As I was walking down the small embankment, there on the side of the hill was the most beautiful squash plant. (Side note: my mom loves gardening, and we had a huge backyard garden. Unfortunately, that year, all of her squash plants had been infected with a fungus. They all shriveled up and died without producing much fruit.) But, now, as if God was giving me a physical sign that everything would be ok, here was this glorious squash plant loaded with perfect squash. I stopped to briefly appreciate the plant and made a mental note to come back another day, a day in which I was not so distraught, and gather God's rich abundance.
When I got home, I did not know what to do. My dad was out of town for a business meeting. We only had two cars, which meant I was stuck at home. I received a call from the ambulance service telling me which hospital they were going to take my mom to. I thanked the man for his call, but knowing this information made me even more nervous. My mom was hurt and was going to the hospital. Oh how I wished I could be with her at that moment. I patiently waited what seemed like an eternity for my dad to arrive home. Finally, I decided to call my dad and ask where he was. Thankfully, my dad answered his mobile phone. He was driving and was about 30 minutes from home. I did not divulge to my dad any details about my mom's car accident. Instead, I hung up the phone and tried to distract myself for the next 30 minutes.
When my dad pulled into the driveway, I immediately, and as calmly as I could, ran out of the house to meet my dad. I tried to casually say we needed to go to the city, about a 20 minute drive away. My dad seemed a bit confused, but he did not question me. As we were nearing the exit for the hospital, I quickly blurted out, "We need to exit here. Mom has been in a slight car accident. She is not seriously hurt. We need to pick her up from the hospital." Although I was not sure about any of the information I relayed to my dad, I desperately wanted to believe it was true.
When we arrived at the hospital, we were told my mom would be out shortly. After waiting 90 minutes, my mom was finally discharged from the emergency department. My mom looked bedraggled and very disoriented, but she was able to speak and was able to stagger out the door. On the way home, my mom related to us what happened. She was near Walmart on a two-lane country road. She slowed up to make a left-hand turn. A car was barreling down the road behind her at 50 miles an hour down the hill. The driver seemed to be distracted and did not break until just a few feet before she slammed into the back of my mom's car. My mom's car was pushed across the oncoming lane of traffic and thankfully came to a stop at the entrance to the road that leads to Walmart (out of the oncoming lane of traffic). My mom's car as well as the other car were total loses.
Upon arriving home, my mom immediately went to the couch to lie down. She instantly fell asleep. The next day, my mom did not move. She aroused from her sleepy stupor a few times, but she was mostly unconscious for the entire day. The same thing happened for the next several days. I knew something was not right. I knew she must have suffered whiplash and possibly had an injury to her brain. As I hovered over my mom for those days, I kept praying to God to heal my mom. I kept repeating Romans 8:28 "And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are called according to His purpose." I would scream out to God, "I am standing on Your promises. I am trusting that everything will be ok. Make this all work out for good. Heal my mom!"
Slowly over the next year, my mom showed signs of improvement. She very gradually was able to leave the couch. Very slowly, she could walk using a cane but often would nearly fall over due to dizziness and unsteadiness on her feet. My mom had dyskinesia episodes in which her body would shake uncontrollably, almost like a prolonged seizure. It seemed my mom had injured part of her brain. Her brain needed time to heal, and her body had to re-learn how to communicate with her brain. It was a very slow process, but my mom did show improvements. During this entire time, I was incredibly sorrowful. Why hadn't I stopped my mom's car? Why did I not listen to the voice screaming at me? Why was I so disobedient? Full of much anguish, I made a promise to God. I vowed I would be obedient for one year.
(Link to Part One click here)
Thursday, March 29, 2018
Tuesday, March 27, 2018
The day the earth rent (Part One)
Several years ago, I woke up to an absolutely, picture-perfect day. The sun was brightly shining, and the temperature was just perfect--not too hot, not too cold, but just right to wear a short-sleeved shirt without a jacket. The birds were singing in the tree outside my window. Yes, this was a perfect day. As I went through my day, I was longing to go someplace, any place to escape the confines of the house and to have an excuse to enjoy this glorious weather. As these thoughts meandered through my mind, my mom asked if I wanted to go with her to McDonald's so she could get a Diet Coke. Of course, I eagerly said yes!
As we were leaving the McDonald's parking lot to go home, I desperately wanted to continue our adventure. But where could we go? Not being able to come up with any ideas, I allowed my mom to continue our journey home. When we got home, I reluctantly went inside. My mom then informed me she was going to go to Walmart. "Oh man! Why couldn't she have said this before!?" I wanted to go with her, but it was getting late. I had made food before we left for McDonald's and was very hungry. If I went back out with my mom, I might become very sick from not eating. With a heavy heart, I decided to stay home.
As my mom was leaving, she was trying to find an item she needed to return to Walmart. I helped in the search, but mysteriously, the item could not be found. For some unknown reason, a sense of panic took hold of me. I felt as though I needed to find the item. I felt as though I needed to delay my mom's departure. My mom decided to leave for Walmart without the item. The panic within me was growing. "I need to stop her. I need to stop her car!" These desperate words rang through my mind. But, I had no logical reason for stopping her. I stood in the kitchen, watching my mom drive out the driveway. "Stop her! YOU MUST STOP HER!!!" screamed in my ears. Instead of moving, I remained rooted to the ground. Suddenly, the world rent. I saw what was like two worlds existing at one time. I saw myself run out the kitchen door and down the driveway toward my mom's car. I saw myself wave down my mom, and she stopped the car. At the same time, I saw another world in which I stood with my feet planted to the floor, and my mom's car drove down the street. Although the incident was terribly frightful, I turned away from the kitchen window and started making myself a plate of food from the pots and pans simmering on the stove.
It seemed like only a few moments before the phone rang. I saw on the caller ID it was my mom. In a chaotic tone she said, "I have been in an accident. I am going to the hospital." She then hung up. Immediately, my heart sank, my stomach did a flip-flop and I thought I was going to collapse to the ground. My mom had only just left. Where was the accident? How badly was she hurt?
In an instant, I sprang out our kitchen door and was running down our driveway. I ran across the street, through a church parking lot and up a small embankment which overlooked the highway. I frantically searched for my mom. Where was she!? In a frenzy, I was praying to God that my mom was not badly hurt. As I stood on the small hill, I suddenly saw an ambulance enter the freeway on-ramp. As the ambulance was ascending the ramp, it turned on its lights and siren. I watched as the ambulance drove down the highway and out of sight. My heart sank again. My mind quickly started remembering information from my physics class. If my mom was on the highway when the accident happened, she would have been going 55-60 miles per hour. The force of the impact would have been very great. Her injuries would be severe. As this chaos of information was streaming through my head, I heard a reassuring voice, "Everything will be ok." I called back to God, "I know, but it is so hard to not be worried when I do not know what happened or how my mom is!" I then felt the urge to go back home.
