Healing

Healing
Mark Muhlestein
April 15, 2010

Monday April 12th was a beautiful spring day in Austin, TX. My friend Mendes and I decided it was the perfect day to get out and ride our bikes. We settled on a 32 mile ride running from South Austin to Kyle and back. For me, this ride would be a milestone; my previous long ride was 18 miles. For Mendes, the ride was practically a day off. Mendes is one of those crazy souls who spend their weekends peddling 100 miles or more.

The ride started off perfectly. The somewhat congested streets of South Austin soon gave way to country roads lined with the deep greens and explosions of color that make springtime in Texas so breathtaking. I could spend considerable time and paper writing about the ride itself. How the long gentle rises made my lungs and thighs burn and of the elation brought by cresting the hill and feeling the wind in my face as I coasted down the other side. As spectacular as it was, the ride is not the focus of this story. The ride was only the beginning.

The last five miles were rough. It seemed as though my lungs were on fire and someone had filled my legs with wet, heavy cement. Somehow, with much encouragement from Mendes, I managed to finish. I got off my bike, placed it on the car rack, and collapsed into the front seat wondering if my legs would ever feel normal again. I was breathing heavily and feeling quite proud of myself for making it back to the car upright and under my own power.

Mendes was concerned. He was concerned because he knows I am diabetic and long periods of exercise can bring on severe hypoglycemia where glucose in the bloodstream drops to dangerously low levels. I assured him that what I was feeling was not hypoglycemia. I just needed to catch my breath and cool down. I insisted I was fine and urged him to head home before the traffic got too crazy.

I started the car, turned on the air conditioning and laid the seat back. Confident that resting for a few minutes with the cool air blowing on my face would make me feel like a new man; it didn’t. My breathing continued to be rapid and labored, I became dizzy and disoriented, and a strange panicky feeling started to settle in. I sat up, put the car in drive and started the 40 mile trip home. As I drove, I became more disoriented and my breathing wasn’t getting any better. I decided to take an alternate route home. One that passed close by a hospital. If I was feeling any worse by the time I neared Seaton Southwest Medical Center, I’d stop and get checked out.

That thought is the last thing I remember about the drive. The next thing I remember is being on a bed in what appeared to be a hospital emergency room with a doctor talking to me in the loud but calm voice reserved for people coming out of anesthesia or a deep sleep. It was hard to understand what he was saying and he kept asking me questions that I knew should have been simple to answer but required me to search my mind before finding the proper response.

The doctor asked me to lift my hands, arch my brows, smile, and push back against his hands. He asked me what day it was, what year it was, and when he asked me who the president of the United States was, my mind settled on Bill Clinton. I knew that wasn’t right and I slowly made the progression from Clinton, to Bush, to Obama. Apparently the doctor didn’t like what he was seeing and he sent me off to have a CAT scan.

Following the scan, various medical staff continued to ask me to smile and their faces continued to show very grave concern when I did. The right side of my mouth didn’t move when I smiled, my right arm and leg were considerably weaker than my left, and my right arm was drifting when I held it up. The CAT scan didn’t show anything but the symptoms could not be ignored. The doctors at Seaton Southwest determined that I needed to have a CAT scan with contrast –a test they did not have the equipment to perform. They called life flight to transfer me to Seaton Central, a large hospital some 15 miles away.

About this time there was some discussion of how I ended up at the hospital. One of the doctors asked me how I got to the ER. I told him I didn’t remember but I thought I must have driven myself. He asked for the make, model and color of my car and sent security out to see if it was in the lot. One of the nurses came over and told me that I had walked into the ER, walked past the triage desk, and sat down in the waiting area. When the triage nurse brought the standard forms to me to fill out I was completely unresponsive. I wouldn’t talk to him, take the forms from him, or answer any of his questions. At this point they weren’t sure what was wrong with me and took me back to be evaluated. They found my name on my driver’s license and were able to pull up my medical history.

Just before the helicopter arrived to transfer me, one of the doctors asked me if my wife knew where I was (I assume he noticed my wedding band). I told him I didn’t know and he offered to call Mistie and let her know what was happening. He asked for our home number and I couldn’t come up with it. Fortunately, my medical history file, this was not my first visit to a Seaton hospital, listed Mistie as my emergency contact and contained our home phone number. As he went to inform Mistie about my condition, the helicopter arrived and I was loaded into the back.

I’ve never been on a helicopter and under normal circumstances I would have been full of questions and excitement. As it was, I found myself focused on one of the many lights on the ceiling. I was only aware of the light, the sound of the engine, and that the EMT beside me was praying for me. As we traveled from Seaton Southwest to Seaton Central, a trip of about 4 minutes, this total stranger held my had as she prayed for me. I lack the words to express how moved I was by this act of kindness.

About this same time, Mistie made a phone call that set off what can only called an all-out assault of prayer. All over Wimberley and Hays county people began to lift me up in prayer, each one petitioning God on my behalf.

