This is prompted by several things-- Brother Ed--the challenge to send you our 'story', and the devotion a few days ago which said that you would imagine that someone healed of cancer would never take their health for granted, and Cindy--the Old Testament admonition of God to the Israelites to remember what God had done for them and where he had brought them from, and the study of Jehovah-Rapha. Cindy got the 'condensed' version last night, but there is so much more!
I have tried but I cannot get my story to be less than 100 words! My story is not so much salvation as it is healing. I was raised in a Christian home and accepted Christ at the age of 7. My grandfather was a 'lay' pastor and I had the privilege of hearing him preach at revivals--he loved the Old Testament--Daniel, Jeremiah, Isaiah, and so on. The back of his Bible listed the date each time he read the Bible through. My grandmother seemed to be always busy in the church nursery. My mother was the church pianist, my dad taught high school boys Sunday School and helped with whatever needed to be done, and I started playing the organ at church from age 14 until I graduated high school in 1978. I got married the same year, and had my first son in 1979.
During college I have to admit I seldom went to church during school and in the summer of 1982 I was busy in the last weeks of my Medical Technology residency. At the age of 22 I was divorced with a 3 year old son. I had started having pains in my stomach that I attributed to nerves about all the upcoming tests I would have to take. It became so unbearable one Sunday night that I really thought I was going to die. After a few hours, I was able to get out of bed and get to the phone to call my other grandfather to take me to the hospital, and my grandmother to come over to watch my son. The doctor ran a few tests and thought I was just having 'cramps' or maybe had an abscessed ovary, and sent me home and told me to go to my gynecologist in a few days. I went to the doctor on Wednesday, and I had a fever of 105.6, and a WBC count of 38,000 (should be less than 10,000; another indication of infection) and was immediately admitted to the hospital and started on antibiotics. By Friday night, my intestines had stopped functioning, and the ultrasound had showed 'something' on my right ovary. The doctors decided to do exploratory surgery the next morning. They thought that they may be removing one ovary and tube, but if the infection was very severe, I would be having a total hysterectomy. My family was at the hospital (including Eddie, whom I was dating at the time), waiting for me to go back to my room, when they were notified that I would be admitted to Surgical ICU instead. It was discovered that my appendix had ruptured the previous Sunday night when I was in so much pain. Only the doctors used the term 'exploded' and part of my intestine had 'draped' over my ovary which is what had showed on the ultrasound. During surgery I went into acute renal failure due in part to toxic levels of Gentamicin that I had been given, and the peritonitis. The doctors told my parents that they couldn't give them a prognosis; not many people had survived what I had gone through.
To say I was in a lot of pain would be a gross understatement--I had tubes everywhere; drain tubes, an NG tube in my nose (that would stay for 3 weeks--I weighed 113 pounds when I was discharged!) and a Udahl catheter that the cardiac surgeon implanted in my heart through my jugular vein to receive hemodialysis. Although I was hurting, I was not afraid. I felt God telling me that I would be okay, and I was able to rest and be ministered to, and wait to get well. Many people prayed for and over me. God's presence was felt in so many ways. After all this time I remember so many kindnesses. There was a nurse who would try to pop in for visits during the nights when I couldn't sleep. There was an aide who was so gentle in helping to bathe me. There was a dialysis tech who let me squeeze her hand while they had to change out the heart catheter. Another aide admonished a radiology tech who was being pretty rough in positioning me for an X-ray that would show the position of the catheter in my heart. Another dialysis tech got my nephrologist to agree to let them wash my hair (pretty gross after 3 weeks!) You can't have any pride left after not being able to do anything for yourself! I remember quiet prayers of people who didn't think I heard, and of loud, showy, trying-to-impress-other-people type prayers. Satan did try to attack, as he always does. I really became discouraged when a dialysis nurse and social worker came in to talk about long-term dialysis and renal transplants. After a month in the hospital, although I wasn't 'well', the doctors decided to release me. I would continue to have dialysis three times a week as an outpatient. The dialysis center was really a depressing place to me, with all these people and their shunts, grafts & fistulas, and many of the patients seemed hopeless. After my 3rd outpatient dialysis on a Friday, the nephrologist came in and looked somewhat confused. He said that my BUN and creatinine (tests indicating kidney function) had gone down by half! He said for me to go to the lab on Monday (which was where I worked) and repeat the tests, and bring the results to him in his office in the hospital afterwards. Lots of prayers over the weekend!! On Monday, the entire lab, it seemed, was standing by the ASTRA chemistry machine waiting on my results! Lots of laughter and tears when my numbers had dropped almost into the normal range. I was healed!! I took my results to the doctor, and after I convinced him I hadn't 'paid anyone off' in the lab to give me these numbers, took the catheter out and said goodbye. I had stayed in the hospital for four weeks, receiving in-patient dialysis for three of those, and had had outpatient dialysis for one.
During this time God provided babysitters for my son, and my parents not only found, but paid all my bills. One of my classmates hadn't been planning on working yet because she was getting married and moving to Dallas in September. She worked my position in the lab during July and August which allowed me to keep my job, as I did not have nearly that much sick time. God allowed me to be well enough to take the Registry test that I would have to have for my job as scheduled in August. The doctors had told me that my fallopian tubes were damaged from the peritonitis and I probably wouldn't be able to become pregnant. Michael was born 7 years later, and Kathryn 5 years after that!
I don't pretend to know why God chose to heal me. I believe it increased some people's belief in the power of prayer. I believe it brought glory to Him. It showed me that He is always with me. I wish I could say that I thanked him for it every day, but I don't. In fact, I forget about it for months at a time, until I notice one of my scars, or see someone who has a shunt, and think, Oh Yeah--I had acute renal failure! And when I remember, I do feel special. I feel so blessed to be alive, not having to schedule my life around dialysis every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, to have gotten married again and had two more children, and now to see my first grandson!