(Link to Part Two click here)
As we were leaving the McDonald's parking lot to go home, I desperately wanted to continue our adventure. But where could we go? Not being able to come up with any ideas, I allowed my mom to continue our journey home. When we got home, I reluctantly went inside. My mom then informed me she was going to go to Walmart. "Oh man! Why couldn't she have said this before!?" I wanted to go with her, but it was getting late. I had made food before we left for McDonald's and was very hungry. If I went back out with my mom, I might become very sick from not eating. With a heavy heart, I decided to stay home.
As my mom was leaving, she was trying to find an item she needed to return to Walmart. I helped in the search, but mysteriously, the item could not be found. For some unknown reason, a sense of panic took hold of me. I felt as though I needed to find the item. I felt as though I needed to delay my mom's departure. My mom decided to leave for Walmart without the item. The panic within me was growing. "I need to stop her. I need to stop her car!" These desperate words rang through my mind. But, I had no logical reason for stopping her. I stood in the kitchen, watching my mom drive out the driveway. "Stop her! YOU MUST STOP HER!!!" screamed in my ears. Instead of moving, I remained rooted to the ground. Suddenly, the world rent. I saw what was like two worlds existing at one time. I saw myself run out the kitchen door and down the driveway toward my mom's car. I saw myself wave down my mom, and she stopped the car. At the same time, I saw another world in which I stood with my feet planted to the floor, and my mom's car drove down the street. Although the incident was terribly frightful, I turned away from the kitchen window and started making myself a plate of food from the pots and pans simmering on the stove.
It seemed like only a few moments before the phone rang. I saw on the caller ID it was my mom. In a chaotic tone she said, "I have been in an accident. I am going to the hospital." She then hung up. Immediately, my heart sank, my stomach did a flip-flop and I thought I was going to collapse to the ground. My mom had only just left. Where was the accident? How badly was she hurt?
In an instant, I sprang out our kitchen door and was running down our driveway. I ran across the street, through a church parking lot and up a small embankment which overlooked the highway. I frantically searched for my mom. Where was she!? In a frenzy, I was praying to God that my mom was not badly hurt. As I stood on the small hill, I suddenly saw an ambulance enter the freeway on-ramp. As the ambulance was ascending the ramp, it turned on its lights and siren. I watched as the ambulance drove down the highway and out of sight. My heart sank again. My mind quickly started remembering information from my physics class. If my mom was on the highway when the accident happened, she would have been going 55-60 miles per hour. The force of the impact would have been very great. Her injuries would be severe. As this chaos of information was streaming through my head, I heard a reassuring voice, "Everything will be ok." I called back to God, "I know, but it is so hard to not be worried when I do not know what happened or how my mom is!" I then felt the urge to go back home.
(Link to Part Two click here)
Thursday, March 22, 2018
When the light goes out (Part Two)
That night, around 10 p.m., it begins to snow. It continues to snow for several hours. When the brief weather disturbance clears, about 3-4 inches of fresh white fluff coats the ground.
Early in the morning, I have a very odd dream. There is a snowblower, and someone is behind the snowblower, directing the machine in the way it should go. (For those of you unfamiliar with snowblowers, they have a safety feature. Once the snowblower is turned on, most snowblowers have a lever on the handlebar which must be pressed down in order for the snowblower to engage and move forward. If the lever is released, the snowblower will stop its forward progression; however, the engine will still continue to run. To make the snowblower move forward again, you simply have to pressed down the lever.)
Suddenly, the snowblower stops going forward. I can no longer see the man’s hands on the snowblower handlebars. I hear the snowblower’s engine whine and grind away as it sits idle on the sidewalk. The engine noise is deafening, and it seems as if my head is almost right up against the engine. The engine continues to rumble away for several minutes. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a woman pop her head out the front door of a house. She quickly looks toward the snowblower. I see fear and anxiety flash across the woman's face. In an instant, she dashes out the front door and down her front porch steps. Immediately, I am jolted awake.
I sit up in bed, huffing and puffing. It feels as though I have been holding my breath. My heart is racing, and I can still hear the snowblower’s engine ringing in my ears. I look at my alarm clock. It is 6 a.m. I sit for a few minutes in bed. I do not bother trying to go back to sleep. I have to be up in 15 minutes to get ready for school. When my body recovers some from the dream, I slowly get up and get ready for another school day.
When I arrive at school, I notice there seems to be a somber mood among the teachers. The kids all seem to be happy and boisterous. The educators seem to have long, sullen faces. When homeroom begins, my teacher goes through the regular beginning of the day duties. When these tasks are finished, she stands for a moment collecting her thoughts.
My homeroom teacher proceeds, “This morning, the tech ed teacher was outside snowblowing. Around 6 a.m., his wife found him outside next to the snowblower. He suffered a heart attack while snowblowing. Unfortunately, he did not survive.” As soon as these words escape my teacher’s mouth, she bursts into tears. My classmates and I sit in stunned silence. No one knows what to do.
As my teacher’s words resonant inside me, suddenly the events from the last 24 hours flash through my mind. Yes, of course. My tech ed teacher’s illness the day before was the early signs of a heart attack. The light bulb exploding was a sign that he was going to die soon. My dream this morning was in fact a vision of my tech ed teacher’s last moments on earth. Chills run up and down my spine. Had God given me this insight to act? Was I supposed to have talked with my tech ed teacher the previous day and insist he seek medical treatment? Why had I been so blind? Why had I failed to recognize such easy symptoms of a heart attack? I love medicine. This would have been my big day to save someone’s life. Why had I fled like a scared two year old out the classroom door? Why did no one else see the things I saw? Why had God chosen to reveal so much to me?
These questions still echo through my head to this day. I have no idea why these events happened. I have no idea if I was supposed to have acted or not. One thing I do know, this was not the last time God revealed His plans to me. When these incidences happen, I try hard to pay attention and intervene. I cannot say if my actions have prevented some disaster from occurring or if it lead to some incredible miracle. The only thing I do know is if I fail to move or take steps to intercede, heart-breaking events transpire...and that is the hardest thing to live with.
(Link to Part One click here)
Early in the morning, I have a very odd dream. There is a snowblower, and someone is behind the snowblower, directing the machine in the way it should go. (For those of you unfamiliar with snowblowers, they have a safety feature. Once the snowblower is turned on, most snowblowers have a lever on the handlebar which must be pressed down in order for the snowblower to engage and move forward. If the lever is released, the snowblower will stop its forward progression; however, the engine will still continue to run. To make the snowblower move forward again, you simply have to pressed down the lever.)
