Zero

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation. 

2 Corinthians 5:17-18

Getting my new cells was just the beginning of a one-hundred day process that seemed like it would never end.  Not only was I physically battling for my life, my mind was racing with all of the possibilities and what-ifs.  It wasn’t just the question of if I would live or die, but realistically what would my life be like if I live.

The infection had put such pressure on my spine that my entire body was paralyzed.  I had to rely on caregivers for everything.  No longer would I be able to be in the room by myself, even when Jodi needed to go grab some coffee or take a shower.  Twenty-four-hour sitters were placed in my room now permanently.  But the physical battles were only feeding the emotional and mental struggles I was experiencing.

I have always prided myself in being a very self-sufficient guy.  I have rarely been intimidated by a task before me, and generally have been able to do anything I set my mind to.  Yet no matter how hard I tried, and no matter how much physical therapy intervened, I just could not move my body.  My mind began to race with the possibilities that I would never be mobile again, and in spite of my wife doing her best to be my biggest cheerleader, I found myself plunging deeper into depression with anxiety governing my waking hours.

What if I never walked again?  What would that mean for our home?  We would have to move or renovate?  What would all of that cost?  What does that mean for my girls?  No daughter should ever have to be a caregiver for their dad or wipe their dads butt for him.  What does that mean for my marriage?  Would I ever know the joys of hugging my wife again?  Would I ever be able to feel the weight of her body cuddling up with me as we watched a movie or fell asleep together?  Would she ever view me as her husband, or would I just be a giant anchor of a burden that would keep her from living her best life?  What would it cost us financially for me to live in this manner?  What if I wasn’t able to work?  Would we be able to live on disability?  What if I never preached again?  Served the local church again?  Would I need to be placed in a nursing home facility because Jodi wouldn’t be physically able, or mentally willing to care for me like I needed to be cared for?  All of these fears and more poured over and over in my mind, kept me awake at night and filled my head with hopelessness that I can’t even begin to put into words.

To make matters worse, because of a large pocket of infection near my C-3 and C-4 vertebrae, pressure on my spinal cord was causing me to have difficulty breathing.  This added to the anxiety as taking deep breaths and trying to cough up whatever fluid was accumulating in my lungs was next to impossible.  This meant that another trip to the ICU was in order to get my blood pressure and breathing under control.

Meanwhile, back in Union City, our girls were fighting their own battles.  Not only were they separated from their mother and father, not only was their dad fighting for his life, but they were also enduring a revolving door of caregivers coming and going as they tried to continue life with some semblance of normalcy. They were doing their best to juggle school, sports, dance, theater, COVID-19 fallout and more all without the assurances and steadiness of parents at home.  Unfortunately my girls had to grow up way too quickly and although they weathered the storms better than most would have, it took their toll on them.  They were struggling mentally, physically and spiritually, as well and growing tired of hearing the question, “How is your dad?”

Although I desperately wanted Jodi by my side, we knew that at some point she would need to go home to be with them, at least for a little while.  There were things back home that she needed to tend to, decisions that needed to be made about our home, and a classroom that needed her physical presence.  Additionally, she needed a break from carrying me for a while.  Her emotions were shot and she was physically exhausted.  She spent night after night trying to sleep in a chair that folded out as a makeshift bed and some rest was needed if she was going to continue to be by my side through the rest of the fight.  

As she made plans to be replaced by my mother for a time, my anxiety ramped up all the more.  Although I knew that she needed to go be mom to our girls, up until this point she had been the one grounding force in my world.  The one person able to calm me down, when the delusions and hallucinations got out of control.

And then, nine days after my new birthday, the number came back.  Zero.  All of the white blood cells in my body were gone.  The chemotherapy had done its job.  The old Jeremy was gone.  The doctors were amazed at how quickly I had reached this milestone.  All of the white blood cells that CGD had rendered incapacitated were now gone, making way for the new German-speaking white blood cells to take up residence.  We were now in a waiting game.  It was the most exciting and dangerous time of the transplant as I currently had no immune system.  Now every tube connected to my body, every pressure point touched and every person that walked into my room served as a potential possibility for infection.  The next couple of weeks would be a different type of scary from what we had experienced up to that point.  

As I relive these moments I am reminded of Paul’s words to the church in Corinth.  The old has gone and the new has come.  Paul used this terminology to describe what it is like to be found in Christ.  The old, sinful self being put to death, while the new self, which bears the righteousness of Christ takes its place.  In spite of the new displacing the old, it takes time for us to fully come into our new life in Christ. The process of sanctification begins upon salvation, and continues until Christ returns or calls us home.

In the same way, my old cells were gone, and the new were now flowing through my veins, but the process of my healing was just beginning.  We were 10 days in to a 100 day process.  And I was far from out of the woods physically or mentally.

I made it out of ICU and back to my regular room as we prepared to send Jodi home for a while, but before she could go, it appeared that Satan would have one more obstacle for us to overcome.