I’ll Report; You Decide
I am not a brave
man. If I were I would be shouting this story from the rooftops rather than
hiding behind this keyboard. Truth be told, I fear both revealing my innermost
feelings and speaking to groups of people. That being said, I must also confess
I believe I have an obligation to God to give folks the opportunity to hear of
my experience and judge for themselves.
I was not raised
in a religious family though we were certainly not anti-religion. I didn’t
attend church until my daughter, at age twelve, wanted to go to be with her
best friend. It was 1992; I was 41 years old and I viewed going to church as a
positive, weekly social event for my wife, Linda, daughter, Melissa, son, Jon
and myself. Over time, however, reading the Bible and hearing the pastor’s
sermons built inside me a sense I was learning for the first time the truth of
our existence here on earth. My children and I were baptized into Christ on the
same day in 1997, my wife having been baptized as a child.
My older brother
had three heart attacks between 1996 and 1998. Doctors found that although his
total cholesterol wasn’t high, he had virtually none of the good cholesterol
and they believed it was hereditary. I had mine checked and, sure enough; I also
had a significant imbalance though not as severe as my brother’s. I began
taking medication that worked quite well and had my levels checked every 6
months.
In February 2003
I went in for a regular cholesterol check. My doctor called me three days later
and asked if I could come back for a re-test because some of the “numbers” in
my blood test didn’t add up right. And so began three months of sucking blood,
poking, prodding, x-rays, urine tests and ultra sounds. Most of the testing was
done at a hospital outside Richmond, Virginia and by the time they were done I
had a team of doctors. About mid-June they called and asked my wife and me to
come in for a consultation.
In the
consultation room were the two doctors handling my case, one person I didn’t
recognize, my wife and I. After introductions the doctors explained what all
the testing had revealed. I have a liver disease called Hepatitis C which I had
apparently contracted some 34 years earlier during my wild drug using days at
age 18. The disease, which still isn’t fully understood by the medical
profession, had lain dormant within my system all those years and had become
highly active only within the past 6 months. The disease is a virus in the
blood that attacks the liver. The level of activity is determined by the viral
count in parts per million in the blood and, based on the testing, the doctors
had determined my condition would become terminal in 12 to 18 months. They then
proceeded to tell me about the regimen of drugs they would prescribe to help me
deal with the pain, fatigue, imbalance of triglycerides and such. I thanked
them for their time and efforts and rose from my chair to leave.
The doctor
stopped me explaining that the person I was unfamiliar with in the room was a
consultant there to assist my wife and me with the trauma of the information we
had just received. I smiled, said I appreciated their concern but would be just
fine, and continued to head for the door with my wife. Again they stopped me
saying my reaction wasn’t typical and they wondered if I fully understood what
they had just told me. I smiled again and assured them that, yes, I fully
understood what they had told me but they didn’t understand the arrangement I
had made with God. I told them I had a deal by which I would worry about all
the little things in life while leaving all the big things to God and this
clearly fell in the category of things to leave in God’s hands.(Matthew 6:27)
The doctor then turned to my wife and, somewhat wide-eyed, asked if she thought
I was serious. She replied, “Oh yes, he is.” and we left.
I began taking
the prescribed medications returning to the hospital every 6 weeks for tests to
monitor the progress of the disease and see if adjustments to my medications
were needed. I didn’t really start feeling bad until early September when I
began experiencing what I’ll call prickly heat along with hot flashes, stiff
and achy joints, headaches and a feeling of near exhaustion at the end of each
day when I got home from work. Shortly after another round of tests near the
end of October the doctors confirmed my viral count was way up and the disease
seemed to be progressing faster than they had anticipated. Personally, I didn’t
need the test results to tell me that. I felt terrible and was beginning to
have trouble just getting through the day at work.
The medications I
was taking were on various frequencies that resulted in Friday evenings my
taking one or two of each. When I got home from work the Friday after my tests
in October I could barely move. I had no appetite and wanted only to get in
bed. I gathered my pill bottles, a large glass of water and sat on the end of
the bed just staring at the pills in my hand.
At this point, I
feel the need to add a disclaimer because I would not, for one minute, advocate
anybody follow my example based on the information I’m giving. I believe my
experience was unique to myself and unless someone is absolutely sure about
what they are experiencing, they should always follow their doctor’s
directions.
Feeling more
miserable than I had ever felt in my life I said a prayer to my Lord. “Dear
Jesus, you have blessed me with a very good life. You have given me a wonderful
wife and the two best kids any man could ask for. Lord, if you have decided
that now is the time for me to be called up, I have no complaints but I do ask
that you take this pain from me because I don’t know how much more I can take.