Suddenly, the snowblower stops going forward. I can no longer see the man’s hands on the snowblower handlebars. I hear the snowblower’s engine whine and grind away as it sits idle on the sidewalk. The engine noise is deafening, and it seems as if my head is almost right up against the engine. The engine continues to rumble away for several minutes. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a woman pop her head out the front door of a house. She quickly looks toward the snowblower. I see fear and anxiety flash across the woman's face. In an instant, she dashes out the front door and down her front porch steps. Immediately, I am jolted awake.
I sit up in bed, huffing and puffing. It feels as though I have been holding my breath. My heart is racing, and I can still hear the snowblower’s engine ringing in my ears. I look at my alarm clock. It is 6 a.m. I sit for a few minutes in bed. I do not bother trying to go back to sleep. I have to be up in 15 minutes to get ready for school. When my body recovers some from the dream, I slowly get up and get ready for another school day.
When I arrive at school, I notice there seems to be a somber mood among the teachers. The kids all seem to be happy and boisterous. The educators seem to have long, sullen faces. When homeroom begins, my teacher goes through the regular beginning of the day duties. When these tasks are finished, she stands for a moment collecting her thoughts.
My homeroom teacher proceeds, “This morning, the tech ed teacher was outside snowblowing. Around 6 a.m., his wife found him outside next to the snowblower. He suffered a heart attack while snowblowing. Unfortunately, he did not survive.” As soon as these words escape my teacher’s mouth, she bursts into tears. My classmates and I sit in stunned silence. No one knows what to do.
As my teacher’s words resonant inside me, suddenly the events from the last 24 hours flash through my mind. Yes, of course. My tech ed teacher’s illness the day before was the early signs of a heart attack. The light bulb exploding was a sign that he was going to die soon. My dream this morning was in fact a vision of my tech ed teacher’s last moments on earth. Chills run up and down my spine. Had God given me this insight to act? Was I supposed to have talked with my tech ed teacher the previous day and insist he seek medical treatment? Why had I been so blind? Why had I failed to recognize such easy symptoms of a heart attack? I love medicine. This would have been my big day to save someone’s life. Why had I fled like a scared two year old out the classroom door? Why did no one else see the things I saw? Why had God chosen to reveal so much to me?
These questions still echo through my head to this day. I have no idea why these events happened. I have no idea if I was supposed to have acted or not. One thing I do know, this was not the last time God revealed His plans to me. When these incidences happen, I try hard to pay attention and intervene. I cannot say if my actions have prevented some disaster from occurring or if it lead to some incredible miracle. The only thing I do know is if I fail to move or take steps to intercede, heart-breaking events transpire...and that is the hardest thing to live with.
(Link to Part One click here)
Tuesday, March 20, 2018
When the light goes out (Part One)
Many, many years ago, when I was just a young hatchling in middle school, I had a profound experience, which has greatly impacted my life. As much as this experience wants to fade into the background, the lessons learned continually reappear in my life. Sometimes I act as I should, and sometimes I remain rooted to the ground, unable to do anything but watch the events unfold. When I do not obey, tragic things happen.
When I was in middle school, we had main core classes during the entire school year. We also had elective classes such as music, art and foreign language which changed every semester. At the beginning of second semester of my sixth grade year, one of my electives was technical education (tech ed). This class included learning how to use various power tools and saws, learning how to draft, and acquiring other exciting skills I plan to never use again. The teacher of the class was very well liked by the entire school. The man was very patient, kind, soft-spoken and had a friendly demeanor. No one ever had anything mean to say about the teacher. Both teachers and students found this wonderful man to be a very sweet friend.
The second day of class, I noticed the teacher seemed to not be feeling well. He pushed through class and kept a smile on his face. When the bell sounded, signaling the end of the period, all my classmates raced out of the door. I, of course, was always slow packing up my things. As I was hurrying to gather up all my belongings, I saw the teacher grimace and pump up and down his right arm. I then saw him take his left hand and squeeze his upper right arm as if he was trying to relieve a painful muscle cramp in his right arm. I remember thinking this was unusual. This meant something. But what did it mean? I didn’t think too long or hard about the matter for I needed to quickly flee the classroom to make it on time to my next class.
As I was scurrying toward the door, I felt the need to turn around. About ten feet behind me was the teacher. As I looked at the teacher, suddenly, a long fluorescent light bulb exploded right above the teacher’s head. Sparks showered down all around the teacher. The teacher replied, “Well, in all my years, I have never seen anything like that happen before.”
For me, the event was quite terrifying. When the light bulb exploded, the glowing aura which surrounded my teacher abruptly went dark. The bright light from the exploding light bulb seemed to illuminate that there was now a black shadow enveloped around my teacher. As the sparks rained down, it was as if the teacher’s life force was showering to the ground and was instantly extinguished. As I looked at my teacher, his body seemed to be cold and dark. There was no longer any energy radiating forth from his body. I had never seen anything like this before. I had never seen a person without an aura. The entire incident greatly frightened me. I immediately bolted out the door.
(Link to Part Two click here)
When I was in middle school, we had main core classes during the entire school year. We also had elective classes such as music, art and foreign language which changed every semester. At the beginning of second semester of my sixth grade year, one of my electives was technical education (tech ed). This class included learning how to use various power tools and saws, learning how to draft, and acquiring other exciting skills I plan to never use again. The teacher of the class was very well liked by the entire school. The man was very patient, kind, soft-spoken and had a friendly demeanor. No one ever had anything mean to say about the teacher. Both teachers and students found this wonderful man to be a very sweet friend.
The second day of class, I noticed the teacher seemed to not be feeling well. He pushed through class and kept a smile on his face. When the bell sounded, signaling the end of the period, all my classmates raced out of the door. I, of course, was always slow packing up my things. As I was hurrying to gather up all my belongings, I saw the teacher grimace and pump up and down his right arm. I then saw him take his left hand and squeeze his upper right arm as if he was trying to relieve a painful muscle cramp in his right arm. I remember thinking this was unusual. This meant something. But what did it mean? I didn’t think too long or hard about the matter for I needed to quickly flee the classroom to make it on time to my next class.
As I was scurrying toward the door, I felt the need to turn around. About ten feet behind me was the teacher. As I looked at the teacher, suddenly, a long fluorescent light bulb exploded right above the teacher’s head. Sparks showered down all around the teacher. The teacher replied, “Well, in all my years, I have never seen anything like that happen before.”
For me, the event was quite terrifying. When the light bulb exploded, the glowing aura which surrounded my teacher abruptly went dark. The bright light from the exploding light bulb seemed to illuminate that there was now a black shadow enveloped around my teacher. As the sparks rained down, it was as if the teacher’s life force was showering to the ground and was instantly extinguished. As I looked at my teacher, his body seemed to be cold and dark. There was no longer any energy radiating forth from his body. I had never seen anything like this before. I had never seen a person without an aura. The entire incident greatly frightened me. I immediately bolted out the door.
