To God be the Glory! Publications

My Testimony of Healing

It’s Not Over Until God Says It’s Over! 

Part I

“Take care of me,” I said to the surgeon.  “I will,” he replied.  When I opened my eyes, it literally felt like my insides were on fire.  I looked up to see the surgeon looking down at me.  “I’ve got bad new,” he stated.  “What’s that?” I inquired.  “We have to go back in,” he replied.  “Will it stop the hurting?” I again inquired.  “Yes,” he assured.  I nodded my head up and down and was put back under by the anesthetics.  The next time I opened my eyes, my mother and some other family members were standing over me crying, asking me if I had saw Heaven.  Their tears were stemming from the fact of me almost dying. 

It all started on a sunny but chilly day in November 2002.  I began to feel some pain on the left side of my chest so I made an appointment to see my doctor.  She diagnosed me and determined that I had some fluid on my left lung, possibly pneumonia.  She prescribed me some meds and asked if I wanted a flu and pneumonia shot.  My immune system is not as strong as a normal person’s because I have Sickle Cell Disease.  I was thinking about getting both shots anyway because my job offered them for free, so I gave her my approval.  I don’t remember which one was which, but as soon as she shot me in my left arm, I went into one of the worst sickle cell crisis’ I ever felt.  She had to call an ambulance to take me to the emergency room.

Upon entering one of the hospital rooms, I was given a shot of morphine that did not completely stop the pain, but suppressed it enough for me to tell the nurses about my sickle cell condition and try to explain how I ended up in their midst.  I had been in situations like that before, but never like what was about to happen upon further diagnosis by several other doctors.  I was sicker than I thought.  More tests revealed that I was not only having a sickle cell attack ignited by a negative reaction from one of the shots my doctor gave me, but I also had fluid on both my lungs, double pneumonia and on top of all that, I somehow had contracted tuberculosis.  Crazy ha?  I thought so, but that was still not the end of it.  My spleen had grown three times bigger than its normal size and it was not working.  The doctors immediately came to the decision that my spleen had to go.  On top of that medical intuition, they decided to approach me about the situation, wanting to schedule surgery to remove it.  I fought it all the way until one of the doctors played “dirty” by going and telling my mother I was not cooperating. 

After talking to my mother, I agreed to have the surgery done, which was scheduled for April of the following year (2003).  From November to April, I don’t know if I had ever prayed that much in my life.  I gave my life to Christ in 1998, so I believed God would take care of me, but I would only be telling a lie if I said a part of me was not nervous about the whole ordeal.  Other than my tonsils being removed when I was a kid, I had been blessed to not have any other surgeries.  “Take care of me,” I said to the surgeon……….

“He’s awake,” I heard voices mumbling.  My eyes were blurred and it took several minutes for them to fully focus.  It felt like my head was about to explode, literally.  The tubes running all through my nose and throat only served to increase my level of discomfort.  When my eyes could focus, they were fixed on the teary eyes of my mother and family.  “Did you see Heaven?” I was asked.  That question put an immediate concern in my mind.  I did not understand the question – where it was stemming from.  I wanted to ask so badly what they meant, but the tubes in me would not allow me to speak with a language they could understand, however, I did start to mumble.  Of course they did not understand what I was saying, so they started trying to guess, asking me everything they could think of.  All I was trying to tell them was to back away from me because their crowding me was taking up the little air I already had.  One of my aunts saw that I was getting irritated so she suggested that they all back off and let me rest.

It was almost two full days before I got out of recovery and the question of “Heaven” was still in my mind.  I was thinking, “Why did they ask me that?”  I added (to my thoughts), “If I had of seen Heaven, I really don’t think I would have wanted to come back down here on earth.”  Once the tubes were removed, I could think of nothing else but to ask where did that question come from.  I was told that I stopped breathing and they (my family) believed me to be dead.  “The doctors didn’t tell you what happened?” I was asked.  I nodded my head side to side, followed by an embattled, “No.”  “What happened?” I eagerly inquired. 

