Fighting for My Life, Fighting for My Students

It began with a sharp, excruciating pain in the center of my chest—so intense that I collapsed onto my bed, clutching my chest in agony. At the time, I dismissed it as heartburn, stubbornly deciding to manage the pain myself. Looking back, I realize that this denial was a symptom of a much larger problem: I had been pushing myself to the very limits, and my relentless dedication to FOCUS had forced me to ignore my own well-being for far too long.

A Moment of Triumph: First Cohort Graduation
Just a day before everything changed, I had the immense privilege of overseeing FOCUS’s very first cohort graduation. The air was electric with anticipation as students gathered, their faces alight with pride and excitement. Each graduate stood tall, clutching their certificates—symbols of the hard work and dedication they had poured into their training. The room buzzed with laughter, heartfelt congratulations, and the joyful chatter of friends and family celebrating this significant milestone.
As I looked out at the crowd, I saw the transformation FOCUS had ignited in each of them. Their eyes sparkled with the promise of new beginnings, and their smiles were beacons of hope for their futures. These young individuals had overcome numerous obstacles to reach this moment, and their achievements were a testament to their resilience and the unwavering support of our community. Witnessing their triumph filled me with immense pride and reinforced the importance of our mission. It was a powerful reminder of why I had dedicated myself so wholeheartedly to FOCUS.

Day One: Denial and Desperation
The first day I endured the pain at home, I avoided any medical attention. “It’s nothing,” I thought, my voice barely a whisper against the throbbing in my chest. “I have no time to slow down—not with FOCUS thriving and students depending on me.” Operating on adrenaline and willpower alone, I ignored the warning signs my body was screaming at me. The late nights, early mornings and long 15-to-20-hour days, taking 30min power naps took its toll.
The air in my bedroom felt thick and oppressive, each breath more labored than the last. The faint scent of lavender from a nearby candle did little to soothe me as the walls seemed to close in, my heartbeat echoing in my ears like a relentless drum.

Day Two: Reaching a Breaking Point
The pain persisted, growing more unbearable with each passing hour. By the second day, ignoring it had become impossible. The heaviness in the air mirrored the weight pressing down on my chest, making every movement a struggle. Desperate for relief, I knew I couldn’t keep fighting this battle alone.

Calling Wanda: A Lifeline
That is when I called Wanda. She’s been my friend and my rock for over 30 years and my co-builder of FOCUS. Wanda is a remarkable woman who brought over three decades of honed skills and experience to our mission. From late-night meetings to crafting the FOCUS websites, YouTube videos, and photos that captured the spirit of our students, she’s been my partner in every sense.
Her voice was steady when I told her how I felt, but I could hear the worry beneath her calm exterior. “I’m coming over, right now,” she said without hesitation, her words a lifeline pulling me back from the edge.

Rushing to Urgent Care
When Wanda arrived, she immediately took charge, guiding me down the stairs in my weakened state to urgent care. The air outside felt colder than it should for March, the chill seeping through my jacket and adding to my discomfort. The drive was tense, the hum of the heater doing little to ease the silence between us. By the time we arrived, the sterile smell of antiseptic filled the air, sharp and almost metallic, heightening my anxiety.
The urgent care staff ran basic tests and handed us a referral slip to follow up with my primary care doctor. I told myself it wasn’t serious; if it were, they would have rushed me to the hospital immediately. Wanda stayed with me, her presence a calm but watchful anchor amidst the chaos swirling around us.

Day Three: The Doctor’s Alarm
However, the pain lingered, a constant, throbbing reminder of my own vulnerability. On the third day, Wanda, ever vigilant, drove me to my doctor’s office. The waiting room buzzed faintly with chatter and the muffled sounds of a daytime talk show on the TV mounted to the wall. When my doctor tried to check my pulse, his expression shifted, the color draining from his face. “I can’t find your pulse,” he said, his voice barely masking his alarm. Turning to Wanda, he said firmly, “You need to rush him to the emergency room right now.”

A Race Against Time
Wanda didn’t hesitate. She rushed me to the ER as if she were on autopilot, her hands gripping the steering wheel like her life depended on it. As I sat beside her, the reality sank in—I wasn’t just fighting for my life; Wanda was fighting alongside me, bearing the weight of this crisis with unwavering strength.

Emergency Room Chaos
Upon arrival at the ER, chaos erupted. The waiting room was bright, loud, and crowded, the air thick with the mingling scents of cleaning supplies and sickness. As soon as I described my symptoms, everything moved rapidly. A nurse came out of the door and said, “Come with me,” as she put me in a wheelchair and hurried me to the back, her voice sharp as she barked instructions to her colleagues.
Within moments, I was surrounded by machines and monitors. The cold adhesive of the leads pressed against my chest, arms, and legs, as nurses worked with precision and urgency. The fluorescent lights overhead were blindingly bright, casting harsh shadows across the room.

Facing the Diagnosis
“What’s happening?” I asked, my voice trembling with confusion and fear. I joked, “Why are you taking off my clothes? You don’t know me that well.”
The nurses laughed lightly and responded, “You got jokes, Mr. Brockman.” Without missing a beat, they swiftly removed my shirt, pants, and shoes, and placed the cold electrodes on my chest, arms, and legs. Despite my low vital readings, I remained surprisingly alert, which puzzled the medical staff.
They exchanged concerned glances, questioning how I could stay so conscious given the severity of my condition. Their confusion only heightened my anxiety.