(Link to Part Two click here)
Thursday, March 15, 2018
Around and around we go...
Since Christmas, I have been having tremendous pancreatic pain. I called a medical center which specializes in gastroenterology and found a specific doctor who was skilled in treating the pancreas. I submitted my request for the appointment, filled out paperwork and had my medial records sent to the facility. I then had to wait two months for the appointment. Thankfully, my pancreas calmed down some during the two months, and I was able to maintain my weight.
Finally, my appointment came to see the physician. I was very prepared for the appointment with medical records and thoroughly knowing my medial history. Unfortunately, the clinician seemed to dismiss all previous medical reports. My chief complaint was having severe pain two hours after I eat. The pain can last anywhere from four hours to several days. The doctor was more concerned about getting a diagnosis. Despite already having a diagnosis of chronic pancreatitis, I agreed to the testing he wanted to do.
One of the main tests he used to determine if I had pancreatitis was a blood test which checked for pancreatic enzymes in my blood. I had been very sick the night before my appointment, and thus, I had not eaten for 18 hours when I had my blood drawn. With chronic pancreatitis, pancreatic enzymes peak four hours postprandial and then start to decrease. Eight hours after eating, the pancreatic enzymes are usually back to normal. So as one could probably predict, my pancreatic enzyme levels came back normal. (The highest value amylase could be, and still be considered normal, was 100. My amylase level was 100. The very highest value lipase could be was 60. My lipase level was 59.) So, the conclusion was I do not have chronic pancreatitis despite having been diagnosed by several doctors at several different medical institutions and having been hospitalized numerous times for pancreatitis.
Since my GI appointment, I have been extremely sick. The doctor palpated my pancreas at my appointment, which sent it off into a tailspin. I am almost always nauseas and have developed several severe pancreatitis attacks. On a good day, I can eat a few hundred calories worth of food. On a bad day, I cannot eat or drink anything. I contacted the doctor to ask what can be done for the pain and nausea. His response was to go to a pain specialist. I am quite frustrated. Why can he not treat my pancreatic pain and nausea? The pancreas is one of his specialties. So, here I am trying to chase down another doctor, trying to get another appointment scheduled and trying to send medical records to yet another medial facility. I feel like I am on an endless merry-go-round. Around and around I go, never finding relieve from my symptoms and constantly fighting to get through each day.
Finally, my appointment came to see the physician. I was very prepared for the appointment with medical records and thoroughly knowing my medial history. Unfortunately, the clinician seemed to dismiss all previous medical reports. My chief complaint was having severe pain two hours after I eat. The pain can last anywhere from four hours to several days. The doctor was more concerned about getting a diagnosis. Despite already having a diagnosis of chronic pancreatitis, I agreed to the testing he wanted to do.
One of the main tests he used to determine if I had pancreatitis was a blood test which checked for pancreatic enzymes in my blood. I had been very sick the night before my appointment, and thus, I had not eaten for 18 hours when I had my blood drawn. With chronic pancreatitis, pancreatic enzymes peak four hours postprandial and then start to decrease. Eight hours after eating, the pancreatic enzymes are usually back to normal. So as one could probably predict, my pancreatic enzyme levels came back normal. (The highest value amylase could be, and still be considered normal, was 100. My amylase level was 100. The very highest value lipase could be was 60. My lipase level was 59.) So, the conclusion was I do not have chronic pancreatitis despite having been diagnosed by several doctors at several different medical institutions and having been hospitalized numerous times for pancreatitis.
Since my GI appointment, I have been extremely sick. The doctor palpated my pancreas at my appointment, which sent it off into a tailspin. I am almost always nauseas and have developed several severe pancreatitis attacks. On a good day, I can eat a few hundred calories worth of food. On a bad day, I cannot eat or drink anything. I contacted the doctor to ask what can be done for the pain and nausea. His response was to go to a pain specialist. I am quite frustrated. Why can he not treat my pancreatic pain and nausea? The pancreas is one of his specialties. So, here I am trying to chase down another doctor, trying to get another appointment scheduled and trying to send medical records to yet another medial facility. I feel like I am on an endless merry-go-round. Around and around I go, never finding relieve from my symptoms and constantly fighting to get through each day.
Tuesday, March 13, 2018
God will raise up someone else
As we go through our weekly lesson, suddenly the Sunday School teacher starts talking about Billy Graham. She mentions how she came to know the LORD as her Savior when she heard one of Billy Graham's radio programs many, many years ago. She went on to say without Billy Graham, she would have never known the LORD.
Immediately, my friend, Deb, pipes up, "If God wanted you to know Him, it does not matter if Billy Graham was alive or not. If God did not use Billy Graham, He would have used someone else. Like in the Book of Esther, Mordecai tells Esther if she does not save the Jews, God will use someone else."
For many, many weeks, I have been pleading with God to stop using me. "I am tired. Just let me sleep!" But, God seems to keep growing this blog and the weekly Bible study. I feel so much pressure to continue on. As much as I would love to give up and sleep all day, this never seems to be an option. As I was reflecting back on Sunday School, I suddenly realized God does not need me. If I do not continue doing His work, He will raise someone else up to complete it. God is giving me a chance to grow in my walk with Him and to give Him glory in all that I do. I can turn away from His work at any time, but I will miss out on the possible rewards God has laid up for me. God is giving me a tremendous opportunity, despite being chronically sick, to do His work, if I choose to do so.
"For if you keep silent at this time, relief and deliverance will rise for the Jews from another place, but you and your father's house will perish. And who knows whether you have not come to the kingdom for such a time as this?" (Esther 4:14)
Immediately, my friend, Deb, pipes up, "If God wanted you to know Him, it does not matter if Billy Graham was alive or not. If God did not use Billy Graham, He would have used someone else. Like in the Book of Esther, Mordecai tells Esther if she does not save the Jews, God will use someone else."
For many, many weeks, I have been pleading with God to stop using me. "I am tired. Just let me sleep!" But, God seems to keep growing this blog and the weekly Bible study. I feel so much pressure to continue on. As much as I would love to give up and sleep all day, this never seems to be an option. As I was reflecting back on Sunday School, I suddenly realized God does not need me. If I do not continue doing His work, He will raise someone else up to complete it. God is giving me a chance to grow in my walk with Him and to give Him glory in all that I do. I can turn away from His work at any time, but I will miss out on the possible rewards God has laid up for me. God is giving me a tremendous opportunity, despite being chronically sick, to do His work, if I choose to do so.
