The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears them; he delivers them from all of their troubles. The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. The righteous person may have many troubles, but the Lord delivers him from them all.
Psalm 34:17-19
If you haven’t paid for the insurance that covers you in case you need a helicopter flight, stop what you are doing right now and go sign up.
I’ll wait.
When we moved to NW Tennessee, my bonus-mom Cindy Ann suggested that we sign up for this insurance, and man did it come in handy. As a part of the coverage, Angel Flight would provide transportation to and from transplant services via jet anywhere in the world.
Once I became stable, the beautiful people at Angel Flight showed up at Vanderbilt and strapped me to a gurney and loaded me aboard my own private jet plane to Maryland in order to save my life. Once we arrived at the NIH, a flurry of activity began. My condition was beginning to deteriorate again; I was already so much worse than I had been when I left there four weeks ago. Within two days of my arrival we were met with the cold water of reality. Dr. Zerbe and Dr. Malech came into my room and gave us the news. My condition had worsened to the point where we were faced with only two options.
Option 1 was to load me up on a plane and send me back to Tennessee where I would live out my remaining days as comfortably as possible, and die in my own bed with my family close. They projected that to be about 9 months from now.
Option 2 was to move forward with the transplant. If I decided to go that route, because of my weakened condition, there was a very good chance I would not survive. When pressed to deliver my odds, Dr. Malech responded 25%. That meant that my chances of surviving the transplant were incredibly small. So small, in fact, that the medical review board responsible for making ethical decisions for the hospital was divided on giving the go ahead to do the procedure. There were initial evaluations required and I did not meet the standard needed to move forward.
I told these two doctors I did not want to die in a hospital bed 900 miles from my children. They told me they couldn’t promise me I wouldn’t.
And so Jodi and I had a decision to make. And it was a very real, very heavy decision. I had fought for so long and so hard. I wasn’t sure I had any more in me. Jodi wasn’t sure I had any more in me. However, after much prayer, we decided that a 25% chance of seeing my girls grow up was worth the risk. And so we decided to move forward with the transplant.
My doctors were certain the medical ethics board would approve the procedure upon review, so we began the preparation process for transplant immediately, while Dr. Zerbe, Jodi and some of our dearest friends began plans to bring my daughters to Maryland to visit. At the time I thought it was just to celebrate Jodi’s birthday; it was only later that I found out that they were coming to tell me good bye, as just about everyone believed this may be the last time they got to see me this side of heaven. I cannot begin to know how difficult this must have been on my girls and my bride. They were so stoic and brave. They are truly special women.
After we made our decision, a quick trip down for an MRI was on the docket. We were all in good spirits as we made the now all too familiar trek to radiology when… well… I’ll let Jodi tell it in her own words, as I don’t remember a thing:
Jeremy had a great morning and was cutting up with all of the staff making Talladega Nights jokes and what not. He even got his feeding tube removed and was able to eat a decent lunch.
He went down for his MRI and I went to get a drink to sip on while I waited. I called and talked to one of my daughters for just a moment and began making my way back to the MRI waiting room. I realized as I looked up that Dr. Malech was in front of me walking at almost a sprint…heading to MRI. I entered the waiting room just as the nurse was telling the all call to call “CODE BLUE”. As he hung up, I looked him in the eye and asked is that for my husband? He told me yes and moved me to another waiting room.
The entire hospital came down to MRI and our charge nurse from our floor came and sat with me. He never flatlined, but he did become unresponsive on the MRI table.
They were able to bring me back.
They never found out exactly what happened to me on the MRI table that day. They thought it might have been a seizure or a reaction to some medication— either way Jodi and I came face to face with my mortality that day. The reality of my condition was undeniable. Unless God intervened, Jodi was going to lose her husband, and my girls their father.
Emma and Abbi Jo arrived with their chaperones Jamie and Courtney. They underwent a barrage of tests and lab work as they are carriers of the disease that was threatening my life. We spent a few days laughing and crying, eating and celebrating Jodi’s birthday before they hugged and kissed me good bye for what very well could be the last time. I watched as they walked away and then the nurses wheeled me back to my room. They left us encouraged with a new sense of fight. If I was going to be there for them, I couldn’t give up. Not now. As we inched closer to the day that I would start Chemotherapy, we anxiously awaited the boards approval. Without their nod we would not even be able to enter treatment.
On March 23, we finally got word. The board had approved the transplant. I was scheduled to begin chemotherapy the next day. We bid goodbye to our beloved nurses on the 5th floor and made our way to what would be our room for the next 4 months.
Jeremy Powell 