Thursday, August 14, 2008.
I left off in the last entry, speaking of medical miracles. There is one very specific and most memorable miraculous healing that took place; I believe it was May 3 of 1998. But before I get to that, I need to recall the day's history. The night before last, CC and I talked long and hard regarding going out down to Concord today, to the water park there and spending the night at a hotel in Concord, and then dropping off our kids with my niece and her husband so that the four of them could spend time on Saturday and Sunday. And then the plan was, after dropping them off on Friday, that we would drive back up here to the house and then sometime on Sunday, Angel, my niece, would bring the kids back to us or we would meet her somewhere midway between her house and ours.
Nothing is ever as simple as it could be, at least not for me anyway. After much discussion and consideration of the travel time in the Van, the expected high temperatures during the day and afternoon, the possible minimal shade opportunities at the water park, the stupid admission fee of $30 just for me to get in, unknown water temperatures contrasting with the exterior heat, and considering the distinct possibility of me having an attack while at the park, made looking at going on this trip, much more a difficult choice than an easy one. The bottom line is that I did not go, however CC and the kids did go.
On this trip, it was not the smart thing for me to go. To say that I miss them is the epitome of understatement. Was I lonely today, once everybody left? Very much so. Why wouldn't I be? It seemed logical to have those feelings so I had them; chose not to focus on them and put a DVD movie in and focused on that instead.
To make sure that I would be covered while CC was gone, I called my parents and asked if they would be able to come up for Thursday afternoon and evening and Friday, while CC was away. My parents arrived today around four o'clock, and spent a very low-key and relax afternoon and evening; just hanging out. I took a two hour nap shortly after they arrived, and then, after talking a bit more and then taking Annie for a walk around the block using the chair, I felt it was time to get ready to go to bed being that it was about nine o'clock.
What is interesting to note about today is that, similar to a certain point yesterday, I became extremely fatigued in just a matter of 30 seconds or so and had a very difficult time keeping my eyes open. It was as if I just had to pass out and go to sleep. That happened yesterday, and it's happened today as well. Prior to yesterday, it has happened on numerous days, normally only one time in a day; occasionally two times in a day, if the day involved longer hours and more activity. I'm sure that there is something to be noted within all of this at the moment. I'm not certain what parallels I could draw from a medically.
The Miracle of the Missing Person
As noted in a previous entry, in October of 1995, I broke my lower back at the L5/S1 location. I went through two surgeries; one surgery, where they fused the L5 and S1 bones together and placed in two metallic plates with bolts to hold it all together and then a second surgery a year later to remove the bolts and the plates and to test the strength of the fusion site. Now, what I had not mentioned in the other entries regarding this occurrence is that about three weeks after the bone actually broke, I began having severe painful shocks down my right leg, in my waist, in my lower back, in my hips, and I would have muscle jumps, where my whole body would jump almost violently, so much so that if I was holding something when one of those jumps would strike me I would throw whatever was in my hands. I didn't mean to throw it, I didn't try to throw it, my hand simply could not hold onto to it and my arms would shoot out in a burst of energy and then drop. CC's and my daughter, Missy, was about two years old at that time, and one of the most incredible things for me in my life at that time was to hold my daughter, but it was immediately clear to us that I could no longer hold her as long as whatever was happening to me was continuing to happen, because I couldn't bear the thought of something happening to her, should I have one of those attacks while I was holding her.
So I'll move fast forward to now passed all of the non-invasive methods of treatments I tried prior to surgery, of which none worked, so eventually I made an appointment with my orthopedic surgeon and I told him "Let's get this surgery done as soon as absolutely possible. This ongoing pain, and these muscle contractions are destroying me and they're destroying my life." The doctor made it very clear to me that the surgery would very likely fix the problems with my bones and the weakness in my back and, by clinical standards and perceptions, my surgeries will be deemed successful. However, he also made it very clear that it was only a 50%-50% chance that the surgery would, in some way, mitigate or stop the severe and debilitating muscle and nerve pain that I had begun to experience short weeks following the actual break. We'll jump ahead now to the end of the second of the two surgeries where both surgeries were deemed miraculous and in credible. And I was told that I have one of the strongest fused sections of vertebrae that he had ever performed. This of course made me feel very, very good about the hard work and the hardware that had been done on the bones. Turns out, that much nerve damage had been done at the moment of the bone break in the L5 vertebrae and in the following months before going into surgery with those loose pieces of bone touching different nerve centers and nerve clusters, possibly even the spinal cord itself on occasion. We had all been hoping and praying that the fixing of the bone in the fusion of the vertebrae would somehow miraculously heal the muscles and nerves in and around that whole area. I was never short on prayers; several churches, several prayer groups, many family, tons of friends were all praying for my healing and restoration and rapid relief of the vicious chronic pain that ultimately would only leave me with the use of heavy, strong narcotics.