"For if you keep silent at this time, relief and deliverance will rise for the Jews from another place, but you and your father's house will perish. And who knows whether you have not come to the kingdom for such a time as this?" (Esther 4:14)
Thursday, March 8, 2018
God works all things for good...(Part Three)
When I arrive in the ICU, another intense round of apprehension and nervousness seizes my heart. I want to run; I want to hide; I want to cry. The thought of living through one more moment in another ICU is almost more than I can bear. I wrap my arms around my knees and pray God will direct the right doctor into my life. When I arrive at my room, it is crazy chaos. There are lots of people milling around my room. I am quickly transferred into my bed. A frantic frenzy of faces zooms around me, hooking me up to monitors and setting up my ventilator.
As trepidation and dread intensify inside me, I see a sight which leaves me nearly bursting with laughter. There is an attending doctor giving commands to a bunch of eager doctors-in-training. The scene reminds me of a mother hen directing her young chickadees. The hen gives an order, and the chickadees scramble around in a topsy-turvy muddled mass, almost running into each other and tripping over each other, trying to obey the edict. I allow the laughter to wash away my fears. As I watch the young flock whirl around me, I notice the physician leading the crew is smart and a great teacher. I suddenly find myself wishing I was one of those chickadees instead of the patient stuck in bed. Oh how fun it must be to be a chickadee! Oh, what knowledge could be gleaned from such an incredible instructor!
All too soon, it is lunch time. It is as if an invisible bell sounds; the ICU and my room immediately clear out of medical personnel. Suddenly, I am all alone.
I gaze about my tiny ICU rectangle, which is just large enough for my bed and for a chair at the foot of my bed. I look out the glass sliding doors to my left which overlooks a nurses' station. The faces are all unfamiliar. The landscape is foreign. I long for something, anything which might give me comfort. I gaze out the windows to my right which gives a beautiful view of a park. The lush green grass and trees want to give me hope, but I am too upset. This park, too, is a foreign place to me. For many, many months, I have not ventured outside my local area. Now, I am in a place where the accents are unfamiliar, the climate is different and every single person is a stranger. I am overwhelmed with loneliness. I pull my knees up to my chest, put my arms down on top of my knees and bury my head in my arms. The tears which have been fighting all morning to escape my eyelids quickly come cascading down my cheeks. I again pray to God, "Please send an amazing physician my way. Please let this all be over soon."
In the morning, a nicely dressed medical professional enters my room. She begins the conversation, "Hello. I don't know if you remember me or not from yesterday, but I am Doctor..." (Instantly my brain screams, "WHAT!? She is asking if I remember her!? She is not assuming I remember her!? She is re-introducing herself to me!? This is incredible! No one ever does this! Doctors always presume you remember them. Doctors are offended if you do not remember them. Wow, this doctor is not proud or arrogant. I think I am going to like her!” Although I do not immediately recognize the physician, I quickly think back to the day before. I frantically scan through the faces in my mind. Suddenly the image of mama hen and the chickadees pops into my brain. "Ah, yes, this is the attending doctor (aka, mother hen)." I bite my lip as the memory of the chickadees hopping around the ICU threatens to cause laughter to erupt from my throat.)
As the encounter proceeds, I am overjoyed. The physician knows more about trachs than I do! Although I have had a trach for only three months, it seems my tiny knowledge about trachs has exceeded all my previous doctors' expertise about trachs. I suddenly feel a huge burden lifted off my shoulders. I am beginning to relax a bit. I am starting to trust this medical professional. I see through her words and actions that she is very kind and caring. My fright and foreboding about being in a hospital are slowly ebbing away. Things go exceptionally well for the rest of the hospitalization. I am constantly praising God for this doctor. I am continually praising God for answering all my prayers. What an incredible blessing this physician is!
When I am getting ready to be discharged, the pulmonologist gives me her card with her contact information on it. I am a bit startled by this gesture. No one EVER volunteers to be my doctor. I am always assigned clinicians, who after a visit or two tell me I am too convoluted of a medical case, and I should seek care elsewhere. No one ever WANTS to be my doctor. Does this physician know what she is getting into? Does she grasp the dizzying array of symptoms and complications associated with Mitochondrial Disease? Does she understand that I am a thorn in most doctors' sides because nothing ever goes as it should? Does she realize that since 2009, she is doctor number 387? And what has happened to the other 386 physicians? For the most part I have been abandoned by them because my case is too torturous. Well, she is an answer to many prayers. Perhaps God has equipped her to handle my medical case. Either way, I eagerly snatch up her card and carefully store it away for future reference.
As the months have rolled by, I am still again and again amazed that this physician continues to be my pulmonologist. (I often think to myself, "What I have done to deserve such an amazing doctor!") At each medical appointment, I relish in the doctor's kindness and compassion, but I also feel like I am holding my breath. The longest I have ever had a doctor has been 15 months. Most of the time when I find a physician I really like, something causes the relationship to abruptly end--the doctor moves across the country to another medical facility, the doctor stops seeing patients to teach or do medical research, or the doctor simply tells me I am too complex and am beyond his/her level of care. So, I feel as though I never know if this might be the last time I will see my pulmonologist...and that makes me very sad. But whatever the future may bring, I am filled with much gratitude to have such an incredible person on my medical team! Praise be to God!
(Epilogue: The medical events which transpired this past summer have greatly challenged me in almost every aspect of my life. I have been very angry and bitter that so many bad things have happened to me. But as I have been reflecting on many areas of my life recently, God has shown me that He uses all things for good. Without all those terrifying experiences, I would have never sought medical treatment at the large medical center 400 miles away; I would have never been lead to my current pulmonologist. As much as these incidences have deeply scarred me, God has allowed me to see His goodness, His mercies and His miracles over and over again. It seems only when we are in the darkest places can we truly see God's light.)
"For it is He who delivers you from the snare of the trapper and from the deadly pestilence. He will cover you with His pinions, and under His wings you may seek refuge; His faithfulness is a shield and a bulwark. You will not be afraid of the terror by night, or of the arrow that flies by day; of the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, or of the destruction that lays waste at noon. A thousand may fall at your side, and ten thousand at your right hand, but it shall not approach you. No evil will befall you, nor any plague come near your tent. For He will give His angels charge concerning you, to guard you in all your ways." (Psalm 91:3-7, 10-11)
(Link to Part One click here)
(Link to Part Two click here)
As trepidation and dread intensify inside me, I see a sight which leaves me nearly bursting with laughter. There is an attending doctor giving commands to a bunch of eager doctors-in-training. The scene reminds me of a mother hen directing her young chickadees. The hen gives an order, and the chickadees scramble around in a topsy-turvy muddled mass, almost running into each other and tripping over each other, trying to obey the edict. I allow the laughter to wash away my fears. As I watch the young flock whirl around me, I notice the physician leading the crew is smart and a great teacher. I suddenly find myself wishing I was one of those chickadees instead of the patient stuck in bed. Oh how fun it must be to be a chickadee! Oh, what knowledge could be gleaned from such an incredible instructor!
