THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH

By Jerrie Rice

When I awoke on that May morning in 2007, I had no idea that this was to be the day I would embark on the most challenging journey of my life. All I knew at that time, I was being jolted out of sleep by a horrible pain in my abdomen. For several years I had been experiencing a narrowing in my small intestines, and about once a year I had to spend a few days in the hospital to get things working again. So that morning, when I was awakened in excruciating pain, I suspected it was related to that restriction. I tried everything I could to alleviate the agonizing distress, but to no avail. After several days with no relief, I was told I needed to have surgery. My husband, Roy, felt the Lord had told him I should not have the surgery done in Guymon. However, because we were expecting another grandbaby soon I wanted to be close for the birth, so we made a very bad decision. We let a local surgeon operate.

Three days after I had the operation, my intestine burst open. Unfortunately, the surgeon who had performed my operation had just left town for three days, and didn’t have anyone to cover for him. As a result of this severe complication, my body filled with poison…or went septic, as the medical profession calls it. Eighty-five percent of those who go septic die in the first eight hours. I was in that condition and getting steadily worse for two and a half days. My lungs filled with fluid. My liver was shutting down, and my kidneys and blood were filled with yeast infection. I was placed in ICU. When the surgeon finally returned, he operated again and left both ends of my intestines on the outside. I was then placed on life-support, but the doctor felt I needed to be in a larger hospital in order to survive.

They called two hospitals in Amarillo, and even the one in Liberal. Each one said they didn’t want another doctor’s mistake. My niece is married to a heart surgeon at Baylor, in Houston, and he agreed to find the right doctors there to take care of me. My son also contacted a hospital in Tulsa and one in East Texas. They both urged him to get me there as soon as possible. But the hospital in Guymon wouldn’t let me go that far on life support. In fact they warned my husband that if he took me out of the Guymon Hospital, they would have him arrested.

Finally, a Christian doctor in Amarillo agreed to take me. I was airlifted to Baptist Saint Anthony’s hospital. After the doctor examined me, the first thing he wrote down was that I would not live through the night. But I did. However, I was in a coma. Finally, after two weeks in that condition, the doctors told Roy and the rest of the family they needed to make a decision about taking me off life-support within the next four days. All their tests and scans indicated I was brain dead. Even if I did wake up, they warned, I would be retarded, or paralyzed, or both.

But Roy refused to believe the doctor’s report. During the previous three and half years Roy had made a commitment to read the bible and pray at least twice a day. Thank God he had been spending all that time fellowshipping with the Lord, because when this severe trial occurred, and we needed a miracle, Roy was convinced that not only could God heal me, but he also knew God would heal me. He persistently declared, “She will live and not die, and proclaim the works of the Lord.” I know a lot of people prayed for me, but very few had the “knowing” that Roy had.

In spite of all the negative tests and pessimistic reports, after two and a half weeks of being in a coma, I woke up. One doctor reported it actually scared him when I came to. I guess he thought he was witnessing the dead coming back to life. And it was almost that dramatic. I was so weak I couldn’t move or talk because of the tube in my throat, but it was obvious I knew my family. I spent the next several weeks in the hospital getting my strength back. Every time I woke up Roy was there. He learned to take care of me so well that the nurses told the ones coming in for each new shift to let Roy change the tubes. They had decided he knew how to take care of me better than they did.

Finally I was strong enough to go home. I was sent home with a drain tube and a feeding tube, but after all this time thankfully I was home. Over the next seven weeks Roy continued to be my nurse, caring for me constantly. My church family rallied around us by bringing in food, sending cards, and giving encouragement. And of course they prayed. Even a church I had attended in East Texas twenty years ago had a day of prayer for me. An ex sister-in-law and her husband offered to come to Guymon to take care of our cows during this trying time. And our daughter Tina spent a week with us to give Roy some rest. Thank God for all the wonderful caring people who rallied around us during this challenging time.

It was difficult going through this deep valley, but I am glad to report, what Satan meant for evil, God turned around for good. There had been some dissention in my family, and some had not spoken to each other for years. During the time I was in the coma, Roy pointed out to them that their prayers would be hindered if this issue was not taken care of. When I woke up and saw them with their arms around each other, I knew it was worth it all.

Another huge miracle occurred when we got the hospital bill for over a half-million dollars. Our insurance had paid just forty thousand dollars of it, leaving an overwhelming balance for us to pay. But when the bill arrived, we were overjoyed to find a note written on the bottom stating that the entire debt was forgiven. Roy and I both cried when we read the note, and then rejoiced when we realized the extreme goodness of God’s favor.

In September 2007, a surgeon in Amarillo put me back together. It took eighty-four staples to do it. But for the first time in five months I was finally whole again. And, praise the Lord, the hospital forgave that fifty thousand dollar bill too.

After I was strong enough to go to church, once again I had some complications: I started to bleed in my intestines. On that particular Sunday morning, Pastor Charlie announced that the Holy Spirit was directing him to pray for people at the beginning of the service, before his sermon. He and Pastor Margaret laid their hands on me, and while they were praying I knew the bleeding had stopped. God confirmed it by showing a young lady in our church a vision of Jesus’ hand reaching down inside of me and making the repairs. A few days later the doctor’s verified that indeed I was healed.

When I was in the process of recovering, at first I had trouble remembering any scripture verses. I asked God to bring some back to my remembrance. The first one that came to me was “In the beginning God.” I remember a preacher saying once, that if you don’t believe the first four words of the bible, you won’t believe the rest of it.

The second scripture the Holy Spirit brought back to me was Revelations 2:20, “Behold I stand at the door and knock. If any man hears my voice, and opens the door, I will come in to him and will sup (share a meal) with him and he with me.” After I had gotten through this attack on my body, I felt like there were a lot of days and nights I spent sitting at a table with Jesus, drinking a glass of tea, trying to understand what had happened. I still don’t know all I would like to know about the why’s of this trial, but a scripture He gave me from I Corinthians 13:12 helped me to have peace about it, “For now we see through a glass darkly, but then face to face.”

My sister-in-law, Vancy, asked me if I had seen Jesus while I was in the coma. I had to tell her, “No.” And I really wondered why I hadn’t seen him, or at least something in the spirit realm. But I finally understood when Roy told me he had asked God not to let me see Jesus or heaven. He knew if I did see heaven I probably wouldn’t want to come back, and he felt my life was not over yet.

Looking back through all that has gone on in the past, and having experienced that alarming trip through the valley of the shadow of death, I can say I have lived quite a bit of my life. But then when I focus on all of the promises of the future, and the vision God has placed in my heart that has not been fulfilled yet, I have to agree; Roy was right! My life is not over yet. The best is yet to come.