In His Own Words ... 
By Mark Soltau, Stanford Athletics
STANFORD, Calif. - You wouldn't know it today, but Brant Whiting is lucky to be alive. When he was 8, he had an acute asthma attack and nearly died, spending almost a week in a coma.
Only a sequence of heroic, lifesaving moves from his family, a quick-thinking paramedic, and a team of doctors, pulled him through. And in a strange, wonderful way, it has brought them all closer.
Whiting, a junior catcher on the Stanford baseball squad who grew up in Fullerton, Calif., is now a picture of health. He's batting a team-high .370, has thrown out nine of 30 attempted base stealers, and handles Cardinal All-America pitcher Mark Appel on Friday nights.
"He's just a great catcher," said Appel. "I have the utmost confidence in him. He makes me better as a pitcher."
Appel, most teammates and even coach Mark Marquess, had no idea of Whiting's brush with death before this story. The modest and easy-going Whiting doesn't dwell on his past, and is simply grateful for a second chance in life and is making the most of it.
"This is the first I've heard about it," said Marquess, The Clarke and Elizabeth Director of Baseball. "He's played phenomenal for us. It's nice to see someone that has played a backup role for us take over as a starter. Without even knowing this, it's a great sports story for somebody who has put the time and effort into it and has really earned the job."
Teammate and roommate Brian Guymon is one of the few Whiting confided in.
"You would never guess something like that happened to him," he said. "We lived in the same freshman dorm, so I've known him pretty well for three years. I learned about it last summer when we were playing in the same summer league in New York. There was a newspaper that did a short article about it, so I asked him about it. It's really an amazing story."
* * *
Signs of Distress
Whiting first suffered breathing problems when he was six months old. His parents, Mikel and Lisa, made many trips to the hospital when the episodes became severe, but doctors couldn't diagnose the cause.
The youngest of six siblings, Whiting often awoke in the middle of the night, straining for breath and had a breathing machine loaded by the side of his bed. One night in the spring of 2000, Lisa heard him struggling and hurried to his room.
"I gave him his breathing machine and held it front of him and about 10 seconds later, he pushed away and said, `I'm going to die, I'm going to die. Help, what am I going to do?' And with that, he seized and turned blue."
Whiting suffered cardiac and respiratory arrest. Mikel, an orthopedic surgeon, immediately started CPR and paramedics were called. "It seemed like it took forever, but it took nine minutes," Lisa recalled.
Youngest daughter Kandace, who had just completed a CPR course, assisted her father until the paramedics arrived. Lew Castle, a captain in the Fullerton Fire Department and also a paramedic, immediately recognized the gravity of the moment.
"There's a thing called status asthmaticus, which is like the worst-case asthma situation," he said. "You can treat it, but it's very difficult. Brant was exhibiting some of those signs, yet at the same time, 100 times worse."
So Castle took drastic measures. Realizing not enough air was passing into Whiting's lungs, he did an endotracheal intubation, which is inserting a plastic tube in his mouth and down his throat. This was risky for several reasons, not the least of which was Castle could lose his job for performing the procedure (at the time, victims were supposed to be a minimum of 12 years old and weigh 80 pounds).
The other problem was that if Castle accidentally inserted the tube into Whiting's esophagus, it would shut off air to his lungs and possibly result in brain damage, cardiac arrest or death.
Even his radioman said, "Lew, you can't do this."
But he did.
"That's against our rules for his age at the time," Castle said. "But I knew it was the only possibility of saving his life."
Mikel concurred.
"As a physician, I'm sitting there thinking, `That's the appropriate decision,'" he said. "I did not know there was actually a controversy against that and what he actually did was against paramedic protocol. He needed a tube in. I'm just very happy Lew Castle did what he did. I don't think Brant would have made it without that."
But Whiting was still fighting for his life. He was taken by ambulance to nearby St. Jude Medical Center, where doctors worked on him and then transferred him by medevac ambulance to Children's Hospital of Orange County. There wasn't enough room in the ambulance for Mikel and Lisa to accompany their son.
 | If Castle accidentally inserted the tube into Whiting's esophagus, it would shut off air to his lungs and possibly result in brain damage, cardiac arrest or death. Even his radioman said, "Lew, you can't do this." But he did. |
"And the guy from the medevac unit tells me that his (Brant's) labs are incompatible with life and we needed to kiss him goodbye because he probably wouldn't survive the trip," she said.
Dr. Nick Anas was working in the Intensive Care Unit at Children's Hospital (CHOC).
"He had actually collapsed a lung," said Anas, now the Director of Pediatric ICU at the hospital. "It was life-threatening, to be sure."
Dr. Anas and his team worked on Brant for more than five hours, but there was no improvement. Mikel and Lisa were asked to sign a form for a heart-lung bypass, which they did.
While they were in the waiting room, another family held a prayer group for a young baby named Grace, who had just been turned off life support.
"And the grandma turned to me and said, `Can we pray for your son?' '' said Lisa. "And then she kneels and starts praying."
Fifteen minutes later, a doctor came into the waiting room and Lisa burst into tears. "I know my son is dead because it takes longer than 15 minutes to do a heart-lung bypass," she said.
But the news was good.
"He said, `I don't know what happened in there, but his vitals have stabilized,' '' said Lisa. "He's in a coma, and we don't know what his neurological status is, but his vitals have stabilized."
Reflecting on that moment, "I definitely think there was somebody watching over me," Brant said.
A coma was induced to rest his lungs and make sure they were functioning properly.