All too soon, it is lunch time. It is as if an invisible bell sounds; the ICU and my room immediately clear out of medical personnel. Suddenly, I am all alone.
I gaze about my tiny ICU rectangle, which is just large enough for my bed and for a chair at the foot of my bed. I look out the glass sliding doors to my left which overlooks a nurses' station. The faces are all unfamiliar. The landscape is foreign. I long for something, anything which might give me comfort. I gaze out the windows to my right which gives a beautiful view of a park. The lush green grass and trees want to give me hope, but I am too upset. This park, too, is a foreign place to me. For many, many months, I have not ventured outside my local area. Now, I am in a place where the accents are unfamiliar, the climate is different and every single person is a stranger. I am overwhelmed with loneliness. I pull my knees up to my chest, put my arms down on top of my knees and bury my head in my arms. The tears which have been fighting all morning to escape my eyelids quickly come cascading down my cheeks. I again pray to God, "Please send an amazing physician my way. Please let this all be over soon."
In the morning, a nicely dressed medical professional enters my room. She begins the conversation, "Hello. I don't know if you remember me or not from yesterday, but I am Doctor..." (Instantly my brain screams, "WHAT!? She is asking if I remember her!? She is not assuming I remember her!? She is re-introducing herself to me!? This is incredible! No one ever does this! Doctors always presume you remember them. Doctors are offended if you do not remember them. Wow, this doctor is not proud or arrogant. I think I am going to like her!” Although I do not immediately recognize the physician, I quickly think back to the day before. I frantically scan through the faces in my mind. Suddenly the image of mama hen and the chickadees pops into my brain. "Ah, yes, this is the attending doctor (aka, mother hen)." I bite my lip as the memory of the chickadees hopping around the ICU threatens to cause laughter to erupt from my throat.)
As the encounter proceeds, I am overjoyed. The physician knows more about trachs than I do! Although I have had a trach for only three months, it seems my tiny knowledge about trachs has exceeded all my previous doctors' expertise about trachs. I suddenly feel a huge burden lifted off my shoulders. I am beginning to relax a bit. I am starting to trust this medical professional. I see through her words and actions that she is very kind and caring. My fright and foreboding about being in a hospital are slowly ebbing away. Things go exceptionally well for the rest of the hospitalization. I am constantly praising God for this doctor. I am continually praising God for answering all my prayers. What an incredible blessing this physician is!
When I am getting ready to be discharged, the pulmonologist gives me her card with her contact information on it. I am a bit startled by this gesture. No one EVER volunteers to be my doctor. I am always assigned clinicians, who after a visit or two tell me I am too convoluted of a medical case, and I should seek care elsewhere. No one ever WANTS to be my doctor. Does this physician know what she is getting into? Does she grasp the dizzying array of symptoms and complications associated with Mitochondrial Disease? Does she understand that I am a thorn in most doctors' sides because nothing ever goes as it should? Does she realize that since 2009, she is doctor number 387? And what has happened to the other 386 physicians? For the most part I have been abandoned by them because my case is too torturous. Well, she is an answer to many prayers. Perhaps God has equipped her to handle my medical case. Either way, I eagerly snatch up her card and carefully store it away for future reference.
As the months have rolled by, I am still again and again amazed that this physician continues to be my pulmonologist. (I often think to myself, "What I have done to deserve such an amazing doctor!") At each medical appointment, I relish in the doctor's kindness and compassion, but I also feel like I am holding my breath. The longest I have ever had a doctor has been 15 months. Most of the time when I find a physician I really like, something causes the relationship to abruptly end--the doctor moves across the country to another medical facility, the doctor stops seeing patients to teach or do medical research, or the doctor simply tells me I am too complex and am beyond his/her level of care. So, I feel as though I never know if this might be the last time I will see my pulmonologist...and that makes me very sad. But whatever the future may bring, I am filled with much gratitude to have such an incredible person on my medical team! Praise be to God!
(Epilogue: The medical events which transpired this past summer have greatly challenged me in almost every aspect of my life. I have been very angry and bitter that so many bad things have happened to me. But as I have been reflecting on many areas of my life recently, God has shown me that He uses all things for good. Without all those terrifying experiences, I would have never sought medical treatment at the large medical center 400 miles away; I would have never been lead to my current pulmonologist. As much as these incidences have deeply scarred me, God has allowed me to see His goodness, His mercies and His miracles over and over again. It seems only when we are in the darkest places can we truly see God's light.)
"For it is He who delivers you from the snare of the trapper and from the deadly pestilence. He will cover you with His pinions, and under His wings you may seek refuge; His faithfulness is a shield and a bulwark. You will not be afraid of the terror by night, or of the arrow that flies by day; of the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, or of the destruction that lays waste at noon. A thousand may fall at your side, and ten thousand at your right hand, but it shall not approach you. No evil will befall you, nor any plague come near your tent. For He will give His angels charge concerning you, to guard you in all your ways." (Psalm 91:3-7, 10-11)
(Link to Part One click here)
(Link to Part Two click here)
Tuesday, March 6, 2018
God works all things for good...(Part Two)
An hour later, enough of the drugs wears off, and I regain consciousness. I slowly articulate words to my mom. I tell her, "I think the doctor is trying to kill me. I think her 'treatment' plan is to put me in a drug-induced coma and then disconnect me from my vent." Instantly, my mom is enraged and in a panic. She consults the medical staff. Yes, everything I had heard was correct. It is time to just give up and let me go. My mom demands I be discharged immediately. The doctor tells my mom she cannot discharge me because I am highly sedated. As much as both my mom and I plea throughout the day, I am not allowed to be released from the hospital.
As the day progresses and the effectiveness of the drugs disminishes, alarm and panic take hold of my soul. I need to flee. I need to escape. “Oh, LORD! What should I do? Where should I go?"
A very short time later, my respiratory therapist from my DME company arrives in my hospital room. I briefly explain the situation to her and ask for her help. "Have you ever tried going to the medical center?" she asks. Me: "No. What medical center?" Respiratory therapist: "There is a large medical center 400 miles from here. They have some of the best medicine in the country. If they cannot help you, I am not sure anyone else can." I thank the respiratory therapist for the information. When she leaves, I frantically start scouring the internet for pulmonologists at the medical center.
As I am searching to find a doctor, I discover a website which allows me to make an appointment online. I seek out a doctor who can see me the fastest. Today is Saturday. The soonest I can be seen is on Tuesday. I make the appointment. I then start praying to God, "LORD, I need to be discharged. I need to get out of here to get to a doctor's appointment on Tuesday. Make this all work. Lead me to where I need to be. Find me a doctor who will help me."
