Sovereign Lord, you alone know…

The hand of the Lord was on me, and he brought me out by the Spirit of the Lord and set me in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. He led me back and forth among them, and I saw a great many bones on the floor of the valley, bones that were very dry. He asked me, “Son of man, can these bones live?”

I said, “Sovereign Lord, you alone know.” 

Ezekiel 37:1-3

I was a shell of who I had once been.  I had lost down to around 100lbs.  I should have been filled with so much joy as I had been given new life, but instead I felt like the valley of dry dead  bones that Ezekiel saw.  Would I ever experience life like I once had.  Would I ever be able to earn a living and support my family again?  Heck would I ever be able to feed myself or hug my daughters again?  In the same way that Ezekiel answered God, he might have said about us as well.  “Lord, you alone know!”

On September 3 we received a phone call from my neurosurgeon.  Since our last meeting he had not stopped thinking about my case.  Up until that point, additional surgery to remove the cyst placing pressure on my spinal cord was not an option.  It was simply too risky.  With the location of the legion so close to the nerves serving my diaphragm, and my breathing already compromised, the danger of doing further damage had given Dr. Stephens great pause.  But as he continued to ponder over my dilemma, he asked another neurosurgeon, Dr. Berkman for a consult.  After reviewing my case and MRI scans, Dr. Berkman thought that they could easily access the cyst and remove it without causing any damage.  At the very least, the two surgeons agreed that the risk was worth it, as my condition would not improve as long as the pressure on my cord remained.

It was another chance at regaining some semblance of the life I once had, and an opportunity for God to breathe life into these dry bones.

We quickly scheduled a follow up telehealth with Dr. Berkman’s office where the entire procedure was explained.  There would be three surgeons participating in the surgery.  They would remove a rod from the cage around my spine, and then “pop” the cyst like a giant zit.  At the current moment, they were unaware of the contents of the legion.  It could be remaining fungal infection, it cold be cerebrospinal fluid (CSF) pooling there, or it could be a brand new, unknown infection.  What they found would determine to a large degree what would happen next concerning medical intervention. The rod would then be replaced along with a shunt that would drain excess CSF into my stomach.  The whole process would take about 6 hours, the the team of neurosurgeons all felt confident that the surgery would be successful.  

So much was unknown, but what other option did I have?  At this point I was confined to a wheelchair that I was unable to drive without a sip and puff straw.  If I was going to have any hope of improvement, this was my only option.  Rounds of tests were in my immediate future and a date of October 7 was set for the operation.  As we were receiving our final instructions for our surgery date, we were asked to bring a photo of our family with us to the hospital.  The doctors would hang this photo up on the wall in the operating room as a reminder of who was counting on them.  This is the picture that went with me into surgery on that day.  It now is in a frame behind my desk in my office.

Jodi, Cindy Ann, and I arrived at Vanderbilt at 5:30am on October 7 and at 7:30 I was taken back to surgery.  Jodi sat and waited.  You all prayed, and God showed out.  The cyst was removed without complication, the contents was determined to be pooled CSF which meant that there was no infection.  My brand new German immune system had done its job!  The shunt was in place and although I was still sedated, intubated, and on a ventilator I was recovering nicely.  The surgery had been a success and all that remained was waiting to see how my damaged nerves responded to their newfound freedom.

I spent a day completely knocked out before they started weening me off of sedation.  Jodi found great joy in my confusion as I would wake up having no idea where I was or why I was there. She would patiently explain to me about the surgery; how it had been, in fact, planned, and that it had gone well. I would furrow my brow, fall asleep, and wake up again just to repeat the process. As the days progressed my brain would continue to play tricks with me.

The mind is a fickle character and immensely powerful.  It can convince you that you see and hear and feel things that are just not real.  Soon after surgery,  Jodi departed to Union City and turned caretaking duties over to my two mothers.  These changes, combined with a couple of room changes in the middle of the night, would throw my brain into a tailspin.  Early morning panic attacks and scary hallucinations would begin to haunt me again.  I would become convinced that I heard voices of people speaking and crying out for help.  I swore that I heard my father-in-law and my nephew and niece talking in the next room.  I woke up one morning in a panic because the heat had kicked on in my room and I thought someone was trying to kill me through the ventilation system.  Each time, nurses, or Cindy would have to come to my beside to calm me down.  Once fully awake and aware of where I was, I would be embarrassed as to my panic and frustrated at what seemed like a setback.  In spite of all of my confusion, my caregivers and family were so compassionate and patient with me.

But a week out of surgery, I was still having trouble with coherent conversations.  Looking back I don’t know how people didn’t laugh at me more (and maybe they did when they left the room) as I must have sounded crazy arguing with them that my bed was moving, my Hoyer lift was connected to my foot and going to pull me off of the bed, and my chair was vibrating.  These were actual conversations I had with people but not one bit of it was real!  My brain had just convinced me that these things were happening.  I can’t express to you just how terrifying and frustrating it all was.  Add to this fact that Satan was working overtime to press every insecurity button in my heart causing me to sink further and further into a pit of despair.  Finally, our friends at the NIH in conjunction with our new friends at Vandy decided to do a complete workup with fresh scans of my brain and spine.  What they found would explain my confusion.  The shunt and drain that had been installed in my spine was draining too quickly and causing CSF to pool in locations on my brain.  This added pressure was the root of my delirium and could be remedied with a valve placement that would allow the doctors to control the flow of CSF from my spine to my stomach.  The procedure was scheduled, the valve placed, and before long I was back to my old self.

But my future was still unknown.  Physical therapy had evaluated me and deemed me not a candidate for in-patient physical therapy, recommending that I be sent home with home health instead.  This was not what we were hoping for so we appealed to the neuro team who reevaluated and sent in another group to check me out.  It was finally agreed that an inpatient stint at Stallworth Rehabilitation Hospital at Vanderbilt would in fact be beneficial.  They secured a bed and were now simply awaiting medical clearance to be transferred over.  I had another chance, but could God breath life into these dry bones?  Only the Lord knows.