"Then you back off the drugs," Mikel said. "But you don't know what happened when he didn't have enough oxygen and too much CO2. The world kind of stands still. I don't think Lisa was away from the hospital."
* * *
Something Special
When Brant awoke from his coma, he was still on a ventilator and unable to speak. In his room, a playoff basketball game between the Los Angeles Lakers and Cleveland Cavaliers was on television.
"I looked at Brant and said, `Are you a Lakers fan?' '' asked Lisa. "And he nodded his head yes. And I said, `Is dad a Lakers fan?' He's a diehard Celtics fan. And he shook his head no. And I said, `He's OK.' ''
Doctors eventually determined that Whiting had gastric reflex disease, which caused acid to come up from his stomach and into his lungs. Surgery was performed to alleviate his breathing distress and he spent 45 days in the hospital.
But the story doesn't end there. Whiting's close call touched the lives of everyone involved. The day Brant was released from CHOC, Dr. Anas came by his room with a group of medical residents and told them to remember his name because he was going to do something special with his life. Then he whispered, "Brant, don't make a liar out of me."
He didn't.
The first thing Brant did was collect used books for underserved youth -- his way of thanking Castle, the doctors and nurses. Responding to President Bush's challenge to kids to establish programs honoring victims of September 11, he met with his school principal and proposed an idea called "Read All Over," in honor of Deora Bodley of San Diego, a passenger of Flight 93 that crashed in Pennsylvania.
His program now provides books for new teachers needing books for their libraries, boys and girls clubs, and even dialysis centers in 37 states and internationally.
Dr. Anas was so impressed, he quietly submitted Brant's contributions to a local television station for a community involvement contest by teens, and Whiting won. One of the perks was being Grand Marshal during the annual CHOC parade at Disneyland.
While he was in the hospital, Brant received many Beanie Babies and decided to collect them for the soldiers in Afghanistan and Iraq to give to local children. It was called the "Beanie Brigade," and he rounded up more than 25,000.
One soldier wrote back to thank him and told the story of how, in Iraq, a convoy of three trucks stopped in the middle of road because there was a little girl sitting there, holding a Beanie Baby. While the first truck wanted to drive around her, a soldier in the third truck recognized her, having given her the Beanie Baby. When she saw him, she stood up and pointed to an IED (improvised explosive device, or homemade landmine), saving many lives.
Whiting also took part in the CHOC Kids' Cards program from ages 9-13, helping raise money for the hospital.
The Whitings will be forever indebted to Castle and Dr. Anas, and gave Castle and CHOC a work of art they made from candy bars that tell the story of Brant's life.
They also bought Castle a motorcycle helmet. The artwork still hangs in Castle's home in Temecula, Calif., where he is now retired and makes wine. Castle took Brant for a ride on his motorcycle and a photo of the two hangs in his office.
"I have eight grandchildren," said Castle. "They come into the room and see these things on the wall. I'm not planning to take them down because they mean a lot to me."
Whiting also gave Dr. Anas a plaque with him batting during a Little League game and there is a ball attached. That, too, hangs in his office.
Kandace was so moved by her brother's ordeal that she went into nursing. With urging from Dr. Anas, she did a high school internship at Children's Hospital and spent more than 150 hours helping out. Kandace is now a hospital administrator at UCLA Medical Center and is working on her doctorate.
"The chain of events after his ordeal is really amazing," Dr. Anas said.
* * *
A Natural
Whiting has always been passionate about baseball. He made the varsity at Troy High School in Fullerton as a freshman and was a four-time All-Freeway League selection and Orange County All-Star. In 2010, he batted .470 with 14 doubles and boasted a .760 slugging percentage.
"Brant plays baseball because of his mother," said Mikel. "She was a semi-professional tennis player, practiced all day long and saw no limitations. She found teams for him and he played baseball year around."
An Army National Scholar Athlete and Coca-Cola Scholar, Whiting honed his skills every Sunday morning catching local community college and high school pitchers being tutored by a high school coach. One day, Whiting received an e-mail from Stanford associate head coach Dean Stotz and followed up.
"One thing led to another, and now I'm here and it's a dream come true," said Whiting, who is majoring in management science and engineering with an emphasis in organization, technology and entrepreneurship. "This place is awesome."
Mikel and Lisa attend as many home games as possible, and still can't believe how things have turned out.
"My thought along the way was it's going to end," Mikel said. "Then he gets recruited to Stanford. It's something beyond belief for me. I'm proud as all get out."
Whiting didn't play as a freshman and missed most of last season with a knee injury. Although things haven't always gone according to plan, he's remained positive and works hard every day.
"One of the things I've always admired about him is that even when things seem bad or not necessarily going his way, he never seems to lose his cool," said Guymon. "He's really level-headed and finds a way to beat it and get things done."
Added Lisa, "He's a fighter. Against all odds, he was able to get where he is." Having achieved his dream of attending Stanford, Whiting is chasing another: pro baseball. He played for Southampton in the Atlantic Collegiate Baseball League last summer, hitting .310 with nine doubles in 25 games.
"He can catch and throw and he's a left-handed hitter," Marquess said. "He's not going to hit a lot of homers but he can drive the ball. He's catching arguably the best pitcher in college baseball with no problem. And he's playing in our conference and hitting well over .300 with over 100 at-bats. So, yeah, he's a prospect."
All Whiting wants is a shot
. "I know what it's like to be close to death," he said. "I just know that I've had a second chance. We're going to get past all these little things in life. What's really important are your family and loved ones."