The Path to Surgery
As they wheeled me through the long hallway, the fluorescent lights above blurred into streaks. The cold, metallic smell of the ER mixed with the faint aroma of bleach pressed down on me like a weight. I thought about Wanda, my daughters, and FOCUS—the program I had poured every ounce of my heart and soul into since its inception. Was this the end of everything I’d built? Could this be the end for me? Deep down, I knew I wasn’t alone. God had His hands on me, and I trusted Him to see me through. My memory went to my grandmother and her telling me, “Whenever you find yourself in trouble, pray to the Lord. He will never leave nor forsake you.” And that’s what I did, promptly!

Surgery and Recovery
The surgery revealed the worst: my main artery was completely blocked, cutting off all blood flow. They placed a stent, restoring circulation just in time. When I woke up, the room felt quiet and still, save for the soft hum of machines. The reality of how close I’d come to losing my life weighed heavily on me. It was a stark wake-up call, a harsh reminder that my dedication to FOCUS, while admirable, had come at a steep personal cost. The physical toll of the heart attack was compounded by the spiritual and emotional wounds I had been carrying, dealing with the human mindset and social barriers of my students. I had pushed myself to the very edge, and my body had finally rebelled.

Family Support: A Beacon of Hope
As I lay there recovering, my thoughts turned to my family. My youngest daughter, Erika, called me over FaceTime as soon as she heard. Her sobs echoed through the phone, raw and uncontainable. She was my strong girl, but in that moment, she was my baby again. I couldn’t hold back the tears—I cried with her, feeling the depth of her hurt. It felt like she was at my bedside within minutes, her presence steady and fierce.
Candace, my oldest daughter, brought my sense of humor into the hospital. I could hear her voice booming down the hallway before I saw her. “Where is that old man?” she called out, letting everyone know she was in the house and taking over. She had flown across the country from Portland, Oregon, leaving her husband and two boys behind to be by my side. The red-eye flight couldn’t dampen her spirit. She and Erika quizzed the doctors with precision, demanding answers. Watching them, I thought, “Look at my babies. They’re grown women now, handling business for their daddy. But they’ll always be my little girls.”
Later that evening, my mother arrived after a lengthy drive from Fredericksburg, Virginia. Despite visiting hours having long passed, she was determined not to be turned away. “That’s my son in there,” she declared firmly and resolutely. The hospital staff initially denied her entry, but she remained steadfast. Eventually, the head doctor intervened, allowing her to enter. Once inside the room, she remained quiet at first. She sat peacefully by my bedside, took my hand in hers, and simply held it. Her hand was warm, soft, and familiar, anchoring me in that moment. “You scared me, Eric,” she said softly, her voice wavering with emotion. “You scared all of us.”

Reflecting on FOCUS’s Impact
As I lay there recovering, I thought about FOCUS and the lives we were impacting. I thought about Jerome, who spent years juggling being a single father of three young African American boys, working 40 hours a week at minimum wage, and being unable to afford certification classes. FOCUS exceeded his expectations, providing the resources and knowledge he needed.
“All I had to give was my dedication and time,” he once told me. “I’m blessed to be part of an organization advancing African American youth and young adults into a growing tech field.”

I also thought about Asya, who used FOCUS training to propel herself into her first IT role even before earning her certification. And, of course, I thought about Wanda—my rock—who believed in FOCUS with the same passion I did and poured her heart into every late-night meeting, website design, and photo that captured our mission’s essence.

Faith and Resilience
FOCUS wasn’t just a program—it was my heartbeat. And God, my ultimate rock, had carried me through it all. My faith became a source of strength, a beacon guiding me through the darkest moments. Trusting in a higher power gave me the resilience to face each day, knowing that I was part of a larger plan.

Another Battle: Prostate Cancer
But life wasn’t done testing me. In September 2023, I received another devastating blow: a diagnosis of prostate cancer. By 2024, I endured 26 Proton Therapy treatments. The process was grueling, leaving me exhausted and worn down, but my commitment to FOCUS kept me going. The cancer was aggressive, and the treatments, while precise, took a significant toll. Each morning, I drove myself to the hospital, the drive filled with the same silent determination that had brought me through the ER. The Proton Therapy unit was a sterile, clinical space filled with the low hum of machinery and the faint scent of antiseptic. No one knew what I was going through, I was still teaching and running FOCUS without missing a beat. I was very weak and tired, but I was determined to give back to these young people.

The Struggles of Treatment
The treatments themselves were painless, but their aftermath was harsh. While the radiation effectively targeted the cancer, it also left me grappling with debilitating fatigue. My body ached constantly, and my appetite dwindled. There were days when the weight of it all felt almost unbearable. Persistent weakness and exhaustion turned even the simplest tasks into monumental challenges.
Yet, I pushed forward. I continued teaching, attended local business meetings, mentored students, and maintained the facade that everything was normal. The only person who truly saw the toll it took on me was Wanda. Her quiet strength carried me through the darkest times. When I received my cancer diagnosis, Wanda was the only one I confided in. She sat beside me as the doctor delivered the news, her face calm while her eyes revealed the storm of emotions she kept hidden. She didn’t allow herself to cry; instead, she became my anchor once again.

FOCUS: The Lifeline
Through it all, FOCUS remained my heartbeat. It gives me purpose, a reason to keep fighting. Every student who walked through our doors, every graduate who earned their certification, every family who felt the ripple effects of what we were doing—reminded me why I had to keep fighting.