The Gift of Pain - Chapter 8

To read Chapters 1-7 of My Story - The Gift of Pain, click on the links at right.


The next morning, when I woke up, I rolled over and slowly realized I had slept though the night for the first time since my surgery. The pain was almost completely gone. I go out of bed, lifted my arm and shouted to Steve. Suddenly, I realized what had happened. For over a month, my shoulder had been dislocated and the sudden jerk from my fall the night before had set it back in place!

I moved my arm back and forth, amazed at the freedom of movement and how much the pain was reduced. For the rest of the day I was ecstatic, feeling like a fog had lifted from my brain. That night we decided to go out for frozen yogurt. I was smiling and happy, so glad to be out of the house and feeling human once again.

An old friend stopped by while we were sitting around chatting. She reached down and hugged me. As she did so, I could feel my shoulder slip back out and the searing pain return. I sucked in my breath and quickly turned away. As I did so, my sister saw the expression on my face and asked if I was all right. Tears started streaming down my face as I shook my head. I quickly got up and went to the bathroom inside the store.

I could not stand the pain and moved my arm this way and that, trying to get it set back in place. I was absolutely panicked and finally, in desperation, smashed my shoulder against the concrete wall, praying for relief. That did it. The shoulder was reset but my pain was still intense.

We went to see the doctor the next day and I related all that had happened since my last visit. I clearly had more mobility but the doctor would not believe that my shoulder had been dislocated all that time. He was very skeptical and made a referral to an orthopedist specializing in shoulders. I begged for some way to keep my shoulder from slipping out again and they fitted me with a brace, but my shoulder felt extremely loose and vulnerable and I was terrified at the thought of it slipping out again.

Once again, I started the medical merry-go-round of doctor’s visits, x-rays, and tests, followed by more doctor’s visits and more elaborate x-rays. After a prolonged period and another incident with my shoulder slipping out of joint, it was finally revealed. I had indeed dislocated my shoulder and torn the rotator cuff. Something had happened in that surgical unit when I was unconscious and this was the result. To make matters worse, I had developed frozen shoulder.

The orthopedist said that my case was extremely unusual (not the first time I had heard that) because the dislocation occurred in a different place than normal. This made it hard to detect in the first round of x-rays. He prescribed physical therapy and referred me to a Chronic Pain Management program.  He mentioned the possibility of surgery to correct the torn rotator cuff.  Needles to say, I was not in any hurry to go back under the knife.

The short-term relief I had felt after my shoulder reset the first time was long gone and I was back in a foggy tunnel of pain. The medication I was taking provided negligible relief. I was sinking lower and lower every day. I never imagined I could endure such unrelenting agony.

One day, I lay on my bed, crying out to God, baring my soul. For some strange reason, the picture of a broken pencil was floating in my mind.

“God, I am of no use to anyone. I am useless, like the broken end of a pencil – chewed up, missing the eraser, with the tip broken off. I want to die. What can you possibly do with a broken person like me?”

I had never felt so low and I truly wished for death. I could not imagine continuing my life in such a pitiful condition. As I lay there, bemoaning my state, I heard God’s voice whisper quietly and sweetly to my spirit. At first I couldn’t understand it, but slowly these words started to seep into my heart.

“My child, you may be broken. You may be just like that little nub of a pencil, but I can take that broken nub, sharpen the tip and with it, I can draw a masterpiece or write a symphony. And my daughter, I don't need an eraser, because I never make mistakes.”

My dear friend, as I write this, I can barely read the screen as the tears pour down. Because I know that these words are meant for you also. You may be broken, you may feel chewed up. You may wonder how God could possibly ever use someone like you.

This is the beauty of real relationship with God. When we are at the end of ourselves, He is there…

I cannot promise you a life free from pain, or healed relationships and easy living. But this I know, beyond a shadow of doubt. You will not be alone on your journey. The Lord is that “friend who sticks closer than a brother”. There is a peace and joy that transcends mere happiness as you grow in relationship with Him. Accept the gift of His presence.

He has promised this, and it is a promise on which you can rely.
"Never will I leave you;
never will I forsake you."
Hebrews 13:5

Ever so slowly, the healing had begun, not just a physical healing, but the healing of my spirit.