A little extra backtrack; after the first surgery. We moved our family from living over in
Fast forward again. Shortly after beginning recovery, I began not sleeping. Simply due to the level of pain that I was experiencing. I could not go to sleep whenever you else went to go to sleep. I would lay awake waiting for some kind of relief so that my brain could take a break and shut off. Shortly after my first surgery in 1996, I was given a medicine that was to help me be able to go to sleep and numb me up enough so that I was not in constant pain. This medicine was Carisoprodol also known as SOMA. I took this medicine for nearly 2 years straight, during which time it served its purpose, very effectively. However, it is a highly addictive drug. Not many hospitals prescribe the use of that particular medicine due to the reality that once Soma goes into the brain and is broken down into its purely chemical form, it is literally the exact same metabolic compound as heroin. My original prescription was one to two 350 mg pills as needed, every four to six hours. After using the medicine for over 2 years, I took myself off the medicine on my own; I stopped cold turkey at the level of taking 12 to 14 pills at a time. The pain that I had been experiencing never went away and just as soon as the medicine would begin to wear off, the pain would ebb and flow right back in to my brain, so I would take more medicine, and on and on it went. I guess the reason that I'm sharing this with you is so that you can understand the magnitude of the miracle that was to come. Not only was I in incredible physical pain, but I was in incredible emotional pain as well. Watching my personality and happiness, slowly drift out of reach, all because I was in a pain that I couldn't escape and the only thing I knew to do was take more medicine. That's not to say that I wasn't trying to use physical therapy and exercising to make myself well, I was doing that as often as I was able, but when people are going through something like this, they tend to feel very much alone, and then if they take heavy narcotics then they spend much more time with themselves and their dreams and their imaginations more than they spend with real people, real friends in real family.
When 1998 had come around, I had become a pretty angry man. I felt God had forgotten me, and at the same time I felt that God owed me nothing, considering all the things that he had done for me in the past that I was not in a position to ask for anything else, because he done so much for me already. I took myself off the painkiller Soma and just began to accept the level of pain as a daily thing. And I took lesser painkillers that were less addictive, and they were less effective as well. During this time, a sore had begun on my left foot; it was a small sore in between my toes. I couldn't see it, let alone I couldn't reach it and I had noticed that my toes had begun to turn a reddish color. So I was figuring that I'm waiting for the infection to come to a head and then I'll deal with that and then the infection will be gone. I was wrong. Over a couple of nights the pain in my left leg had surpassed my threshold, and it had my complete attention. It had not hurt so much prior to this point because both of my legs during that time frame were 50% numb into my feet as well; as if the skin belonged to somebody else; the nerves were completely dead in certain areas and unfortunately, the infection site was one of those areas and the affected toes were also in that same area. My foot, ankle and lower leg (from my knee down) had all turned a brown/reddish color and had swollen as if filled with water. It just looked wrong, almost over night.
I was taken in to see my doctor and he walked in, looked at the foot, pulled the toes apart, looked to the foot again said "Just a minute..." and walked out of the room. Three minutes later walked back in the room with another doctor and this doctor did the same thing; looked at my foot, pulled the toes apart, looked at my foot then looked up at me and said "Can someone drive you over to the hospital or shall we call an ambulance for you?" I was stunned. I asked what the big deal is and can't we lance it and just give me some antibiotic cream to go home with? They both chuckled a nervous serious chuckle and said "No. That's not an option. You have an infection called cellulitis in your left foot, possibly left leg, and we need to get you into the hospital to get IV antibiotics into your body as soon as absolutely possible in order to save your foot and possibly your leg...so, do you have a car or not?" CC drove me over to the hospital, where they whisked me away into a room and hooked me up to multiple IV sites and started pumping antibiotics, fluids, and painkillers in to me. I believe I was in the hospital for 10 days, and both doctors were speechless that I suffered no tissue or bone damage from this infection that, thanks to the nerve damage, I could not feel. I was told that the infection grows quickly and does damage as quickly as it grows; my infection went uncontested for weeks, which should have prevented me from walking and numerous other activities, simply due to the level of pain that I should have been in. The doctors fully expected me to lose my left foot above the ankle and quite possibly below the knee. They had come in and talked with me about that, to help me understand it and to begin accepting and embracing this incredible change that was about to happen to my body because of a terrible infection.
Quite simply put; I guess God didn't want me to lose my left foot. There are no other reasons.