Turns out the whole operation went terribly wrong.  Once the surgeon operated the first time, I was told I would not stop bleeding, forcing him to go back in a second time; that’s when I gave him the nod to do so, but because I still would not stop bleeding after that second time, the surgeon had to go back in a third time.  According to my family, after the second time I was cut on, I stopped breathing for ten minutes.  After the third time, I stopped breathing for twenty minutes – a total of thirty minutes.  After that third time, my body could not take anymore and just shut down.  The surgeon and his team told my family there was nothing else they could do….to call my other family members because I was not going to make it.  Well, glory be to God that my family did not accept that report.  According to my aunt, she gathered my family that was at the hospital and took them into a room to pray.  My sister said they all called on the name of the Lord nonstop, and within minutes I started breathing again.  The surgeon and his staff were at a loss for words.  Further glory to God was told to me about a lady who was also at the hospital waiting for her husband to have surgery.  She heard my family crying out to the Lord and asked them if they would pray for her husband as well.  Glory to God!  The devil meant me harm, but God turned near death into continued life!  Praise Him!  “O DEATH, WHERE IS THY STING?  O GRAVE, WHERE IS THY VICTORY?” -1 Corinthians 15:55, KJV

Victory in Christ I lived to testify about, but my journey was not over……….

Part II

            I’m not exactly sure why I was released me from the hospital only a week after that horrendous surgery, but within a day and a half, I was back in the emergency room with internal bleeding.  My blood pressure was sky-rocketing through the roof.  I became short of breath and my kidneys were appearing to shut down.  Once again, my diagnosis of living was dim.  Another internal surgery was needed to stop the bleeding.  If you are counting, yes, that adds up to four times of having to be cut on in a two-week span. 

            God delivered me from that ordeal as well!  Praise Him!  From there, my faith would really be tested.  As if the entire surgery procedure was not bad enough, from the various things that went wrong, I had to see three different doctors and take twelve different medications, the bulk of which came from having tuberculosis.  That was a whole new area I was exposed to, as it relates to the disease.  Nurses from the health department visited me frequently to make sure I was not doing anything outside of the solidary confinement I was under, or doing anything to spread the disease as well as make darn sure I was taking all my meds and regularly seeing the tuberculosis doctor.

            God was supplying all me and my children’s needs, but I was not getting any better.  I began to feel useless and I was irritated at the fact that my children, younger then, had to help take care of me when my family could not be there, mostly because all of them lived in another city, and some in another state.  I hated that my children had to see me in such a bad condition.  I wanted them to go to their mother’s place but they would not leave me.  They did not verbally say it, but I knew they were wondering if I was going to live or die.  The fear in their eyes only served to enlarge my fears. 

Several more months went by and I still was not getting any stronger.  By then (a little over a year), I was really tired of all the medications, visits from the nurses, visits to all the doctors and the fact that all I could really do was lie in bed and feel helpless, needing assistance to feed myself and go to the bathroom.  I was damaged from all the internal cutting more than I thought I had been.

            I lashed out at God.  “You said You would take care of me!” I yelled with tears gushing down my face.  “If I am not going to live, I accept Your will, but please don’t continue to let my children and loved ones see me like this.”  Several more months passed before I started to get stronger.  By this time, I had been cleared of the tuberculosis and I was even able to get out and go to a church service.  My children’s fears were fading and their joy and faith in the Lord began to increase, along with mine. 

Darkness surrounded me for quite some time and strongly tested my faith, but I had to understand that even though it did not feel like it, everything I was going through was working out for my good and God’s glory! (Romans 8:28).  Because of that entire ordeal, my relationship with my Lord is stronger than ever and there is absolutely nothing anyone or anything can do to shake my faith in Him!  He is the One who knows what’s best for me!  I know and fully understand that “It’s Not Over Until God Says It’s Over!”

-MJ Reynolds