I WILL LIVE to tell the story...

Ps 118.17

I will not die, but I will LIVE

to tell what the LORD has done......

Almost three weeks ago, I lay on death's doorstep.

It started with a headache.  So severe I could not get out of bed.  I was so tired, but could not sleep for the pain.  It was so intense, I failed to even put 2 & 2 together with any other symptoms my body was facing.

The rest - which I realised while being questioned by my GP was, I had such a stiff neck, I couldn't stand any light, I was running a high fever but freezing cold, I couldn't stand to straighten my legs, I had to lie down.  I felt incredibly nauseated - even drinking one sip of water was enough to make me want to vomit.

The pain I was experiencing - was MUCH, MUCH worse than labour.  I visited my GP - hoping for a jab in the butt to be sent home to get over my "migrane".  Of course, being pregnant - they couldn't give me anything.

Next I knew I was being checked head-to-toe for a rash and sent straight to ED at our local hospital.  The GP phoned in advance and sent me with a letter - so I could be seen "immediately".

I arrived, could hardly walk in the room, let alone tell them my name or write.  They took my letter and I sat down.  The room was busy - full, of really unwell people.  I saw the nurse, who checked me and told me it "will not be long" before I got to see the doctor.

Three and a half hours later, my husband, mum and miss "alsmost 2" at my side, I was still waiting.  I lay on a small couch in the busy main corridor of the hospital - because I could not bare to be upright.  I kept my eyes shut and periodically faded in and out of "awareness" - which I figured later was consciousness.  I shivered with cold and couldn't stand any noise.

They called my name.  By this point, I could barely stand, nor walk.  I could not control my body in the least.  I was beginning to convulse, hyperventilate and cry - at the same time.

The nurse ordered blood tests be done immediately, drip was inserted because I was severely dehydrated.  My fever was running high.

The doctor was in shortly after, and I was checked all over and asked a multitude of questions (for the 4th time).  He left to talk to his boss, and the nurse stayed with me. 

The first few drops of morphine - were literally like heaven (haha).  For the first time, I felt much less pain and could open my eyes.

I sobbed and sobbed - "what about my baby....??"

The doctor returned.  I had meningitis.  He suspected it was viral meningitis due to some of the onsetting symptoms I had, he was happy to diagnose me without any futher tests. 

He told me that they cannot treat viral meningitis.  It is also not considered "dangerous" like bacterial meningitis is.  They would give me some pain killers and send me home, that I would have a headache and be sick for a couple of weeks and then start to come right.

But I was given a choice.  Little did I know - the choice was likely to mean the difference between life and death.

If I left, and got worse, I had to come back to ED.  And join the back of the line in waiting again.  I would not have returned.  The wait was too agonising and traumatising as it was, let alone to do it a second time.

He said the other choice, was to have a lumbar puncture done - which would actually diagnose whether I had bacterial or viral meningitis.

I felt incredibly compassionate towards the other very sick people who were in the waiting room, waiting for a bed in the ED.  I felt swayed to go home.

But deep inside me somewhere - I knew something just wasn't right.

So I asked for the lumbar puncture.

The LP wasn't as bad as I expected (or had been told by others).  It's not a nice thing to have done, but I did not care for fact that it would help make me better.

A couple of hours later, I was diagnosed with bacterial meningitis.  Much to the doctor's surprise.  An ultra-sound was done to check baby - and there was lots of movement and a perfect heart rate.  *Sigh of relief*

Mum had taken miss "almost 2" home for dinner and bath, hubby then had to leave to pick her up and get her to bed.  Later, without warning, I was collected by two people with plastic gowns from head to toe, and masks on - and delivered to my room.  The masks and gowns were part of my life for two days - until I was no longer "contagious".

I felt like an enemy of the human race - biological warfare waiting to be released or something.  At one point, I had five medical staff in my small room, peering at me from behind their peculiar costumes.

For the next 8 days I lay in hospital - in a room completely dark.  My visitors actually thought I was sleeping - but I couldn't handle even the faintest light.  I could not read or write.  I could not even bear to look at pictures.

I could maintain an upright position for only 5 minutes, before suffering excruciating pain and needing to sleep.

I never knew how the wriggles and kicks of a tiny baby could be such a relief.  The baby is alive.  But even more, I am alive.

I had meltdowns in the middle of the night.  I had panic attacks in the night (and day).  I felt depressed and alone, but any visitors made me physically and emotionally exhausted.

One morning, I couldn't even open the small packet of jam to put on my toast.  I called the nurse, in tears, who opened it - then I couldn't even use my knife.  The sheer frustration of wanting to do a simple task, but physically not being able to, was terrible.

I desperately wanted my God to come and make me well, sometimes I wondered why all this had happened and where He had got to.  But I knew He would never leave me, nor would He make me sick, or "allow" me to be sick.

People came to pray for me, my family was desperately praying for me, my friends were desperately praying for me, my church was desperately praying for me - people I don't even know were crying out to heaven for me. 

And I can truly say that I am SURE, if it weren't for God, I would have died.  I am greatful for the prayers of many warriors who cried out for me in my despair.  And who are still crying out for my total healing.

I finally came home.  Still in incredible pain, afraid of light and unable to do most things.  My arms were like those of an addict from all the IV's and blood tests.  My husband, looked glazed and stressed.  His busiest time with his work, an incredibly ill wife and a demanding child.

Then came the helps.  Dinners cooked and delivered every night.  Babysitters, house-cleaners, people just to sit with me.  Vouchers for special trips to a cafe.  What stars I have for family, friends and wider church family.

Each day since coming home, I have improved.  I can now read and write again.  I can stand light although sometimes get a slight headache or uncomfortable feeling.  I am barely in any pain apart from my back and tailbone are still quite sore.

My brain is sometimes still slow, speech sometimes slurred and occasionally loud or sharp noises still hurt my head.  I am off balance - which makes me afraid of large groups of people or things like crossing a busy road/carpark.  I cannot hear or see as well as I could.

I recognise that there is not only the physical damage on my body (which I believe I will make a FULL recovery from), but there is also a lot of emotional trauma which I am working through.

BUT...

I am greatful.  I am so greatful to be alive that the very thought moves me to tears.  I am greatful to be able to hear/see and do most of the things that I used to.  I am greatful to tuck my sweet little princess in at night, and experience the joy of her laughter - even just one more time.  I am greatful to look my husband in the eyes and tell him I love him - even just one more time.

I am greatful for all the people who have been pouring themselves out for my benefit.  Because they believe in me being well again.

I am greatful to be given another chance at life - because I sure didn't live the last chance I had as much as I wanted to.

I am greatful that I serve a God who WANTS to heal people.  Who DELIGHTS in healing the sick and doing miracles.  A God who is real, and who loves fiercely.

I know, that as I lay there fighting for my life, in the darkest moments - He truly sat in the chair next to my bed keeping watch.  Willing me to rise again.  Willing me to live.

x