I think I've told this story here before...or maybe just in emails with RM95...but today is the 26th anniversary of the day I was dead. I was 3 years old and caught hepatitis eating shellfish at a chain seafood restaurant. It grew worse and the doctor told my parents to give me aspirin to hold down my fever. I started bleeding interally big time. On Nov. 3, late at night, my parents called the doctor and told him I was passing blood...he told them that a little blood looks like a lot and to bring me in the morning. When they brought me in the next morning I had lost all my reflexes...they carried me limp into the office. He freaked out and told them to speed as quickly as possible to Texas Childrens. When I arrived at Texas Childrens they took a blood count...apparently there' s a scale in which the normal blood range should be 12 and mine was 3. The doctors at the hospital, over the objections of my own pediatrician, decided not to put me in ICU because they wanted me to die with some dignity, with my parents at my side. They could only give my like 5 drops of blood each hour, because anything more would cause cardiac arrest. They kept telling my mom, "you understand what we're saying, right? there's just not enough time. there's nothing we can do." At 2:00, the doctor pulled the sheet up to my chest and folded it back so they could pull it up over my head after I died. The minister from my church was there and administered last rites. The doctors left the room and waited for me to die. I was in a coma...I could not move...I had very little blood and was losing it much faster than they could give me more. My eyes began to roll back and I screamed, "NOOOO...I HATE YOU...I HATE YOU!" Those were to be my last words... At straight up 3, I woke up. And I looked over at my mom, smiled and said hi. She asked me where I was, as everyone was worried that even if I lived, I would have some form of brain damage from lack of blood. I said, church, after seeing my minister. They asked me who I knew from church and I said, "Jason", the name of my best friend from church at the time. My mom and the minister started screaming and jumping up and down. The doctors came in assuming I was dead...and were shocked. They pulled down the sheets quickly and said, "can you move your legs for your mommy?" And I did. They rushed me down to ICU...I stayed in the hospital for a week. When I got home I had to learn how to walk and use the toilet again. On that day...26 years ago...the doctors asked for a conference wiht my parents. They took them in a conference room...and the head doctor got up to talk to them. She started crying. She said, "We didn't do any of this. We've gone in with scopes and we can't even find the source of where he was bleeding. And we couldn't give him enough blood to make him live. We have absolutely no explanation for this." Thank God. I think of all I've known in my life...all I would have missed out on. My family...my wife...my son...my friends...all of it. Every breath. I love this day. This is like my second Easter...my second Christmas. Thanks for letting me share that. sorry if it was way too long.
Simpsons is a terrible, very unfunny show. MadMax - That's a great story. Although I don't believe in religion, I can see that the core of your faith is very strong and I'm very happy for you.
Holy cow! Great story. Most of my family are much better Christians than I am....they'll really enjoy this story. Hope you don't mind if you see it come back to you a few weeks from now in the form of a chain e-mail asking you to send it to everyone in your address book.
Well, you are persistent bugger, aren't you? Seriously...I simply could not imagine the pain of losing a three year old. We're rather glad you're still about, Max.
George's eyes wandered across the dying boy that night, and while doctors began etching a time of death into their notebooks, Mr. Lucas began writing something entirely different. "There is a new hope." he wrote. And the doctors responded. "You may be right George. You may just be right. You see, Elvis died a a short time ago and his blood was donated to us last night. When this boy was brought in, we gave him five drops. One drop for every hour he hung on. "George looked up from his notedpad, looked back down at what he had written, and then he penned something on the page. "The Force is strong in this one."
NOTE: The following is what I believe. If you don't believe it, so be it, but try not to make fun of it. Max, Your story is awesome and is another testimony to God's healing powers. My wife and I often pray that the blood shed on the cross heals those who are afflicted and it happens. More often than people realize. Doctors shake their head in disbelief and say that there is no explanation, it's like the illness was never there. Miracles still happen.
Great God, Max... literally! What a story! When you screamed those words above, do you remember who you were talking about? The doctors? What do your parents say about that terrible day now? As the father of four.... CHILLS!
Man.....I shed a tear over that one. What a heartwarming tale of the healing power of prayer. Guess the Lord had some more things for you to do in this life.
I have no idea what I was screaming at. I have but one or two memories of the whole event...and they're very faint. The doctors told my mom it was me screaming at the pain, probably. My mom and dad sat with my wife and i the other night to talk about this. My dad, like me, remembers the date because of an upcoming football game at the time (Rice vs. UT) . My mom tells the story of sitting in that room and just thinking, "no...why are all of you doing this? he's going to be fine." she was resolute that i would be fine. i don't know if that was denial or faith...or some combination of the two. My mom contracted hepatitis before I did from eating at the same place at the same time...she relapsed after dealing with watching her son teeter on the brink of death, so I went to live with my grandparents for 6 weeks after this. I have very strong memories of that, and really bonded with them in ways probably atypical for grandparents and grandkids. Made losing them years later very tough for me...they were the ones who taught me to love the Astros, by the way. (should i thank them or curse them?? ) thanks to all of you...i really appreciate the kind words. my business partner had me tell the story over lunch today with some clients of ours and i nearly broke down telling it. i was asked to tell it one easter a couple of years back at church. it never gets easier for me to get through it without tears.
my mom always says that...typical of a mom, right? it's an awesome blessing to be sure...but at the same time, it's always been a burden for me as well. i mean ever since i first remember hearing the story at about age 6. it's like a debt that can never be repaid, ya know? of course, in my faith tradition, that concept is already implicit...but it's just amplified to me with this.