The name of the LORD is a strong tower;
the righteous run to it and are safe.
Proverbs 18:10

The Gift of Pain - Chapter 5

To read Chapters 1-4 of My Story, click on the links at the right.

Before I continue this next chapter, I have a confession to make. I am feeling a bit squeamish about the title of my story "The Gift of Pain". When I began writing this, most of my pain was in the past.  It had settled to a dull roar and I felt that I had really learned some lessons that I could share. Unfortunately, the pain has returned and is increasing. Once you read the chapters dealing with my chronic pain (I promise, I will get there eventually), you will understand better why I do not want to return to those days of misery.

I have discovered that pain is a cruel master. Just when you think you have beat him back, he rears his ugly head trying to wrest control of your life once again. I guess, in some weird way, this is where the gift aspect comes in. I don’t know if I would have learned how desperately and completely I need the Lord’s presence in my life, were it not for the pain. I’m that stubborn and hard headed.  I just really wish I could learn this another way. 

Right now, I have to admit, I am praying for a reprieve. If you are looking to read a story that wraps up nicely, like the final five minutes of some mindless TV show, where everything is resolved and they all ride off into the sunset, then quit reading now.  

If you are a 'name it and claim it' Christian, this will not fit your theology.  I offer this alone, a firm and deep conviction that whether or not I am ever free of pain, God is who he says he is, he is worthy of my praise, and my life is in his hands.

"Since Jesus went through everything you're going through and more, learn to think like him. Think of your sufferings as a weaning from that old sinful habit of always expecting to get your own way. Then you'll be able to live out your days free to pursue what God wants instead of being tyrannized by what you want."  ^{1 Peter 4:1-2(MSG)}

Are you ready?….read on.

I will never forget the sight of my dear husband, lying in our bed while a dozen firemen and paramedics crowded into our room . It was surreal. I stood motionless at the end of the bed, until the phone rang. “Mommy, are you going to pick us up from school?” asked our daughter. “You’re late!” I put on my cheery mommy voice and said, “Oh, I'm sorry. I guess I got busy and forgot.  Someone will be there to pick you up in a minute.”

I asked my brother to get the kids from school and he left. The paramedics loaded Steve into the ambulance and told me I would need to follow in my car. I was alone and scared. I immediately called my parents but got their voice mail instead. I finally called my sister, living in Vancouver at the time, and burst into tears when she answered the phone. She prayed with me and reassured me that everything would be all right. God was in control.

I hung up the phone and sat in my car, unable to move. All at once, I felt a deep sense of peace settle over me like a warm blanket wrapped around my shoulders. I had never experienced anything so supernatural yet so very real. I dried my tears and headed to the hospital calmly. When I got there, I was directed to the emergency room where a dozen people were hooking up Steve to wires and monitors, asking a constant stream of questions. Their cheery demeanor and professionalism calmed me further. One of the doctors announced, “Congratulations Mr. Rutledge, you are having a heart attack.”

Before long, my parents arrived and rushed to my side. We were told that Steve would be going to the cath lab for further testing and I kissed his cheek as they whisked him away.

Over the next several hours the waiting room filled with family and friends as they came to support our daughter Ashley and me. Our youngest two spent the night at my brother’s house, oblivious to the drama at the hospital. I sat calmly in the waiting room, still sensing that “peace that passes understanding”.

After a while, the doctor came and gave us the news. While undergoing testing, Steve had gone into cardiogenic shock.  They almost lost him, but were able to start his heart again.  They implanted an external heart pump to stabilize him so he could survive  emergency coronary artery bypass surgery. The doctor stated, matter-of-fact, that if I hadn’t called 9-1-1 when I did, he would have died. I heard the doctor, but it was days later before the reality of the situation sank in. I signed the approval forms and we continued waiting.

As Steve tells it, one minute he was lying on the table looking at the heart monitor. All of a sudden… he saw it flat-line.

He looked from the monitor to the doctor and then passed out. The next thing he knew he was waking up from surgery. “I thought I died,” he says. When I woke up, everyone looked grim, telling me I had to have a double by-pass. All I could think was, I’m glad to be alive!”

He certainly wasn’t the only one that felt that way. We called friends and family with the good news, praising God for sparing Steve and for the quick actions of the paramedics and doctors.  We braced ourselves for the days of recovery ahead, as his parents booked their flights to come from Canada to be with us.