On Sunday morning an incredible miracle happens. As obstinate and mean as my doctor was the previous day, she is a bright ray of sunshine today. She said there is nothing more she can do. She is going to discharge me. I am in utter disbelief at the words flowing from the doctor's mouth. I know it is nothing short of God directing these events to get me to where I need to be. I am released from the hospital in the afternoon. When I arrive home, I sleep for the rest of the day and all of Monday. Early Tuesday morning, we leave on our 400 mile journey to the medical center.
When I arrive at my doctor's appointment, the pulmonologist is startled that I am breathing so quickly. He clicks through the settings on my ventilator. He has no idea what is wrong with me. He then tells me I should go to the emergency department at the main hospital campus. (Unknown to us, we are not at the main medical center. We are at one of the satellite hospitals.) Unfamiliar with the city, we ask for directions. With an address in hand, we start on another journey. It is rush hour, and traffic is crawling. It takes us an hour and a half to get to the area of the city where the main medical center is located. We are all fatigued. I do not have the energy to endure any more medical encounters. I convince my parents we should rest and to go to the emergency room in the morning. We find a hotel and crash for the night.
In the morning, we begin another ambitious adventure—trying to find the hospital emergency department. When we see the medical center, we are left breathless at the size of the complex! High rise building after high rise building line street after street of the medical metropolis. We travel the perimeter of the campus, desperately searching for the emergency department. Suddenly I feel the need to turn right. I quickly tell my dad to make the turn. About a block down on the right-hand side is the entrance to the emergency department. I praise God for the insight to turn down that street because otherwise we would have been hopelessly lost.
When I enter the building, I am shocked to see the emergency department waiting room is empty! "Oh, LORD, this must be a sign that we are in the right place! Emergency department waiting rooms are never empty!" After I check in at the desk, I am immediately taken back to triage. As I am about to enter the emergency department, fear and anxiety grip my soul. I want to flee. I want to run. I do not want to cross the threshold of those double doors. I do not want to suffer through any more medicine. I tightly grip my ventilator on my lap. I fight back the tears welling up in my eyes. I bow my head and pray God will lead an amazing doctor into my life.
My emergency department (ED) experience is incredible! I have never been in an ED which is so well organized. As soon as I am wheeled into a room, the nurses, doctors and respiratory therapist are at my side. Tests are ordered, and everything moves swiftly. Within 45 minutes, my entire ED escapade is complete! I am being admitted to the hospital. As soon as a bed is available, I am to be rolled up to the medical ICU.
(Link to Part Three click here)
As the day progresses and the effectiveness of the drugs disminishes, alarm and panic take hold of my soul. I need to flee. I need to escape. “Oh, LORD! What should I do? Where should I go?"
A very short time later, my respiratory therapist from my DME company arrives in my hospital room. I briefly explain the situation to her and ask for her help. "Have you ever tried going to the medical center?" she asks. Me: "No. What medical center?" Respiratory therapist: "There is a large medical center 400 miles from here. They have some of the best medicine in the country. If they cannot help you, I am not sure anyone else can." I thank the respiratory therapist for the information. When she leaves, I frantically start scouring the internet for pulmonologists at the medical center.
As I am searching to find a doctor, I discover a website which allows me to make an appointment online. I seek out a doctor who can see me the fastest. Today is Saturday. The soonest I can be seen is on Tuesday. I make the appointment. I then start praying to God, "LORD, I need to be discharged. I need to get out of here to get to a doctor's appointment on Tuesday. Make this all work. Lead me to where I need to be. Find me a doctor who will help me."
On Sunday morning an incredible miracle happens. As obstinate and mean as my doctor was the previous day, she is a bright ray of sunshine today. She said there is nothing more she can do. She is going to discharge me. I am in utter disbelief at the words flowing from the doctor's mouth. I know it is nothing short of God directing these events to get me to where I need to be. I am released from the hospital in the afternoon. When I arrive home, I sleep for the rest of the day and all of Monday. Early Tuesday morning, we leave on our 400 mile journey to the medical center.
When I arrive at my doctor's appointment, the pulmonologist is startled that I am breathing so quickly. He clicks through the settings on my ventilator. He has no idea what is wrong with me. He then tells me I should go to the emergency department at the main hospital campus. (Unknown to us, we are not at the main medical center. We are at one of the satellite hospitals.) Unfamiliar with the city, we ask for directions. With an address in hand, we start on another journey. It is rush hour, and traffic is crawling. It takes us an hour and a half to get to the area of the city where the main medical center is located. We are all fatigued. I do not have the energy to endure any more medical encounters. I convince my parents we should rest and to go to the emergency room in the morning. We find a hotel and crash for the night.
In the morning, we begin another ambitious adventure—trying to find the hospital emergency department. When we see the medical center, we are left breathless at the size of the complex! High rise building after high rise building line street after street of the medical metropolis. We travel the perimeter of the campus, desperately searching for the emergency department. Suddenly I feel the need to turn right. I quickly tell my dad to make the turn. About a block down on the right-hand side is the entrance to the emergency department. I praise God for the insight to turn down that street because otherwise we would have been hopelessly lost.
When I enter the building, I am shocked to see the emergency department waiting room is empty! "Oh, LORD, this must be a sign that we are in the right place! Emergency department waiting rooms are never empty!" After I check in at the desk, I am immediately taken back to triage. As I am about to enter the emergency department, fear and anxiety grip my soul. I want to flee. I want to run. I do not want to cross the threshold of those double doors. I do not want to suffer through any more medicine. I tightly grip my ventilator on my lap. I fight back the tears welling up in my eyes. I bow my head and pray God will lead an amazing doctor into my life.
My emergency department (ED) experience is incredible! I have never been in an ED which is so well organized. As soon as I am wheeled into a room, the nurses, doctors and respiratory therapist are at my side. Tests are ordered, and everything moves swiftly. Within 45 minutes, my entire ED escapade is complete! I am being admitted to the hospital. As soon as a bed is available, I am to be rolled up to the medical ICU.
(Link to Part Three click here)
Thursday, March 1, 2018
God works all things for good...(Part One)
It is late July 2017. As I sit in the hospital bed, I try to still my mind and make sense of everything which has just happened. I want to believe, I want to imagine that this has all been a bad dream. These things don't happen. These things didn't just happen to me...did they?
The previous day, my breathing is fast and ragged. My doctor is convinced the only way to slow down my breathing is to give me morphine. However, I am terribly allergic to morphine and can go into anaphylatic shock. The doctor dismisses my concerns about morphine and tells me I am just being paranoid. I have been hospitalized in the ICU for many days. My body is overwhelmed with intense fatigue. Around midnight, I fall asleep.
During the early morning hours, my nurse pushes morphine through my IV. Almost immediately, I am jolted into a terrifying tailspin. My heart races, I develop extreme shortness of breath, my throat clamps down hard around my trach tube, and it feels as though my trachea is determined to cut off my air supply. (For once in my life, I am praising God for having a trach tube. I am pretty sure if I did not have this piece of plastic in my throat I would have died when my trachea swelled up.) My body breaks out in hives, my tongue suddenly swells in size, and fear and anxiety overload my senses. It feels as though the end of my life is a few short seconds away.