In your Holy Name I pray, Amen.” At the word, Amen, I felt a powerful presence
in the room with me. In my mind there was what I can only describe as a
comforting peace that the strain of making decisions was being taken from me.
There was no booming voice from Heaven as has been described in some places in
the Bible but as I was still staring at the pill bottles in my hands the voice
I didn’t actually hear made it clear to me I should throw the pills away. It
was almost as if I was on auto-pilot as I got up, walked to the trash can, dug
part way into the trash, placed the bottles and covered them so my wife
wouldn’t see them. I was immediately covered with a warm sense of comforting
peace and contentment and the voice I didn’t actually hear said, “Well done,
son, well done.” I got into the bed with a smile on my face and a feeling of
happiness I hadn’t had in many months.
I slept all the
way through the night, something that hadn’t happened in several weeks. When I
awoke Saturday morning I was amazed at how much better I felt. The pain in my
muscles and joints, the fever, prickly heat and headache were all reduced by at
least half. I was even hungry. My condition continued to improve through the
day, eating all three meals and causing my wife to remark how happy she was I
was finally having a good day. That night I again slept all the way through and
awoke Sunday morning feeling perfectly normal, no discomfort what-so-ever. The
only problem I had all day Sunday was in refraining from giggling like a school
girl from the pure joy at what Jesus had done for me. Still unaware of what I
had done, my wife (equally happy) speculated that the medications must have
taken a long period of time to build up in my system before relieving my
symptoms. To be honest, for the next several days I was somewhat apprehensive
that all my discomforts would come rushing back at any time but as time went on
I became more and more confident. Everywhere I went, at work, church, etc.,
people remarked about how well I looked and how happy they were to see me
smiling again. I still said nothing about what had happened to change my life.
After 6 weeks
were up I returned to the hospital for another round of scheduled tests. I
still remember the look on the nurse’s face when she asked how I was doing and
I replied, “Fantastic!” She must have thought I’d gone off the deep end. Three
days later she called me at work to report on my test results. She said they
hadn’t yet figured out what had happened but that my blood tests (liver
function, triglycerides, cell counts, even cholesterol) had all come back as
perfectly normal. I asked her if there was any possibility there was a mistake
and she said there was no possibility of a mix up with someone else’s sample
and they had run all the tests a second time to confirm the results. She said
the viral count was still increasing which showed the disease was gaining
strength which made my numbers even more baffling. I could contain myself no
longer and told her I knew full well what had happened. She asked what it was
and I told her I had prayed for Jesus to take my discomfort from me and He told
me to trust in Him and stop taking my medications so I had done just that. Her
reply was, “Oh.” I then called my wife and told her all about what was going
on. While she was clearly happy my tests had all come in normal, I could tell
she was not too sure about throwing away my pills.
I continued to go
to the hospital every 6 to 8 weeks for tests with no change in results except
for a steadily increasing viral count until near the end of 2004. During that
time my wife was doing research on Hepatitis C and found out that Medical
College of Virginia (MCV) in Richmond
Those of you
familiar with cancer treatments will know that the advance of that disease is
described in stages, one through four with four being terminal. Liver disease
is gauged the same way. My biopsy showed me to be a high stage three. The bad
news was that I didn’t have much working liver left; the good news was that I
could now be elevated to the status of lab rat. Of course, doctors don’t refer
to it in those terms but that’s basically where I stood. I could now apply to
enter an experimental program involving the use of Interferon (often associated
with chemo-therapy) and experimental antibiotics. Researchers had determined
that Interferon could slow or stop the growth of Hep-C and they were looking
for an antibiotic that could then kill it. The downside was that the treatment
had many of the same side affects associated with chemotherapy. My wife and I talked
and prayed about it for a couple of weeks before deciding that even if the
treatment didn’t benefit me, it may help the medical profession better
understand this disease.
