Yesterday I was telling you of how I was dying but decided to live. I left my story with the paramedics taking me out of my home, paralyzed and fighting to stay alive. Needless to say, we made it to the hospital in what felt like seconds. I was not allowed to close my eyes, but I had no intention to do so. I knew it was given to me to live.
When they wheeled me through the double doors of the emergency entrance they hit a large button on the wall so that an alarm with a big flashing blue light started going off. People came running and before I knew it I was in the trauma room with things being plugged into me.
It seemed like a very busy time for everyone but for me it was a time of peace and great joy: Jesus was in that room with me.
The doctors were talking gravely. They kept testing the ability of my right side to move, which it could not. The resident neurologist came in, with the neurologist on the phone. They started talking to me about a drug that might give me a tiny bit of mobility back but 2% of people die from it and another 6% have bleeding of the brain. Nice. I would not be able to hold a pencil but I should be able to move my arm, somewhat.
Then they were wheeling me off for an MRI. All the time I was thanking Jesus for his presence and assurance. There was no further thought of death; I was going to live and I was going to be healed.
They took the MRI which was a weird experience. They wanted me to fold my hands on the center of my body but I told them I couldn't move my right arm. They told me to hold it with my left. But when I touched my right arm I almost vomited because it felt like touching someone else's dead arm. It was cold and I could not feel me being touched by my left hand.
When they were done the resident neurologist came bursting through the door. She tried to get the technicians to wheel me back to the trauma center but they said they would call someone. Her words to them were "This patient does not have time to wait", and she started wheeling me down the corridor herself.
I am very thankful that an orderly came along because I am not sure I would have survived her driving.
As we flew down the corridor something strange started to happen, I began to feel my fingers on my right side. In fact, I was able to move them slightly. If it were possible, my joy increased as the Lord manifested himself in my healing.
They put me back in the trauma room while the resident neurologist looked at the scans in the corner of the room. I couldn't see but I could hear her stating what would become a common word for her that morning: "Impossible. This is impossible." She was on the phone again telling the neurologist that nothing was showing up on the MRI scan. I heard the word "impossible" several more times.
That's when I turned to the attending doctor and told him I could move my arm. He asked me to show him so I did. I couldn't move it much but I did manage to lift my arm a bit. He had a surprised look on his face when he said, "You shouldn't be able to do that". He turned to the resident neurologist and told her I was getting sensation back. The "impossible" word was spoken again and she told me to show her. I lifted it, a little more now.
The attending doctor and neurologist had a conversation concerning the merits of the drug they wanted to administer. It was already out of the package and being prepared to be administered. The attending doctor was saying he did not think they should give it to me but the neurologist was explaining that the window of opportunity was closing. The attending doctor suggested that they should have me stand to see if I could walk. She answered that it wouldn't matter and promptly left to talk with the neurologist on the phone.
I liked the attending doctor. As soon as the resident neurologist was gone he turned to another doctor and said, "Let's get him up". I was able to put weight on my leg but I had to drag it to walk. I guess even this was impossible because as the resident neurologist entered the room she said as much.
They helped me back onto the stretcher and decided not to give me the drug. They were absolutely convinced that I had experienced a stroke but they could not understand my recovery. They decided to wheel me into the observation area and monitor me for a while before making any further decisions. What a busy place the observation area was with a full platoon of nurses. I was impressed.
I was doing much better now. My speaking was almost back to normal and much of my sensation and movement had returned. I was weak and very tired but I was completely healed and restored. What an amazing God we serve.
It was here that I was able to spend a few minutes with my wife, then my oldest daughter, Niki (who burst into tears when she saw me and made me cry too), and then my oldest son, Ian, who drove the others to the hospital. What a joy it was to see them and to assure them everything was okay.
At one point the attending doctor from the trauma room, who was no longer attending, came wondering through the observation area. He suddenly stopped at the end of my stretcher and, without saying a word, indicated he want me to lift my arm. When I complied, showing I had fully recovered, he broke out into a huge grin, gave me a thumbs up and, I swear, went skipping out of the room.
By noon they decided to release me but gave me all kinds of reasons why they needed to do follow up and to study my case. I left the hospital with a limp, completely exhausted but so thankful that the Lord heard the desire of my heart and gave me more time on this earth so that I could support my wife and continue to be an influence in my children's lives. In the days that followed, he restored me to perfect health, with no limp, no after effect and filled with a love and appreciation for his presence.
What a joy knowing what it will be like in that moment of departure from this place. No pain. No fear, No regrets. No unfinished business. Only the overwhelming presence of the Lord, his joy and his peace and a great desire to worship.
Praise the Lord, oh my soul! Praise the Lord!