God Saved My Life

Peter is like a brother to me. His calls are rare; hectic Pastoral and work schedules leave him with little or no time for regular telephone calls, so the anxiety with which I took this call was understandable. He wanted to know about my general well-being. I was doing great, I told him. Then, he informed me he had an unpleasant dream about me and that I had died in the dream. He quickly assured me he had prayed about it with his wife, so there was no cause for worries. Soon, our conversation veered to other areas and ended with each of us extending warm regards to our families. I informed my wife about the call when she returned from work later that day, and her resounding ‘God forbid’ was equally reassuring. The call faded from our memories with time, andeverything returned to normal after that.

About six months later, I returned from a short trip to Africa with acute malaria and ended up in the intensive care unit of the Hospital nearest to me. The doctors told me the fever was so severe that my kidney took a knock, and any further delay would have been fatal. After a week’s stay at the Hospital, I was well enough to go home. My joy knew no bounds but was short-lived.

A few weeks later, I developed sharp pains in my head, the kind that kept me awake all night. Each night, I adjusted my pillow endlessly to find that perfect position that would have me fall asleep. And my wife would place a cold, wet towel over my forehead to reduce the pain. Neither one worked. Instead, it got worse by the day. I returned to my house doctor, and her colleague attributed my headache to sleep Apnea. The HNO I was referred to turned out to be of no relief. I was running out of time.

I went back to my house doctor, with my pain worse than my previous visit. This time, however, Dr Marksteiner (Who I consider an angel of God) sent me back immediately to the same Hospital that had treated me earlier for malaria. The doctors there attributed my headache to the blood they discovered through a Scan that had accumulated inside my head. Before I could process the strange development, the Hospital quickly ordered an ambulance for a speedy ride to a bigger Hospital where my skull was bored in an hours-long operation to remove the blood. I returned home when I was well enough, elated. Again, my joy was short-lived.

A month later, the Hospital’s scheduled post-operation check-up produced mixed results. I excelled in all the physical tests I took. Still, the Physician was not too pleased with what a new CT Scan revealed—blood had re-accumulated inside my head. Based on my physical agility, he sent me home with instructions to return in a week for further examination. As harmless as it appeared, this decision proved to be a terrible mistake.

Our usual church monthly night prayer vigil was the following Friday, usually preceded by a church youth meeting. My daughter never missed it. She was home with me on this fateful day because the youth meeting was mysteriously cancelled, which hardly happened. My pastor did not; to date, he can’t tell who cancelled the meeting and why.

It never occurred to me that God orchestrated this for a purpose. I remember watching TV on one end of the couch in our living room that Friday night. My daughter sat on the other end, which was very unusual, too. She retires early to her room. That night, God kept her by me.

The next time I opened my eyes; I felt like freezing; it was as if I were sitting in a deep freezer. I couldn’t tell how many people were in my living room. I could see in blurred vision two to three paramedics standing over me, and from a distance, my wife, who had left earlier for the Night vigil, had returned. She watched from a distance with our daughter as the Paramedics revived me. “What is happening here?” I managed to ask, confused. “We are taking you to the Hospital”, one of the paramedics replied. I tried in my confusion to make sense of everything, falling in and out of consciousness as the Ambulance sped to the Hospital, very vaguely aware of our arrival.

The next day, the doctors opened my head again to drain the re-accumulated blood. When I regained consciousness, my wife walked to my hospital bed and said, “Welcome back”. I wondered where I went; she made me realize I was already gone. This testimony is to thank God for stepping in and orchestrating everything in my favour. I am now well.

Since then, I have tried to figure out what transpired. My daughter would rather forget the trauma of that night. From the Hospital report, I gleaned I suffered an epileptic attack with forming occasioned by the blood collection in my head. My question remains: who cancelled the church youth meeting that kept my daughter at home? And what kept my daughter late in the sitting room with me that night that made her witness my episode, call the Ambulance, and perform First-Aid on me as directed by the Emergency line operator for the fifteen minutes it took the paramedics to come? Because I learnt I stopped breathing. IT CAN ONLY BE GOD!