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Miracle of Love

By Karla D. Greene


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"Faith is the substance of things hoped for in the evidence of things not seen." How many times did I quote that one simple verse during those 4 months? It is now deeply engraved on my heart and I know will always be there, ready for me to call upon again in times of need.

On Christmas Day, 2001, my fiancée and I were sharing the day with my children and my parents. When I hugged him, I realized he was burning up with fever. His shirt felt as though it had just been taken out of the washing machine! I was shocked! You know how men are…they never tell you if they aren’t feeling well. He decided to go home and lie down. I checked on him a few hours later that evening and he convinced me that he was doing okay. He promised me that he would go see the doctor first thing the next morning. I was uncomfortable with him being by himself that night but again, he convinced me that he would be okay. He called me from the doctor’s office the next morning, which was a miracle in itself, and told me that he was going to the hospital. "I’ll pick you up; just give me about 10 minutes" "No, I’ll just meet you there. I’ll be fine." By the time I got to the hospital, which was only about 10 minutes, he was already in a room on the 5th floor. I walked in and found him sitting in a cold, hard, straight-backed chair in the middle of a chilly, silent, sterile room. Completely alone. He barely acknowledged that I had walked in only slightly opening his eyes. I noticed he was having a great amount of difficulty breathing. "What’s wrong? Why are you here?" I asked. "I have pneumonia," he whispered. "Oh… well,…why aren’t you in bed?" He couldn’t answer. By now, my heart was pounding. I could tell that he needed help and he needed it fast! As I quickly headed out the door and approached the nurses’ station, I noticed three nurses…one on the phone, one on the computer and one writing. None of them looked up to acknowledge me standing there. "Excuse me; Mr. Moore needs some help in room 520. He is having difficulty breathing." Without even looking up, one nurse replied, "We are busy; we will get to him just as soon as we can." I then walked back to his room and stood by him, watching and waiting patiently. After 3 more polite attempts to get him some help over the next 15 minutes, I became somewhat more forceful with my request and his need for assistance. "Look, I know you are busy and I understand but I want to speak with your supervisor immediately!" Just at that time, someone new walked around the corner and asked if she could help me. I proceeded to briefly explain the situation as we were walking back to Stan’s room. When we walked in, he motioned for me to come close. As I bent down within a few inches from his face, I heard him barely whisper "I’m tired, so tired… I can’t breathe anymore." That was the last breath he would take on his own for the next 80 days. It would also be the last words I would hear him say.

Stan finally got the help that he so desperately needed. Within just a matter of a few moments, his room was like a scene from ER. There were 8 or 9 nurses with all kinds of equipment and commotion. They put him on the bed and started doing chest compressions as they rushed him to ICU. I was literally running to keep up with them. They immediately intubated him and that’s how he stayed for the next 80 some-odd days, on a ventilator, in a drug-induced coma. During those 11 or so weeks, Stan’s doctors and nurses daily told me that he wasn’t going to live. That there was no way he could survive all that was happening to him. Not only did he have a severe case of pneumonia, but after a couple of days in ICU, he contracted a Strep A blood infection. So now all that tainted blood was coursing through his veins and infecting all his organs. Within just a matter of days, both kidneys were infected and shut down. They put him on a continuous dialysis machine. None of the nurses knew how to use it so the technician used Stan as a teaching tool. His liver had been affected and he had 5 holes in his lungs. They would plug up one hole and then another one would pop open. The doctors told me that as long as he was on the ventilator, that the holes in his lungs would not heal. But without the ventilator, his lungs were not strong enough to take a breath on their own.

Every day, every doctor and every nurse, except one, would tell me there is no way for Stan to live. Although they took extraordinary care of Stan, I kept telling them "the

Lord is the master healer and all things are possible thru Him." Honestly, I only doubted once that he might not live. It was at that time that my minister, Regi, taught me about the two kinds of healing. There is the physical healing which is how our bodies heal on this earth and there is the spiritual healing, how our bodies are healed in heaven. It’s a win-win situation either way.

From that day on, I believed Stan would live and be restored. I knew it would be a long, slow uphill climb. What myself and the doctors and nurses saw with our "eyes" did not look promising. What I saw with my "faith" looked absolutely wonderful. I cast all my cares on the Lord and He sustained me day in and day out. I usually arrived at the hospital around 6:30 every morning so I could talk with all the doctors as they made their rounds. I would finally go home about 10:30 or 11:00 each night. During the first month or so, I wouldn’t eat because Stan couldn’t eat. I wanted to wait. All I needed to sustain me was the Word of God and water. I touched him, massaged his hands and feet, sang to him, read the Word to him and talked to him constantly to let him know I was right by his side. When all of his body had failed and given up, the doctors decided they wanted to try to bring him out of his coma. I know they didn’t think he would recognize me and so then would be able to give up on him. Finally, after 3 long days of gazing into empty, blue eyes, the vacancy was replaced with a glimmer of light! I began to see the hopeful glimpse of life restored! Although he was completely paralyzed from his neck down, his eyes began to follow me! What an incredible feeling of joy!

By this time, all of Stan’s muscles had atrophied 100%. Going into the hospital, Stan was a body builder and weighed 198 pounds. He was now down to 133 pounds. The only thing he could do was blink, and even that took a while for him to be able to do. It was a long, difficult battle for Stan to come back to life. He had to completely start over and relearn everything that most of us do on a daily basis and take for granted…breathe, swallow, talk, write, brush his own hair, not to mention sit up and walk to name a few. But the Lord is awesome. He has completely restored Stan’s health. His organs are all functioning normally and he is not on any medication of any kind. A miracle? Absolutely. Stan was off work for 8 months and is now back to teaching full-time. He has a yard and landscaping business plus he goes to the gym 5 days a week.

I was blessed to witness and be a part of such an incredible miracle. It took Stan quite a while to realize where he had been and what had happened to him. Of course, he has no memory of any of it until his time in rehab. But he does know that he has been called by God to share the blessing. He now spends a part of every day in the hospital ICU encouraging others that are going thru where he’s been. Miracles are all around us if we will just open our eyes.

"Faith is the substance of things hoped for in the evidence of things not seen."