A Testimony

At five years old, I was dressed like a clown, placed into the windowless back of a van by my teachers, and brought to what must have been some sort of asylum. I was to cheer up the sick. Except that the sick terrified me. An old woman with a plastic face and jet-black hair that fanned out across her pillow beckoned me towards her. With a crooked index finger, she summoned me to her bedside with a piece of candy. I refused, thinking if I ate it, I’d catch whatever horrible disease she had.

Then I was led to a smaller room where a boy lay sleeping on a bed. I was told to cheer him up, then the teacher left the room. Not knowing what to do, I began to sing, staring at a window high above near the ceiling I couldn’t escape from. It was no use. The boy didn’t wake up. But the experience at the asylum was a trauma. I’ve had a fear of all things medical since.

But I’ve dealt with stomach issues since I was a teenager, eventually diagnosed with IBS. It also happens to be one of the potential symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Raised as I was by alcoholic parents and an abusive parochial school makes me familiar with the disorder. Having IBS and two ulcers made me familiar with gastroenterologists. A common procedure they do is an endoscopy where they drop a camera down through your mouth into your gut.

If you’ve been to a doctor recently, you know they will schedule your appointments a year…even two years in advance.

The last endoscopy I had was during a February with a new doctor. I hadn’t had one in years. After my procedure was over and I had a follow up consult with the doctor, he told me I had pre-cancerous cells in my stomach. These cells, he explained, could lead to stomach cancer and do not go away. Then he scheduled me for another appointment the following year.

The news was unsettling. I prayed, but I still obsessed. As the months ticked down to a new February and appointment, what was going on inside my stomach was always in the back of my mind. My older sister had been diagnosed with jaw cancer. What she’s been through with surgery, a permanently misshapen face, chemotherapy and radiation, speech therapy and a feeding tube is not for the faint of heart. None of us are exempt from suffering.

As the day of my new consult rolled around, I had trouble concentrating on much of anything. The next endoscopy was scheduled for weeks after. I thought great, so much time to get through!

But during those weeks of waiting, I simply threw myself on the mercies of God. One Scripture verse I clung to is from Psalm 103:1-2 which says, Bless the Lord, O my soul and forget none of His benefits; Who forgives all of my sins and heals all of my diseases. I also spoke to my stomach and digestive system, commanding every unhealthy cell to leave in the mighty, healing name of Jesus!

After I awoke from the procedure my doctor didn’t tell me much, except that a bunch of samples of my stomach had been sent to pathology. He scheduled my post-endoscopy follow up for more than three weeks later.

The morning of the follow up I felt a bit rattled. I played an assortment of praise and worship songs on my phone and sang aloud to them while I got ready to go, and also in the car for the forty-five-minute drive to the office.

Finally, when the doctor was ready to see me, I know that I appeared calm but didn’t feel it. I remembered a meme I had recently posted that said, “Fear is what if. Faith is even if. I thought, you posted it girl, now live by it. The doctor pulled up my records on his computer.

Every sample he took of my stomach came back negative for disease! But when he saw that the pre-cancerous cells were gone, he couldn’t seem to get over it. These were the same cells he told me would never go away. He repeated a few times that it was amazing and fantastic. He said, “It’s like you turned back time.” With my husband by my side, we gave all glory to God who is so merciful, and to prayer. Though he didn’t respond, I’d like to think we planted a seed in my doctor of Indian descent.

I was still so shocked when we left, that I began to cry—tears of gratitude to God— in the parking lot.

When trials turn into triumphs, it’s the Lord. When healing baffles doctors, it’s the Lord. When the Lord gives us a testimony, He wants us to share it. Praise the Lord! Thanks for reading.