MY STORY

In 1962 a young boy was playing fetch with his dog in Eastern Kentucky along the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains.  He had thrown, what he thought, was the longest and highest ball ever thrown by a five-year-old. This was not surprising due to the fact that in 1957 his father was drafted by five professional baseball teams while a senior in high school.  The ball went across his aunt’s driveway, across the yard, all the way to the fence.  Instantly, the small dog darted toward the ball and the young boy quickly followed.

Driveways in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains were not the best, no pavement, just gravel and dirt.  As soon as his feet touched the gravel driveway, something caught the attention of his left eye.  It was his Aunt backing her 1962 Buick out of the carport toward him.  He tried to stop, but as soon as he did his feet slipped, he fell, landing on his back.  Within a blink of an eye, the large car had back onto his left side, pinning him to the ground.  The pain was unbearable.  He could hear the engine race due to the fact his aunt was trying to roll completely over him.  The car stopped and pulled forward which provided relief, but as quickly as the car had pulled forward, it came back a second time just as fast.  As soon as the car was on him again, he lifted his small left hand trying desperately to pound on the bumper, wanting it to stop. He lost consciousness.

The Aunt not knowing what was keeping her from backing up, got out of the car, only to see him lying under the left rear wheel.  His father was close by and hearing the screams came running.  Moving the car forward, the father picked up the boy and tried to bring life back to him.  He was not breathing and showed no signs of being alive.  As the father carried his lifeless son’s body toward the highway to wait on the ambulance, the young boy gasped, and then took in a large breath of air.  He looked up at his father and said, “Don’t worry daddy, I’m not going to die”.  A miracle, yes, the end of the boy’s suffering, no.

A question, who suffered more, the young boy or the father?

It has been over 50 years since the accident happened.  I can close my eyes and still see the bumper of that car as if it happened only yesterday.

From that moment, I experienced what only could be described as hell on earth.  For the next 5 years, I would suffer unexplained bouts of pain; some so severe that I would lose consciousness.

At the age of 10, my disease would be given a name, Pancreatitis.  At first, the doctors thought that the pain was caused by the accident. They were unrelated.

Over the next 32 years, the disease would manifest itself into what could only be described as unbelievable.

• Shortly after my 10^th birthday (1967) I was, for the first time, treated with pain medication.  I was experiencing real pain relief for the first time. For the first five years the treatment was to lie on a couch for weeks and wait for the attack to end.
• I have had more x-rays of my digestive system than I can count.
• There are numerous medical journals written about me.
• My longest hospital stay was 68 straight days.
• I spent 26 weeks of 1978 in the hospital.
• It has been estimated that one third of my life has been spent in the hospital.
• Mayo Clinic and I were very good friends
• In 1983 I was told (by the Mayo Clinic) that I have had more celiac nerve blocks than anyone on record.
• My pain was so severe that it took 100 mg of Demerol given intravenously every hour to provide relief.  The normal dosage is 50 – 100 orally or by injection every 3 to 4 hours. These dosages are for weeks at a time.  After which, it can take two weeks to detoxify my body from the narcotics.
• In 1978 I had a modified Whipple procedure done
• In 1979 I had 90% of my pancreas removed, my gallbladder, spleen and 6 inches of my bowel.
• After having my pancreas removed, I became an insulin dependent diabetic.
• Damage to nerves and scar tissue are still a major problem.
• My family has been called together more than once to anticipate my death
• I was told that I would not live past 40 years of age.

These are just small glimpses of the past 50 years.

Somewhere in the middle of all of this, the disease was given a more devastating name, Hereditary Pancreatitis.  After this discovery my suffering became even greater.  You see, the physical pain I experience can be somewhat controlled by medication.  The pain of watching my daughter, granddaughter and grandson go through the same thing has no relief.

When people ask where is God through all of this, I answer with this.  I’ve been dealing with this since the age of 5, and God has never left my side, He has never failed me.  I see Him in my Wife, Children and friends kneeling beside my hospital bed in prayer.  I see Him in the cards and phone calls I receive.  I see Him every time I open my eyes.  I can’t say that I have never asked why and that I have never given up hope.  But each time that I have, He answers the questions and then gives me reasons to continue.

2 Corinthians 12:7-10

To keep me from becoming conceited because of these surpassingly great revelations, there was given me a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me.  Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away form me.  But He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong."

If you are suffering, don’t give up hope, give in to Christ.  So again I ask who suffers more, the Father or his children?