So, hopefully now you have kind of a larger picture of just how screwed up I was between 96 and 97 and into 98, and how angry I was, how careless I was, how apathetic I was, and yet...How desperate I was. By 1998 on a good day, I could walk with only a cane. On a mediocre day or a bad day, if I could walk at all, I had to walk with a cane and crutch, all the while fueling my anger. Oh yes, one of the last filters for you to look through while reading this story; from the middle of March in 1996 to the middle of 1998, my wife and I were unable to even sleep in the same bed.
The morning of May 3, 1998, I woke up in the same mood as I had gone to bed in and saw myself in the bedroom mirror and decided it was time to change the facial hair from one style to another style. I just needed a change of some kind. Something to represent some kind of new day that I was hoping I might be able to grasp onto. On this occasion, I decided to bring in a portable boombox into the bathroom so that I could play some music while I was in the bathroom getting cleaned up and seeing if I could fine-tune my pity party into a most effective state. I paid no attention to the disk in the CD player. I merely pushed play, turned on the hot water, grabbed the washcloths, got my razor out and began staring at myself in the mirror while preparing my scalp to be shaved with the razor and hot water.
Within mere seconds, I was in a trance; staring into my own eyes, locked in a daze that I could not break out of listening to a musical bed that was irresistible to hear, and then listening to words that slowly pulled away the scabs covering my hurts, covering my pains, covering my anger, covering the places that had become familiar, dependable hurts.
Another question in me
One for the powers that be
Its got me thrown and so
I put on my poker face
And try to figure it out
This undeniable doubt
A common occurrence
Feeling so out of place
Guarded and cynical now
Cant help but wondering how
My heart evolved into a
Rock beating inside of me
So I reel, such a stoic ordeal
Wheres that feeling that I dont feel?
Chorus:
There was a boy who had the faith to move a mountain
And like a child he would believe without a reason
Without a trace he disappeared into the void and
Ive been searching for that missing person
Under a lavender moon
So many thoughts consume me
Who dimmed that glowing light
That once burned so bright in me
Is this a radical phase
A problematical age
That keeps me running
From all that I used to be
Is there a way to return
Is there a way to unlearn
That carnal knowledge
Thats chipping away at my soul
Ive been gone too long
Will I ever find my way home?
Chorus:
There was a boy who had the faith to move a mountain
And like a child he would believe without a reason
Without a trace he disappeared into the void and
Ive been searching for that missing person
He used to want to try to walk the straight and narrow
He had a fire and he could feel it in the marrow
Its been a long time and I haven’t seen him lately but
Ive been searching for that missing person
When the song came to an end, my eyes were streaming tears and I knew, right then and there, I KNEW that God was speaking to me. He chose a method (music) an artist (Michael W. Smith) and a mirror for no distractions to share with me that He does love me and that He never left the path we were walking on together,,,I did. He didn't choose the many things that befell me leading up to my back issues and such...I chose them, each one of them, one at a time.
Hearing that song and seeing myself, I knew I was the boy in the song and that song would change my life forever. As I consciously asked forgiveness for my stone casings around my heart and spirit, I felt the undeniable touch of something upon the very top of my head; as if you walk through a doorway and part of a low hanging spider web brushes the very top of your head, I felt that physical touch. It was simultaneously followed by hot electricity which coursed through every part of my body; fingertips to littlest toes. As I blinked my eyes in response to the shock, my eyes opened and the room appeared brighter and more clear/colorful than just seconds before. As if I had taken off smudged contact lenses for the first time, only I don't wear them and didn't wear them then either. Then came more uncontrollable tears, rinsing me out.
I was in a state of shock. Now, I knew what joy felt like; I remembered it vividly. I was in it.
I played the song again and just listened some more and just cried some more while I washed out my insides from the crap and the pain I had been struggling to carry along with me everywhere I went. I realized that I couldn't think of anything to be angry about in that moment. I had truly been healed by an actual PHYSICAL touch of the Holy Spirit upon my shaved head and had been purged and purified through an electrical fire that ran rampantly, terrifically through my broken emotional catacombs and He burned away all the luggage that was no longer mine to keep and drag; He simply did away with it since He knew I'd not the strength to even open their rusty and broken latches.
In those moments of lucid clarity, I promised Him (Jesus, God, Holy Spirit, the Biggest of the Big Dogs) that I would tell this story in short or long fashion to anyone who would ask of me how my back is doing or "what happened with your back?". I would tell of His wonders that morning when I walked into a bathroom with a cane and a crutch and then walked out some time later, walking with no cane, no limp, no crutch, no pain. I did not use a cane again until November of 2006 when it became clear that my disease, HKPP, has brought about permanent muscle damage and weakness in my right leg and right side.
Of everything that I have written up though now in this blog, this entry is unquestionably the most important entry I've written.
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