I’m NOT going to the hospital… and I’m NOT going to die.
Some of you may already know this, but when Shelly got sick, I got real sick too. But frankly, I didn’t have any time for that.
My kids were in shock. They’d just lost their mother. They needed me to be there for them. They needed to rely on me like they’d never done before. I was determined to be there for them in every way they needed.
So, yeah. It really wasn’t a good time for me to be sick.
What I didn’t know, however… was that I was in real trouble. My Mom (who was staying with us) could see it. Friends who would stop by (I learned later) could see it. Even a buddy of mine who facetimed with me could see it.
It seems everyone could see that I was in really bad shape but me.
Two days after Shelly passed away as I struggled to breathe one Wednesday evening at about 8:00 my Mom, almost pleadingly, asked me. “Is it okay if I have someone come out and check you out? There’s a company that will send nurses out to the house to see how you’re doing.”
Hesitantly, I agreed and said, “I’m NOT leaving this house and the kids, but maybe it would be okay if they could come by tomorrow morning after the kids are all gone.” But my Mom was already filling out a form online and within 15 minutes they were calling to see if they could come by ASAP.
“What did you write on the form? You musta made me seem like I had one foot in the grave.”
My Mom just grinned and said, “I just answered the questions truthfully.”
Within an hour there were two nurses in my living room checking my vitals and buzzing all around me asking all kinds of questions.
Then one of the nurses hopped on her phone with a doctor. “We need to get you to the hospital. The doctor says it’s vital we get you there. This is life or death we’re talking about.”
What she didn’t know (but I DID) was that only a week or so ago, Shelly had gone to the hospital and never returned. I was NOT leaving my kids. So, I determinedly said…
“I’m NOT going to the hospital and I’m NOT going to die. Get me what I need… right here.”
My Mom pulled the nurses aside and explained a few things and why I was so defiant.
They immediately went to work and within 30 minutes I had oxygen on my face and was taking a medication they had prescribed. The next day I had another prescription and was breathing through a nebulizer three times a day.
But I was still fighting a heavy fever.
Seriously, if I slept for more than an hour I’d wake up soaked to the bone.
It was especially rough at night.
I’d fall asleep for about an hour, wake up soaked, strip off all my soaked sleepwear and dry off, put on new sleepwear and flip my blankets over to the dry side and repeat the cycle… over and over and over… all night long.
I started to really hate it. Frankly, I didn’t even want to go to sleep. I’d try to stay awake all night because I knew what would happen if I fell asleep.
Then, one day I thought… “This fever is just my body attempting to kill off this infection. Maybe I shouldn’t be mad, but rather I should embrace the fight and help my body do it’s job.”
So, I hatched a plan.
Each night, I grabbed a stack of fresh blankets and a stack of sleepwear and towels so I was ready for the battle. Then when I laid down to go to sleep, I decided to visualize inside my body a tiny army of white blood cells coming from all over and gathering at my lungs.
Then that army of white blood cells would “swarm” the infection and the battle would wage on as I slept. Obviously, a lot of heat was generated from the battle and when I woke up I started to feel like the sweatier I was… the better.
“THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!” I’d yelp. “YOU DON’T STAND A CHANCE!” I’d growl in defiance.
Then, I’d happily strip down, dry off, put on new sleepwear, replace my blankets and lay back down. And yep, I’d again visualize the war in my body raging on.
Happily, repeating the cycle all night long.
Once, in the middle of the night, my Mom came downstairs and caught me sitting on the couch wrapped in wet blankets shivering and I smiled as I said, “I’m doing better and better. My body is winning this battle.”
“Mind over matter” I thought. “If I’ve got to do this… and I do… I might as well embrace it for what it is and love it.” I decided.
So I did. Over and over and over. Night after night after. Slowly, but surely my body started to heal itself. Less and less sweat. Fewer and fewer blanket and sleepwear changes. Then no blanket changes at all.
Until one night… no sleepwear changes.
A few years earlier I read a story about how, during World War One, when American soldiers would return from the front lines injured and in pain, they would give them morphine. It was reported by the Soldiers that there was an 85% success rate in dramatic pain reduction.
Then… they ran out of morphine. Not knowing which direction to go they started to give the Soldiers (without the Soldiers knowing) a simple placebo.
They were shocked when it was reported by the Soldiers that there was an 79% success rate in dramatic pain reduction.
Wait. What?
That’s right. The power of the mind is real. And I’ll happily use it to my advantage.
Recently, a friend of mine posted a quote that went like this:
“If your path is difficult, it is because your purpose is bigger than you thought.”
Initially, it rubbed me the wrong way. I think it’s still a bit raw for me. I don’t like the hand I’ve been dealt. I don’t want a bigger purpose. I’d gladly trade THIS path for ANY other path… just to have Shelly back.
But I get the point. The point is… I’ve got work to do. So I’m getting healthier… and stronger… and as I do, I’ll be getting busier and busier.
I may not know exactly what my purpose is, but I know for sure I am grateful for so much help from others.
I’m grateful for those that wrote about the power of the mind. I’m grateful for a Mom that cautiously but determinedly made a decision to get me help. I’m grateful for so many of you that took the time to pray for our family daily. You can be confident we felt it.
And I’m especially grateful to a Heavenly Father who allowed me to make that bold statement with confidence… and made it possible for it to be true.
I DIDN’T go to the hospital. And I DIDN’T die.
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