Wow, it's May 8 already, and this is my first blog post of the year. Typically, I might be apologetic, but in my defense, I've taken on a major writing project that will be completed by the end of summer **knock on wood**, so I don't feel terribly bad.
I could not let May 8 pass without recognizing the one-year anniversary of my hospitalization. Revisiting that ordeal is not a pleasant exercise-in fact, I'd much rather forget most things about it. But given the facts that-one year later I am healthy, and I clearly recognize that what could have been WAS NOT-I can truly say that I've been blessed... I've got a testimony! He is worthy! Hallelujah, what a Savior!
In case you're wondering, I feel great. Recovery was 100%. I will always have lymphedema (actually, I always have), but it IS manageable and so, we press on!
I'd like to steal a blog idea from a friend (thanks OMY) and recycle an entry I posted last year shortly after all of this. If it becomes a real blessing to one person who is going through a tough time, then, from my heart I can genuinely say, it was worth it all!
Finally, I am indebted to my family, my Crossroads/COEBA family, friends everywhere and to the doctors and nurses of Virginia Hospital Center-without whom this wimp wouldn't have stood a chance.
Looking back,
PM
"Learning To Lean"
Originally posted Tuesday, May 19, 2009 at 10:46am
About two weeks ago following our Wednesday evening service I started feeling sick. It had been raining that night, and I had been out in the rain more than I should, so I pretty much chalked it up to being a cold. This wasn't good. We had a Homegoing service in the morning and I still had to do the obituary program in addition to participating in the service, so feeling bad was really not an option. So I ignored it. It was about 2 a.m. when I realized that the fever and chills were not going to let me finish, so I decided to go to bed and get up early.
I did go to bed, and I did wake up early--about 4:30 with uncontrollable chills and, eventually a fever of 103F. I'd had the flu before, but what was this?? I had never felt like this before. Lora insisted we go to the ER. I called Dad and Mom to let them know, and to prepare Dad for the possibility that I wouldn't make the funeral. They said to keep them posted and that they would be praying. We got dressed and were headed to the ER about 6 a.m. when my parents' prayers must've kicked in. All of sudden I started feeling better. The chills subsided. The fever broke. All I could think was that this was the Lord allowing me to finish that program and attend the service. And that's what happened. I stumbled back to our kitchen table and by the grace of God completed it and sent it off to church for printing. Praise the Lord!
I walked over to church at 10:55, weak and drenched in sweat, but I made it. The choir was already seated in the loft. I joined the other three preachers in the procession to the platform. The next 90 minutes comprised a beautiful celebration of our dear sister who had gone home to be with the Lord. The choir sang wonderfully, seemingly in tribute. I felt invigorated. I don't know what I would have done had I not been able to witness that wonderful homegoing.
So now that it was over, the logical thing was to go home and get in bed. It had already been a really long day. I now realized that my brief respite from the "flu" was either an adrenalin rush or simply a Samson-esque moment from the Lord, because now, I couldn't move. I sat in the auditorium alone for about an hour. Finally, with Chad's help, I mustered enough strength to walk home. All of the symptoms were back, but worse.
The next hours of that Thursday were a blur as I can only recall tossing and turning all night and wishing for morning. When morning came I started wishing for night. I was miserable and nothing in the medicine cabinet seemed to help. It was around 5 p.m. when I told Cameron that I had to go to the ER. Lora and Casey were out and couldn't be reached. Cam and I headed out. I was so sick I almost let my 14 year old drive. Kidding, but I wished that he could.
When we signed in at urgent care, they handed me a mask. I guess there's still some remaining swine flu paranoia. Staring at the sign that read, "Patients will be seen in order of illness priority" assured me that I'd get some relief soon. Not so. Apparently my indication of flu symptoms was not as critical as "scraped elbow", "sprained thumb", and "banged head."
By now I was having trouble breathing and everything on me hurt. I also noticed my left shoe seemed really tight and my foot swollen. I figured I would ask the doc about that--if I ever got back there.
After two hours they called my name. My good son, determined to not leave his dad's side, followed me back.
Blood pressure-120/68 (terrific). Heart rate-normal. Fever-101F. Drew blood (after six fishing expeditions to find a vein-runs in my family, ouch).
"Looks like you got the flu, son."
He did NOT just tell me that, I thought. I already knew that. I told him about the breathing problems. So I was off to x-ray. The x-ray showed inflammation but nothing abnormal. Blood test came back normal, other than elevated white blood count which they thought was consistent with a virus.
"Wow! how long has your foot been like this?"
Like what?, I thought. I was now back in the ER bed and looked down at my left foot and ankle, which were now twice normal size. I just stared in shock.
The doctor took scissors and cut my sweat pants up to my knee. It was swollen all the way up and really red. When the doctor looks shocked, you know there's cause for concern. Next thing I know, I'm in an ambulance headed to a real hospital. Cam was still right there. That's my boy.
I eventually found out that I had developed a deep tissue infection which triggered stage three lymphedema. In a short period of time I was carrying nearly 50 pounds of fluid in my left leg. Thankfully my vitals were all good and the antibiotics were doing the job of flushing out the infection. I had never been hospitalized before, so that was a new experience. I know for sure that the hospital is no place to get rest. Being poked and prodded all day and all night made it anything but restful.
But they took good care of me over the five days I was there at Virginia Hospital Center. Sunday morning was tough. I hadn't missed a Sunday morning service in 28 years! Thank God for wi-fi! I even got several of the nurses to come and watch church with me. I pointed everybody out to them. They got a kick out of it when Dad mentioned my being in the hospital and the whole church wishing me well.
It wasn't until after going home last Wednesday that I realized that recovery was going to be such a major ordeal. They sent home with a picc line so that I can self-administer an IV for the next 14 days. Man. This a trip. In addition, I have to go to physical therapy almost every day for 2-3 weeks to work down the swelling. All the medication has kept me feeling sick and weak. Then yesterday they found that I developed an allergic reaction to the bandages or the medication, not sure.
When they unwrapped my leg, I wept. I had never seen anything so disgusting. I got so discouraged and went into immediate self-pity mode. Then I remembered how good God has been to me. I thought of all the people who have gone through so much worse than this. I thought about my wonderful wife who has taken care of me every step of the way. I thought of my kids, my parents and my siblings who would do anything in the world for me. I thought of the more than 60 people who came to visit me in the hospital. Then I thought of the pain Jesus went through for me. Silly Mike. Dumb Mike. How could I be so ungrateful with all God's done for me? "This I know; for God is for me. (Ps. 56:9) Forgive me, Lord.
The docs predict 100% recovery within a few weeks. I am glad for that! The other day I bought a cane. Wow, that was telling! I didn't want to, but it's really obvious that it is a big help. I had to learn to use it properly. By leaning on it at the right time it takes pressure off of the bad leg AND the good leg. The symbolism in my life is clear. Through all of this I've had to--perhaps for the first time in my life--learn to lean on the Lord. Situations clearly beyond our control or ability to fix teach us to depend on the One who is really in control. I've had to learn that, as I tend to be a self-fixer. I can't fix this one. But I'm so glad God can.
And that lesson, believe it or not, makes it worth it all! -mb
We can only know
The power that He holds
When we truly see how deep our weakness goes;
His strength in us begins
Where ours comes to an end.
He hears our humble cry and proves again . . .
His strength is perfect when our strength is gone;
He’ll carry us when we can’t carry on.
Raised in His power, the weak become strong;
His strength is perfect, His strength is perfect.
