In September of 1993, I contracted a terrible cold in my chest and
it tarried for far too long.
I visited my doctor several time during October and November
and told her I was not improving. She advised me that I was on maximum maintenance and no more could be done.
The first part of December, I visited my doctor again and advised her that my lung capacity felt weakened. She admitted me for
ex-rays and a work-up. The results were negative.
On December 20th I was having difficulty breathing and I went to
ER at the hospital here in Lansing. They took x-ray's administered
a mist treatment and sent me home.
On the 21st of Dec. 1993, I returned to ER with the same complaint. They administered another mist treatment and sent me home again.
My wife had stayed home from work that afternoon because she
was concerned for me. At approximately 3:00 P.M. of that day I
could barely take in enough air to tell my wife to call an ambul-
ance. I knew that something was terribly wrong and I didn't think
I was going to make it to the hospital.
The ambulance arrived and took me to the hospital. The same
Doctor was there who had treated me the three times that I had
gone to ER. The very one who had sent me home three times
after administering a mist treatment. I was barely breathing and
my skin was turning blue. He took one look at me and told me he
would not send me home this time. Later that night I became comatose.
The balance of this account comes from my wife. I was not cog-
nizant to know what happened at the time. She informed me of the following facts later:
They sent me to ICU and when they took x-rays this time they
were nearly whited out, which meant I was suffering from a very
strong infection. They began treatment for all types of infection
with different antibiotics searching for a solution. They would try
one for a while and if it did not clear the infection, they tried
another. The were administering an antibiotic they were only
supposed to use for no more than 9 days. They administered it
for 7 weeks.
Each time they took me off of the antibiotics my temperature
would soar and my heart would lose it's normal rhythm.
Finally, after two months, one of the cardiologist who had treated
me for a mild heart murmur remembered my last name and pulled
my record which was approximately 8 years old. He suggested to
the other doctors who were handling my case to run a heart cath
to see if anything turned up, which they did. They found an aortic heart valve that was infected and my heart was badly infected
also.
At this time, they discovered that the heart infection had caused
the lung infection and until the root of the problem was brought under control, the infection in my lungs would remain.
This group of doctors told the heart surgeon that I needed an
aerobic valve replacement. The surgeon said that the operation
would probably kill me for by this time I weighed only 140 lbs, a
far cry from my original 195 normal weight level.
The surgeon knew that I would definitely die without the operation
so he said that he would perform the surgery. He knew that it was
my best chance. He performed the open heart surgery without a problem. By the next day, the antibiotics began to do their job of cleaning up the infection. Two weeks later I awakened from my comatose state.
During the time I was comatose, and before they found the defec-
tive aerobic heart valve, they told my wife that I was going to die.
Several of her brothers belonged to large churches and my brother belonged to a large church so I had a couple of thousand people praying for me.
A total of 5 weeks after the heart operation I was released from
the hospital. When I returned for my monthly follow up, the heart
surgeon walked into the room, sat down and shook his head.
I asked him if there was something wrong. He replied that he was speaking to a dead man, He said, "When I first met you I wouldn't have bet a dime on your life. You were the most hopeless patient I
had ever seen. It is a miracle that you are here today."
I did not escape harm 100%. The antibiotic had been administered
for far too long and it caused me to be diabetic. It also caused a
disease labeled polyneuropathy. This is a disease that attacks the
nervous system. It is very painful and morphine must be constantly
flowing through my body in addition to other medication in order for
me to be able to bear the pain. If we go outdoors for very long I
must resort to a wheel chair as I cannot stand or walk for long periods of time. Walking has become a major effort.
The day I was finally released from the hospital, I went home and
sat down in my easy chair for I was very weak. I looked at Cher
and said to her, "there was a couple of times that I did not think
I would make it." We held each other and cried and prayed for
close twenty minutes. I think that is the closest I have ever felt
to her in our, then, 23 years of marriage. She had saved my life
by insisting upon the operation that I was unable to ask for.
I donate time to the church and I have an on line ministry in which
I counsel people who have sexual addictions. (pornography.)
I still lead a productive life and I thank God daily for the miracle
of saving my life.
I look at a lot of things differently. I am no longer easily upset.
I quite often look up at the sky and trees and admire the flowers.
I just notice more things.
My wife tells me I have nine lives like a cat but she warns me also that she thinks I have used most of them.
I am very happy to be here, even with the diseases that I must
contend with. And I am a fighter too. It is a good combination to be
a fighter and to have God in your life also. That must, necessarily, cause miracles to happen.
God bless you, love in Christ, Danny
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