Coping With Meningitis

It was the summer before sixth grade, when going the beach and swimming was all that mattered to me. In mid-July my fun ended because I became extremely ill. I don’t remember much, but here’s what I do.

For at least 2 weeks I had Viral Meningitis, and my parents had no clue what it was or how I could have gotten this. I was so sick that even if I tried to take some Motrin I would vomit it back up within 15 minutes. So eventually I gave up trying to eat, drink anything, or take any kind of medicine to help move me along or ease my pain.

I soon developed a dark red rash all over my body. The rash wasn’t merely red splotches, but raised up bumps making little villages, or more like largely populated cities all over my skin. I couldn’t get up off the couch, except to use the bathroom. I was too weak. My fever seemed like it wanted to make a lasting friendship with me and never leave. And my neck hurt so bad that I couldn’t move it or my shoulders. So I had to force myself to lay stiff. All day. Every day. My dad bundled me in blankets thinking I would just sweat the sickness out. My mom waited on me, trying to make me eat something or drink a glass of water. But nothing they tried worked. I couldn’t even go to church to be prayed over.

Eventually, one Saturday night, I thought I was doing significantly better. So I decided I could sleep in my bedroom, which is up stairs. But when I came down in the morning to get ready for church, I was too weak to move down the stairs. I couldn’t move my legs or make my arms hold me up against the wall so I wouldn’t fall.

My mom decided it was enough waiting and rushed me to the nearest hospital. They did a spinal tap on me, but the first time they did it they went too low and had to do it over again. The second time was still not in the right spot, but I couldn’t stand them sticking that long needle in my arched, sore back anymore. So I let them think that they hit the spot that time.

They kept me in for observation, and quickly learned that if I hadn’t gone there right away that morning I could’ve died the next day, probably from dehydration and lack of food and nutrition. For the next three days the hospital was my new home. I hated it, but it beat lying on that terrible couch at home. At least here they had pudding.

But when it was all over, for more five years, I could not lay flat on my back because of the reckless spinal taps I had endured. And my eyes only got worse; every year I needed a stronger perscription. Before this I didn’t even need glasses. Finally this last year, seven years later, God blessed me with keeping my eyesight the same as the previous year.

I’ve been through much more since, but the one thing that still gives me chills is that God was there with me the entire time.
In the hospital room, when no one else was there, I still felt like someone was there, sitting beside me, standing at the side of the bed, holding my hand. It was God, telling me He would never leave me nor forsake me. That He had plans for me still. That it was NOT my time to go yet. He told me that there would be tougher battles to fight and that He’d be there even then.

He has been faithful to His promises, both that there would be tougher battles to fight and that would never leave me when I need Him most. To this very day, I can still feel Him holding my hand like He did in that lonely hospital room.