially be saved.

That month blew my typical teenage illusion of invincibility away. However, I learned firsthand that death is not just a universal truth, but a unifying one as well. Though we are all destined to die, my friend Justin proved to me that we are all meant to be heroes, a part of the betterment of humanity, in our own small yet integral way. And though Justin did it in death, I firmly believe it is up to those friends and loved ones he left behind to do the same in the time we have left.