The treatment
offered would span a “medical” year, twelve 4 week months or 48 weeks with
weekly injections of Interferon and daily oral consumption of the experimental
antibiotics. There have been times that people have accused me of being a
stubborn man, though I prefer to say I can have a focused determination. In
this case I believe it was a definite asset as the side affects, as described,
would be a challenge. The treatments, referred to as protocols, began at the
beginning of certain months throughout the year. Of course, before starting I
had to undergo more testing including a physical and mental evaluation to
determine if I was strong enough to endure the treatment and crazy enough to
try. I received a phone call about the middle of June 2005 from the man in
charge of the program saying that, luckily, I had been approved in time to
start the protocol beginning in July because otherwise I would have had to wait
until the first of October. I told him I appreciated his efforts to get me
approved but I would have to wait for the October protocol because my daughter
was going to be married August 13th and I didn’t want side affects
to jeopardize my ability to walk her down the aisle. My position was not well
received but my focused determination prevailed and I walked my daughter down
the aisle of Grove
Avenue Baptist
Church
I began the
program the first Friday in October. I chose to begin on Friday with the idea
being that doing my injections on Friday after work would give me Saturdays and
Sundays to somewhat recover before going to work on Monday. The plan worked to
some extent although I had some pretty tough Mondays and Tuesdays. Usually by
Thursday evenings I felt fairly well though very tired. Except for the physical
effects on my body the feeling was like coming down with a fresh case of the
flu every Friday evening. I have never been a big man and began the program
standing 5’ 11” and weighing 165 lbs. At completion I weighed 129 lbs.
Completing this program was surely the hardest thing I’ve ever done but I
regret to say I think it was much harder on my wife. I was literally wasting
away before her very eyes.
The privacy of
patients in the program was closely guarded with each of us given a code using
initials and a number and each of us came individually for testing and
re-supply of our medications. Therefore, I was surprised when, 36 weeks into
the program, the administrator met me at the hospital with an unusual request.
He told me the percentage of patients completing the program was very low and
the number of patients doing their injections and taking the antibiotics as
prescribed was even lower. He said that, in fact, I was the only one who had
done all my injections and taken all my pills exactly on schedule. He then said
that the people administering the program had told him I had, by far, the best
attitude and had asked him to ask me if I’d be willing to speak to and
encourage others in the program. I told him I’d be more than happy to.
The administrator
then asked if I could put my finger on what it was that gave me the resolve to
stick closely to prescribed program and maintain a positive attitude and I
replied,”Absolutely!” I told him that according to the medical profession and
the research, I had no right to even be here. Therefore, clearly, God had
decided He wanted me to stay here a while longer. Not mankind or even a group
of people but ME specifically and for my Lord to choose someone as unworthy as
myself for such grace was simply amazing. I pointed out that with all this
being so obvious I began every day thanking Jesus for yet another good day here
with my family, friends and coworkers. I told him that once a person realizes
that every day here on earth is a direct blessing from God, it makes any
discomforts and discouragements seem just plain trivial in comparison. I could
see it in his eyes. He thanked me for my perspective, said he’d be in touch and
left. I never heard any more about it.
I finished the
program the first week of September 2006 and my first round of tests 6 weeks
later looked promising. The doctor handling my case called two days before
Christmas with the test results from the end of November. The program had not
worked. Not only was the virus back, it was growing at an even more accelerated
rate. My family was so happy I was finished with the program and the early
results looking so good, I couldn’t bring myself to tell them the bad news
right at the happiest time of year so I waited until after New Year’s Day. That
was not a happy experience. Due to the accelerated rate of growth, the doctors
decided they wanted another biopsy from my liver and that was done in early
February 2007. The results put me at slightly over a stage 4 with the consensus
being I now had 3 to 6 months.
At the beginning
of this I stated I am not a brave man. Over the next few months I found that
neither am I a strong man. With the doctors and researchers wanting to continue
monitoring me, to be honest, I was just tired of all the drama and by the end
of May I had severed my ties to the program.
I am writing this
in September 2012 so obviously I am still living on God’s plan and not that of
the medical community. I feel perfectly fine and never forget to thank Jesus
for each and every day He gives me. However, there are times I must admit I
feel a little guilty. Jesus’ presence with me that night I sat on my bed with
all my pill bottles presented me with such a clear revelation I feel like I’ve
been given an advantage over many people. It’s as if I had personally witnessed
the parting of the Red Sea or the raising of
Jesus after three days in the tomb. For me there can never be any doubts nor
even for my wife who calls me her “walking, talking miracle”. It’s this
certainty that Jesus is with each and every one of us if we only open our
hearts and minds to see Him that prompted me to write this.
I’d been having
a conversation about Jesus with a highly educated coworker (I barely escaped
high school with a diploma) who had confided he felt a need to find some
spiritual guidance for himself and his family. He has studied many religions
academically and I soon realized I wasn’t educated in the Bible enough to
answer all his questions. As seems to happen so often our pastor, Dr. Mark
Becton of Grove Avenue Baptist
Church
If the Lord
chooses to call me up today I will go shouting to the glory of God. If my story
helps to lead even one person to the peace and joy of a life in Christ, I will
be forever a happy man.
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