Let me ask you something, at this point? What is your greatest fear? What is that thing that keeps you awake at night or that you are certain you could never survive? For me, it had always been the possibility of my husband being hurt or injured. From the time we were married, I was certain that I would be widowed at a young age (that time has certainly passed!) I could not imagine how I would manage if I was left to cope with our lives alone. Maybe because we had been married very young and I had never really handled life on my own. Whatever the reason, it was a very real deep-seated fear of mine that I had never shared with anyone.

Now my fear had become a reality. He had survived the heart attack and the surgery, but he was incapacitated and would be so for some time. Being self-employed, we didn’t have sick days or disability insurance to fall back on. How long could we survive, I wondered?

I had a meager income selling my purses and a few things on ebay, but I knew it wouldn’t be enough. Here is the amazing part. From that moment in the car, when I felt that peace come over me like a blanket, through Steve’s recovery, I never worried. This is not normal behavior for me. I know it was God’s presence reassuring me that he would care for me when Steve could not.

Many days I would look at our circumstances and say to myself, “Today, the bills are paid, the children are healthy and Steve is alive. That is enough. Tomorrow is another day and it’s in God’s hands.” I took it one day at a time, some days, one hour at a time.

So many dear friends and family held us up through that time, with their prayers, encouragement, presence and financial support. We could never repay them all for being there for us at such a critical time.

Steve recovered quickly and was soon feeling better than he had in years. We had survived another major crisis. Certainly now we would get a break.  We enjoyed a period of relative health and prosperity where we breathed a little easier, but for me personally, the worst was yet to come...


" There is no room in love for fear. Well-formed love banishes fear. Since fear is crippling, a fearful life—fear of death, fear of judgment—is one not yet fully formed in love."  ^{1 John 4:18 (MSG)}

The Gift of Pain - Chapter 3

To read Chapters 1 & 2 of My Story - The Gift of Pain, click on the link at the right.

Months turned into years, as my neurologist worked diligently to pinpoint the source of my seizures and find a medication that would halt them. I was blessed to have an incredible neurologist. I know it was God’s provision for me at a time when I felt little hope. Not only was he a top neurologist, he was an epileptologist. Dr. Sirichai Chayasirisobhon, known as Dr. Chaya, is an incredible man, a devoted Christian from Thailand and tops in the field of epilepsy research and treatment.

We discovered that Dr. Chaya had come to faith in Christ at a church in Thailand that was planted by the Stone Church in Toronto, while my dad pastored there over twenty years previous to this time.  What an incredible 'God connection', for my heavenly Father to be preparing this man, while I was just a child, to minister to me all these years later.   

The first few times I visited Dr. Chaya, I struggled to understand his heavily accented English but from the very beginning it was clear that he was on my side and would not rest until I was well. He never said, “We may not find a solution” only “it may take time”.

We still laugh about the time I asked Dr Chaya if there were any dietary restrictions that I needed to be aware of and specifically, if I should give up drinking coffee.

He looked at me and very seriously said, “You must have quality of life”. He reassured me that I didn’t need to give up coffee along with everything else I had lost. To this day, I will pick up a cup of java, breathe in the delicious aroma and repeat, “I must have quality of life”.

While Dr Chaya and his staff encouraged me, I encountered other doctors who were less than stellar. One particular doctor spoke words that crushed my spirit.

I went to the Kaiser Los Angeles facility for a full day of neuro-psychological testing. On the way there I had a seizure and was dreading a day of endless questioning. For over six hours I underwent a battery of tests and evaluations. Several of these tests were to measure IQ. As I took the tests, some of the clinicians told me that I was doing exceptionally well. I thought nothing of it and went home exhausted.

A week later Steve and I went back to LA to discuss the results of the tests with a doctor I had never seen before. He was an esteemed neurologist and from the beginning of our session was arrogant and condescending. Anybody who has suffered from a long-term illness knows how vulnerable you become to words that are spoken while you are in such a fragile state.

We went through the test results and he informed me that one of the things they had discovered was that I had an exceptionally high IQ. The doctor then proceeded to ask me a series of bizarre questions.

“Were you the victim of sexual abuse as a child?”

“Have you ever been a victim of violence?”

I replied, “No” to all his questions, but he wasn’t satisfied. He persisted, asking the questions again, rephrasing them and repeating them. I assured him that I had never been the victim of any violent act, wondering what on earth he was getting at. Steve sat beside me, puzzled by his questions.