Upon arrival at Seaton Central I was unloaded and wheeled directly into the CAT scan room. They injected the contrast agent into my IV and into the tube I went. When the scan was completed 30 minutes later, I was wheeled to one of the beds in the ER.

At this point I met a neurologist whose name I can’t recall. For the purposes of this story he will be referred to as Dr. House because he was very thorough, very direct, and sort of mean. Not mean in the sense that a playground bully is mean, but rather mean in that he was poking me with sharp sticks and pounding on various parts of my body with a rubber hammer… oh and he had an accent that sounded like German or some Eastern European country.

He asked me to press on his hands then looked at his assistant, who was furiously taking notes, and said “stroke zero!” This came out sounding like "strroka zedro." He then asked me to smile at him; again, strroka zedro!” It was the same for lift your arms, arch your eye brows, can you feel me poking you with this sharp stick, and am I moving your fingers up or down. Dr. House then went on to hit me in various places with a rubber hammer and watch the various parts of my body jump. After each reflex test he’d bark “strroka zedro!”

I didn’t know it at the time but “strroka zedro” is very good news. As the neurologist analyzes the patient, they score each test. Zero means that there is no sign of stroke. He explained that in his opinion I had not suffered a stroke. He felt it was either something called a transient ischemic attack (TIA) or combination of low blood sugar and a mild heat stroke. He ordered several tests and had me admitted to the hospital pending the results of these tests.

In an effort to keep this story from being 10 pages long, I’ll omit the gory details of those tests except to say they all came back normal. No evidence of stroke at all. The interesting point is that my blood pressure was normal; my cholesterol numbers are perfect; I show no symptoms of atherosclerosis (hardening of the arteries); and I don’t have any signs of heart disease. All of which are common causes of TIA. The doctor told me that he couldn’t classify this as TIA because I simply didn’t have any of the conditions that lead to TIA. He noted that he couldn’t rule out TIA, but there wasn’t enough evidence to make that diagnosis. He fell back on the low blood sugar / mild heat stroke theory, told me to start taking a baby aspirin every day and sent me home.

His diagnosis is, in my opinion, flawed. I didn’t argue with him and I understand his professional need to affix some kind of label to this episode but two facts remain. First, my blood glucose was 150 45 minutes after I arrived at Seaton Southwest. If my blood sugar was low when I arrived, it should have been low 45 minutes later because I didn't have anything to eat or drink after I arrived. Second, my temperature was normal throughout my hospital stay. Even a mild heat stroke will raise body temperature at least a little.

So where does that leave us? Where is the closure, the solution, the root cause if you will? A friend of Mistie’s said when doctors are left scratching their heads; it is often the direct result of the prayers of God’s people. It is my belief that is what happened here. Beginning with the prayer of a complete and total stranger and through the prayers of family and friends, God, in His infinite grace and mercy healed me. That is the only explanation that rings true to me.

It does leave me wondering *why* God healed me. Why does God heal one and not another? I can’t answer that conclusively but I think it has something to do with showing His glory. The Glory of God is not found only in a miraculous healing. It can also be found in the way His people gather around someone with a terminal illness and shower them with love and support. The glory of God can also be manifest in the obedient acceptance of chronic or terminal illness.

This side of Heaven I may never learn why God healed me. All I know is that I’m grateful and I will never pass up the opportunity to glorify Him by sharing what I consider to be an amazing story of supernatural healing.

Last week in Heart Group (for more on Heart Groups see http://www.cypresscreekchurch.com/wimberley/heartgroups/index.shtml ) we read a passage of scripture where Peter and John heal a man who had been crippled from birth. We pick up the story in Acts 3:7

“7 Then Peter took the lame man by the right hand and helped him up. And as he did, the man’s feet and ankles were instantly healed and strengthened. 8 He jumped up, stood on his feet, and began to walk! Then, walking, leaping, and praising God, he went into the Temple with them.9 All the people saw him walking and heard him praising God. 10 When they realized he was the lame beggar they had seen so often at the Beautiful Gate, they were absolutely astounded!"

I believe as Christians, we can all take a lesson not only from Peter’s great faith, but also from the reaction of the man who was healed by Christ through Peter. He didn’t simply say thanks and walk away. He leapt for joy and boldly praised God! He was not shy about acknowledging the healing power of Jesus Christ. He didn’t care what others thought. He didn’t care about anything but glorifying God for preforming a miracle in his life.

I urge you today to spend some time reflecting on the miracles God has performed in your life and even more time praising and glorifying Him because of what He has done. A miracle doesn’t have to be as dramatic as the lame walking or even as amazing as the story of some guy from Wimberley who was touched by God in a very real and personal way. If you look closely, you will find God’s grace and mercy all around you. Lift His name in praise as you tell the world what God has done for you!