MEETING GOD
IN THE
MRI
A Testimony to God’s Comforting Power and Grace
By
JACK MALTBY
I was an athlete.
I ran numerous 10Ks, many road races of varying distances, and two marathons. I had played tournament tennis and taught the sport for the local summer recreation program. I also taught and coached YMCA swimming. In fact I had two teams finish in the top ten (7th) at the National Swimming and Diving Championships in Fort Lauderdale, Florida.
I say this not to boast, but to highlight the contrast between those accomplishments and my physical condition today.
In the spring of 2000, just a couple of months after my 50th birthday, I was diagnosed with transverse myelitis (TM), a debilitating autoimmune disease that affects the spinal cord. It left me with a high degree of numbness from mid-chest to my toes, no bladder or bowel function, chronic pain, and the inability to walk unaided.
Usually, the onset of TM is very fast. Those affected typically become completely paralyzed within 72 hrs. In my case, the onset was very slow – over a period of three months. Consequently, the doctors were understandably baffled by what was going on.
The diagnosis did not come swiftly. TM is a rare disease that affects only about one in a million, so the local doctors were not familiar with its various symptoms. And, of course, diagnosis by the preferred process of elimination required tests – LOTS of them.
I endured CT scans, upper and lower GI, tests for ulcers and multiple sclerosis, an MRI, and a host of others including a lumbar puncture (spinal tap). That one was no picnic!
A nurse friend, who had gone through a spinal tap said not to worry. It would be a snap. No big deal.
Right!
The procedure was done by my neurologist in his office. I put on the obligatory backside-ventilated gown, and was helped up on the examining table onto my left side in a semi-fetal position. After ‘numbing’ the target area in my lower back, he informed me that I would feel ‘a little pressure’ as he inserted the needle and prepared to extract about 20ccs of spinal fluid for analysis.
It did not go well.
After a minute or so I suddenly felt the most excruciating, burning pain that began in my right hip and traveled down to my feet like a nuclear shockwave.
I informed the doctor.
He heard me.
Very shortly it happened again……and again! I do not think it is possible to experience more intense, burning agony without actually dying. It was not the kind of pain that its memory fades with the passage of time like childbirth, (This explains why some women can have six or more offspring) and six years later I can recall the experience as vividly as though it were yesterday. At several points during the procedure the doctor asked me if I was all right. After what seemed like several minutes of total silence I asked the doctor, “Are you all right?” The procedure obviously was not going according to plan. My doctor then informed me that he was going to consult a colleague.
“Be right back!”
The head of the neurology department then arrived and finished removing what amounted to only 9ccs out of the intended 20. He didn’t have an easy time of it either. Thankfully there were no more atomic blasts, but later my wife counted at least nine puncture sites.
And, of course, the results of the fluid analysis were inconclusive. It was the results of an MRI that finally led to the final diagnosis of TM. (Why couldn’t they have just done an MRI first thing?)
I was placed on a high dose of solumedrol and steroids to combat the swelling that was strangling my spinal cord, but my condition continued to deteriorate. When I could no longer wiggle my toes, I was referred to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota, where a planned three-day visit turned into seventeen.
The Mayo Clinic is very organized, efficient, and thorough. They began by repeating almost every test I had been through initially (and a few new ones) which included an MRI and -- you guessed it -- a spinal tap!
An MRI was schedule for my morning session with a lumbar puncture chaser to be done that afternoon.
Was I a little anxious? I would have been an excellent candidate to be a patient of Dr. Thorndyke at the Psychoneurotic Institute for the Very, VERY Nervous!! (Mel Brooks in “High Anxiety”) I went in to my morning MRI hoping that I would either be miraculously healed or die before that afternoon.
As I lay in the MRI with the jackhammer-like noise pounding in my ears, I sang over and over in my mind the songs from a CD by Greater Vision titled ‘Perfect Candidate’ (a marvelous CD). The baritone of this Southern Gospel trio, Rodney Griffin, is also a very gifted songwriter who writes most of the songs they perform and record as well as songs for many other Gospel Music artists. It was this CD that had already helped me through many long and painful, sleepless nights while still not knowing why my once virile and healthy, athletic body had so viciously turned against me. I had practically the entire CD memorized.
One song, in particular, had touched me greatly and had given me much comfort. It is titled ‘You’ll Carry Me Through’. There is a phrase from the chorus that says “You’ll carry me through, Lord, like You always do, Lord. You’ll hold me and hide me like good shepherds do.”
Now I have never been an emotional person. I never judge truth by feelings, and actually am very analytical and objective (Typical guy thing). But as I was ‘singing’ this song in the MRI, I was suddenly swept up in the arms of Jesus. It was as though He had picked me up, cradled me, and flooded me with His presence and peace.
And He ‘spoke’ to me. Not in an audible voice, but in the power of this incredible experience He lovingly whispered to me “Do not be afraid. I am here”. There were no promises like ‘everything will be OK’, or ‘I am going to completely heal you and erase all your troubles’. Just “I am here”.
As I came out of the MRI, my wife could tell that something had happened. I was not the same guy that had gone into the tube an hour before. As she wheeled me through the Mayo complex, I began to see other people as God must see them; in spiritual as well as physical pain; uncertain, fearful, and needing the assurance of forgiveness from the Good Shepherd who gave His life for the sheep. I could see that there were so many who were in much worse physical condition than I. And my heart broke for them.
I might have emerged from that MRI with the calm assurance that the coming spinal tap would be a breeze. After all, Jesus was with me! God is good! How could I be afraid? But my encounter in the MRI did not suddenly make me superhuman or give me super faith. Even though I had experienced God as never before, and even though I looked around me from a new perspective, I still had reservations about the upcoming spinal tap.
When my name was called in the waiting room for my test, we were greeted by a rather tall, thin, very plain-looking nurse with very straight, mousey, dishwater-blonde hair who ushered us into a small room where I was to be punctured and drained of precious spinal fluid. I very carefully and graphically explained to her that the Dr. needed to be aware of my previous trauma. I did not need a repeat performance. She answered my concerns in a rather timid, weak voice by saying, “There is no Dr. I will be doing the procedure.” My wife could immediately see from the look in my widening eyes and the ashen shade creeping over my face that I was not reassured.
She helped me up onto the table into the semi-fetal position, and as my wife cradled my head the nurse explained that it was somewhat like tapping the sap from a maple tree. “You’re going to feel a little pressure….” And I thought, “That’s easy for you to say. I’ve heard that before.”
I was just getting ready to ask when she was going to start when I heard her say, “Well, that’s it. You were the best maple tree I’ve had all day.” In just a few minutes she had removed about 30ccs of spinal fluid and I was done. (“O ye of little faith…”)
Since that trip to Rochester, Minnesota, I have continued to endure the after-effects that are a result of the nerve damage caused by TM. It still is not easy. Days are a struggle and nights are still long. But whenever I am tempted to give up and give in, I know the reality of those words He spoke to me in the MRI.
“Do not be afraid. I am here.” |
