Last fall, life was good. In early November our youngest son and I spent several days at our family ranch in the Hill Country of Texas. Part working vacation and part spiritual retreat, we had a great time. When we returned to the Metroplex, I spoke to a politics class a friend of mine teaches (on the mid-terms). Later that week our son and I met former President George W. Bush and bought several signed copies of his memoir, Decision Points. The next weekend, our oldest son came home from Baylor to celebrate his 20th birthday. Life was indeed good. Our new ministry helping churches and Christians live more missional lives was growing. Our preaching, speaking and equipping opportunities were growing. Life was indeed very good.
Then I got sick. Really, really sick. Early one Sunday morning my wife rushed me to a local emergency room. I had double pneumonia, I couldn't breathe. Baylor University Medical Center (BUMC) Dallas, where all my doctors are was full. No beds were available. So I was rushed to Lewisville (Texas) Memeorial Medical Center and placed in the ICU. There the wonderful doctors and nurses went to work on me immediately. They fought to keep me alive. I got sicker (not their fault). My kidney failed. And my liver, lungs and pancreas. That's right four major organs were failing. I also began to bleed internally. My wife Cheryl stayed at my bedside. Our boys, family, friends and church family were at the hospital everyday. Our pastor, Dr. Stephen Hatfield often beat my Mom and Dad to the hospital each day. I was put on Continous Renal Therapy to help my (one) kidney.
Cheryl began to mobilize our friends to pray. Eventually friends and others all over the world began to pray for me. The Catholic archdiocese of Dallas prayed for this ordained Baptist preacher every day by name during the Daily Mass. At a very critical juncture, Central Baptist Church in Warner Robins, Georgia dedicated an entire midweek service to intercession on my behalf. Within hours that particularly stubborn internal bleed stopped. On at least four different occassions my doctors prepared my family, telling them I might not live through the night. I was finally strong enough to be transferrred by ambulance to Baylor-Dallas. My admitting physician prayed over me with Cheryl when I got to BUMC. He told her, "I can't fix your husband. Only God can."The good news is, I don't remember a thing! I was in a drug induced coma for 26 days. I missed Thanksgiving and Christmas in our new home.
As God's people prayed, I held on. I woke up finally during the second weekend in December. I can remember that because it was the 30th anniversary of John Lennon's assassination. I couldn't talk much, couldn't walk, couldn't feed myself. But I was alive. Our youngest son had read portions of George W. Bush's book to me in the hospital when I was in a coma. My brain was not fully functioning when he asked if I wanted him to read to me after I had come out of the coma. One thing I do reget is saying, no. But my brain was not yet fully processing information!
After spendinga few weeks in 4 Truett ICU at Baylor, I was moved to Baylor Speciality Hospital to begin therapy to help me talk, walk, think, dress and fully function again. But my stubborn esophogeal bleed roared back with avengance. Cheryl, who teaches at Baylor University's Louise Harrington School of Nursing (across the street from Baylor Hospital) was set to attend a pinning ceremony at the school when I was rushed to the emergency room. I was out of my head. My blood count was dangerously low (4/13) for any of you with medical training. I couldn't keep still. I couldn't keep my robe on. I was nutty. I was holding the hand of a very attractive woman doctor (so my Dad tells me. He was there). Many members of the nursing school faculty who work with Cheryl rushed over after the ceremony. A couple of them took charge. Others offered prayers and support. My pastor set a NASCAR record, getting to BUMC from Lewisville. It was the 17th of December. I ended up back in 4 Truett ICU for several more days.
By Christmas I was back at Baylor Specialty Hospital starting rehab all over again. In 30 years of ministry I must admit not knowing much about this part of medicine. As difficult a time I was having I saw so many people suffering from strokes, or accidents, missing limbs and digits. I was blessed and I still am. Shortly after New Years I was moved to Baylor Institute of Rehabilitation. There my therapy intensified. One of my therapists there told me she loved what she does because in her words, "We see miracles happen." Indeed, they do. On January 15th I reached my goal: With the help of a walker, I walked out of the hospital, headed home. 63 days in the hospital. A medical bill of nearly 2 million dollars and 65 lbs. lighter, I was home.
I still had a couple of months of outpatient rehab, three times a week. But it was great to be home. I am thankful for all those who prayed for me, comforted my family. Many friends gave my family money to help with expenses, get my father-in-law here from Virginia and prepared us meals. Several friends and family drove where I needed to be until I was able to drive again. My doctors and nurses and BUMC and Lewiville Memorial were great. I am blessed to know so many people love and care for me and my family. Thank you to all who ministered to us. We love you all.
I am blessed.
Mike
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