CHAPTER FOUR
PRAISE GOD!
2 Corinthians 12: 9
“And He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is
made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore
most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may
rest upon me.”
On July 6th the brain
surgeon returned from his vacation and we went to his office. Glenn had made an appointment the week
before. I had to be wheeled into the
office in a wheelchair. My right arm was
very weak, not working well, my right leg was incapable of walking and my
speech was slurred.
I sat there looking directly in
front of the surgeon and pleaded with him to perform the brain biopsy so that
my diagnosis would be confirmed. I told
him, “Please help me. I feel like Hell”! Here I was, a ‘proper’ woman, who never
swore, telling the surgeon through tears that I was in critical condition. All
that I wanted was that the doctors would find out what was wrong with me and
then ‘fix it’.
The surgeon looked at me, deep
concern in his eyes. He agreed to
perform the biopsy and I was immediately re-admitted back to Upstate Medical
Center. The biopsy was scheduled the
next day. I was prepped, head partially
shaved and waited.
Little did I fully comprehend
exactly how the biopsy was performed.
Later I discovered the surgeon uses a drill. (I remember thinking, “I hope he doesn’t use
a drill like Dick has in the basement!”)
The surgeon drills through the scalp, the brain and (in my case) the
thalamus, which is actually located right in the middle of the brain. The thalamus is composed of two walnut shaped
entities, one on the right and one on the left of the center of the brain. My problem was located in the left side. Thus, I showed weakening of the right-sided
body motor skills. As you can imagine
there is a degree of risk in this procedure.
The thalamus governs speech, motor skills and body temperature. In order for a biopsy to be successful, it
means that a sample of brain tissue is actually removed from the brain and
examined.
I have since learned that the
brain is made up of fatty tissue. In
time, if the body is healthy, the brain can heal and the nerves
regenerate. That is what I believed
would happen to my body. After all,
Jesus told me “You will be healed, BUT in my own time frame.”
Those words of Jesus reverberated in
my head. Even though I experienced my
body becoming weaker, I clung to those words.
That gave me a positive outlook.
That told me, yes, don’t worry, Janet.
Jesus told you healing would take place!
I thought back on my reaction to
Jesus’ visit that night of May 26. As
was customary in my life I tried to tell God what to do! He came to give me a message of hope in the
face of horrendous brain cancer, and I had told Him, “I’m not that sick. Go help someone who is really sick!” How dare I respond that way. Thank goodness, God, in His ultimate love and
grace, still ministered to me.
Syracuse, New York is located on
US Highway 81. Unfortunately, there were
a number of serious car accidents the next few days. Not surprising, since this was post July 4
weekend. The automobile accidents
resulted in severe injuries including head and brain trauma. They were emergencies. Consequently, my biopsy was put on hold. Meantime, of course, I was NPO (nothing to
eat). By the second day, our daughter,
Beth, put some pressure on the nursing staff and persuaded them to schedule my
surgery ASAP!
A few hours later, finally on July
8, I was on my way to the OR (operating room).
I was totally sedated of course, so I experienced no pain or discomfort.
Around the time of the biopsy procedure, I experienced yet another dream.
In the dream I was in a tunnel,
sitting in a wheelchair, and I knew instinctively that I was going to
Heaven. There were other figures in the
tunnel, all cloaked so that I could not see any faces. Everyone was moving in the same direction
toward my right and everyone was quiet.
Suddenly, something/someone turned my wheelchair around and I
immediately returned to the hospital. My
interpretation is that I was close to death but the Lord knew He wanted me back
on earth because He had a special assignment for me.
The surgical procedure went
smoothly with no complications. The
surgeon kept his word and performed his task with professional excellence. I was under sedation for about three hours. A very precise biopsy, the size of a nickel,
was successful.
I awoke in the hallway outside the
OR. The surgeon and his assistant spoke
to me and drew my attention to my family – Dick, Glenn, his wife Stephanie and
our daughter Beth, who were all down the hall in the family waiting area. Dick acted as if he was in shock. So much had happened in just two weeks that
it was difficult for him to comprehend my condition. I especially remember Glenn approaching me
and smiling. I had great difficulty
speaking but gave the family some indication that, for the moment, I was okay.
The diagnosis still was not
certain but I was told the surgeon would carefully review the specimen obtained
in the biopsy within the next 24 hours and give a diagnosis. Thus another wait.
The next morning the doctors made
their early morning rounds. I was not in
good shape, both emotionally and physically.
One of the questions they asked me, typical of questions normally asked
of patients post-surgically, “Who is the President of the US?” I remember thinking, “Oh, what is his
name? I know it begins with an ‘O’ but
what is it?” I blurted out, “Osama bin
Laden”. The doctors laughed and I knew I
had failed!
After several other comments I
heard the surgeon stating, “Her right side is weak because of the nerve damage
from the brain biopsy.” My inner spirit
immediately responded, “But you told me,
Lord, that I would be healed. And I
believe that. I know you will heal
me!” Of course the doctors did not
hear me, but I felt so positive.
I remember the daily
questioning. Sometimes I was asked
simple math questions but I had great difficulty answering them. I wanted to say, “I’ve always been bad at
math. Ask me some Bible questions
instead.” I thought these things but was
unable to speak them.
In fact, I had moments when I
completely fell apart and wept. I was
unable to respond to questions. I could
hardly speak, could not verbally communicate my feelings and just sat there and
sobbed. When that happened, the doctors
just quietly left the room.
My brain was in a state of
emotional and physical turmoil and it was impossible to think or talk
logically. Such is the case with brain
injuries. No one really knows how or what
you are feeling unless they have been there.
In my case, I could struggle to think but could not articulate. My sensitive nature created a jumble of
emotions and confusion. It was hard to
cope with reality and especially difficult to ascertain my future.
In reality my right side was
immobile. My hand and arm could not move
and my leg just lay there. But I kept
believing in God’s promise that I would heal and knew it was only a matter of
time. I realized that nerves take time
to heal but I also knew from my nursing background that it was indeed possible.
I trusted in God’s promise. God has a record of promises recorded in the
Bible so I knew without a doubt He would keep His promise of May 26. “You will be healed, BUT in my own time
frame.”
The next evening, July 9, Dick had
left the hospital and went to Glenn’s for dinner and rest. Glenn sat with me in the hospital room. The oncologist entered with his assistant and
stated that the surgeon confirmed the diagnosis of CNS (central nervous system)
lymphoma in the thalamus. In other
words, cancer of the brain. The
oncologist spoke gravely, emphasizing the seriousness of my illness. He paused, and then stated, “You have seven
weeks to live.”
I heard Glenn crying but I sat
there in my bed feeling an incredible spirit of peace. At first I thought, “Oooh, seven weeks is not
very long.” But then, “I know where I’m going, God will take care of me. It’s okay.”
I then said loud and clear, “PRAISE GOD!”
At this I heard a muffled cry of
wonder. I realized this came from the
oncologist’s assistant. Then I added,
“God is good!” I felt the Holy Spirit
leading me to make these comments. I
truly was not afraid of death, but yet ringing in my head was that promise of
healing from Jesus.
The oncologist added that they
would look for a chemotherapy that hopefully would work for me. Then he and the assistant left the room.
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