Oddly, the medical staff responds slowly to my reaction. My nurse informs my doctor about my intense symptoms. The doctor orders a mega dose of Ativan because this is only an anxiety attack. The nurse returns to my room and pushes a syringe full of Ativan into my IV. Very quickly, my heart begins to beat slower and slower; my breathing slows down to such a point that it feels as though I am struggling, gasping to breathe. Even though I am on a ventilator, it feels as though my body is straining with all its might to take a breath. As the medicine starts to exert its full strength, I feel my mind being pulled into slumberland. I fight hard to stay conscious. I know I cannot go to sleep. I know I must remain vigilant to ensure nothing else bad happens.
As if in a dream, I hear my doctor talking right outside my door. The words "drug-induced coma" and "disconnect her from her vent" drift through my partially open door. I tell myself I must be mishearing the doctor. These words cannot be true. A short time later, my nurse is in my room with an IV bag full of some medicine. I am too drugged from the Ativan to speak or move. The nurse hooks up the new IV and starts infusing it into my IV line. The nurse then leaves my room. Almost instantly, I feel the effect of the drug—I feel my mind and body being forcefully pulled into the black darkness.
In a panic, I cry out to God, "LORD! HELP! This doctor is trying to kill me! She is trying to drug me and then disconnect me from my ventilator. PLEASE HELP ME!!!" A very gentle voice replies, "Stop your IV." Using all my strength, I turn my head to look at the IV pump. I see the power button. "Yes," I think, "I will turn off the power." Employing every ounce of energy available, I fight hard through the tremendous heaviness which plagues my mind and body to sit up in bed. My hands then clumsily try to find the power button on the IV pump. A stern voice replies, "NO! Do not turn off the power. They will notice your IV is turned off. Pause the machine." As I look at the machine, I reply, "But how!?" Very slowly, I receive instructions on how to go through the machine settings to put the IV on pause. The lights on the machine stay illuminated; the machine looks as if it is still pumping the IV drug into my system, but no medicine is actually being delivered into my IV. Engulfed with extreme exhaustion, I allow my body to collapse back on to the bed. The gentle voice then says, "Clamp your IV line just in case they try to start the IV pump again." Obediently, I use the last of my energy to click the plastic clamp closed across my IV line. I then offer up a silent praise to God for His assistance.
(Side note: For over 12 hours, no one notices my IV is paused. When the night crew discovers my IV is on pause, they decide there must have been orders for the IV to have been turned off during the day. They turn off the IV pump and disconnect my IV line from the machine. Another Divine miracle!)
No sooner than having completed all these tasks, my mom walks into my hospital room. Relief radiates through my body. I am safe. My mom will now protect me from any harm. I cannot speak; I cannot move. My mom is immediately concerned about my current state of health. I cannot respond to her worries. She sits down and patiently waits. I lose consciousness.
(Link to Part Two click here)
The previous day, my breathing is fast and ragged. My doctor is convinced the only way to slow down my breathing is to give me morphine. However, I am terribly allergic to morphine and can go into anaphylatic shock. The doctor dismisses my concerns about morphine and tells me I am just being paranoid. I have been hospitalized in the ICU for many days. My body is overwhelmed with intense fatigue. Around midnight, I fall asleep.
During the early morning hours, my nurse pushes morphine through my IV. Almost immediately, I am jolted into a terrifying tailspin. My heart races, I develop extreme shortness of breath, my throat clamps down hard around my trach tube, and it feels as though my trachea is determined to cut off my air supply. (For once in my life, I am praising God for having a trach tube. I am pretty sure if I did not have this piece of plastic in my throat I would have died when my trachea swelled up.) My body breaks out in hives, my tongue suddenly swells in size, and fear and anxiety overload my senses. It feels as though the end of my life is a few short seconds away.
Oddly, the medical staff responds slowly to my reaction. My nurse informs my doctor about my intense symptoms. The doctor orders a mega dose of Ativan because this is only an anxiety attack. The nurse returns to my room and pushes a syringe full of Ativan into my IV. Very quickly, my heart begins to beat slower and slower; my breathing slows down to such a point that it feels as though I am struggling, gasping to breathe. Even though I am on a ventilator, it feels as though my body is straining with all its might to take a breath. As the medicine starts to exert its full strength, I feel my mind being pulled into slumberland. I fight hard to stay conscious. I know I cannot go to sleep. I know I must remain vigilant to ensure nothing else bad happens.
As if in a dream, I hear my doctor talking right outside my door. The words "drug-induced coma" and "disconnect her from her vent" drift through my partially open door. I tell myself I must be mishearing the doctor. These words cannot be true. A short time later, my nurse is in my room with an IV bag full of some medicine. I am too drugged from the Ativan to speak or move. The nurse hooks up the new IV and starts infusing it into my IV line. The nurse then leaves my room. Almost instantly, I feel the effect of the drug—I feel my mind and body being forcefully pulled into the black darkness.
In a panic, I cry out to God, "LORD! HELP! This doctor is trying to kill me! She is trying to drug me and then disconnect me from my ventilator. PLEASE HELP ME!!!" A very gentle voice replies, "Stop your IV." Using all my strength, I turn my head to look at the IV pump. I see the power button. "Yes," I think, "I will turn off the power." Employing every ounce of energy available, I fight hard through the tremendous heaviness which plagues my mind and body to sit up in bed. My hands then clumsily try to find the power button on the IV pump. A stern voice replies, "NO! Do not turn off the power. They will notice your IV is turned off. Pause the machine." As I look at the machine, I reply, "But how!?" Very slowly, I receive instructions on how to go through the machine settings to put the IV on pause. The lights on the machine stay illuminated; the machine looks as if it is still pumping the IV drug into my system, but no medicine is actually being delivered into my IV. Engulfed with extreme exhaustion, I allow my body to collapse back on to the bed. The gentle voice then says, "Clamp your IV line just in case they try to start the IV pump again." Obediently, I use the last of my energy to click the plastic clamp closed across my IV line. I then offer up a silent praise to God for His assistance.
(Side note: For over 12 hours, no one notices my IV is paused. When the night crew discovers my IV is on pause, they decide there must have been orders for the IV to have been turned off during the day. They turn off the IV pump and disconnect my IV line from the machine. Another Divine miracle!)
No sooner than having completed all these tasks, my mom walks into my hospital room. Relief radiates through my body. I am safe. My mom will now protect me from any harm. I cannot speak; I cannot move. My mom is immediately concerned about my current state of health. I cannot respond to her worries. She sits down and patiently waits. I lose consciousness.
(Link to Part Two click here)
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