After half an hour or more, the doctor stated with conviction, that I was the victim of some violent or traumatic act. In his (not so humble) opinion, I was repressing this memory. I stared at him in disbelief as he continued on, insisting that this was the cause of my seizures and I must dig deep into my psyche to uncover the root. At the core of his insistence was my high IQ, a sure indicator, he said, of someone with repressed memories (not true, I later discovered).

I left his office dazed and confused. For the few weeks my mind was in an uproar. These were some of the convoluted thoughts that raced through my head, day in and day out.

“I know I’m not the victim of abuse. I’ve never been abused in my life.”

“But…if I was abused and had repressed it, how would I know.”

“Maybe I am a victim and I just don’t know.”

“If I am a victim, who abused me?”

I repeated these questions, and others, over and over in my head. I lay there, picturing in my mind every loved one and acquaintance from my childhood, imagining them as perpetrators of some horrible crime against me. It was driving me mad.

The other aspect of the doctor’s report that I found troublesome was the issue of my IQ. My mind was so muddled from endless seizures that I found it difficult to read or focus on anything.

“What a waste of a brain!” I despaired. “What have I ever done with my life?” “I wish he had never told me.”

I plummeted deep into depression, certain that I was abused, useless and possibly crazy.

Finally, one day, Steve had enough. After listening to me rail on with my confused questioning, he looked me in the eye and said, “Karen, who is the author of fear?”

“I know, but…” I started to argue.

“Who is the author of confusion?” he asked again.

“The enemy – Satan” I hesitantly replied.

“Who is the author of peace and a sound mind?”

“God, my heavenly Father”, I meekly replied.

“This doctor has spoken confusion and fear into your mind, without offering you hope. You need to let it go, focus on God and accept his healing for you.” Steve continued reassuring me and read to me Scriptures of hope and healing.

“For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.”
2 Timothy 1:7

At my monthly appointment with Dr. Chaya, I related to him, in a panic, what the other doctor had said. With love, Dr. Chaya responded that he did not feel like I exhibited any of the symptoms of someone associated with repressed memories – self-destructive behavior and sexual promiscuity. He also stated that there was a great deal of controversy on this subject overall. He reassured me that we would find a cure for my seizures and to trust God to help in the meantime.

Slowly, I began to let it go, stop the questioning and believe for my healing. There were days that I could believe, but many days of deep, dark despair. I kept very few records of those years but recently found a journal with a few entries that summed up my feelings.

“This morning when I went forward for prayer I just felt like it’s a waste of time. I don’t believe I’m going to be healed and I don’t hold out much hope with the doctors either. I just see an endless horizon of seizures and sickness – living half a life as half of a person.  My short-term memory and my ability to concentrate are decreasing. Some days I can barely remember or process anything…I feel so out of control. Everything is spinning away and I can’t stop it.”

On September 11, 2003, I started taking Topomax, the seventh different seizure medication I was prescribed. That was the beginning of my slow road to recovery. It was a fairly new medication at that time, but trials had shown it to be successful in halting seizures with few side effects. Other medications had caused heart palpitations, sleeplessness, depression and a myriad of other unwanted symptoms.

Days passed without a seizure, then weeks and before long I had been seizure-free for months. I held my breath and continued to pray that this would be the remedy I had been praying for.

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.
Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV)

Day of Rest

This has been a hard week.  It has been exhausting - physically, emotionally, spiritually.  I have an old injury that has decided to start acting up again.  I thought I was improving, and now this!  I wore earrings and now I have swollen glands, because I'm allergic to metals.  I am paying a price for my vanity.  This is just the tip of the iceberg.  There are issues, too personal to share, that are weighing me down and sapping my strength.  So many loved ones are dealing with major life issues like me and I want to be there for them, to offer support and encouragement.  But I feel like the well is dry.

I know it's been the same for many of you, and you feel like yelling, "Uncle!  I give up!"  But, we keep trudging on, doing our best to deal with all the pressures and trying to put a smile on our face.

But, you can only 'fake it' for so long.  There comes a time when you have to recharge and refuel.  Like a car, you can't keep it running without stopping for gas or changing the oil and maintaining the engine.  Eventually, you will sputter to a stop, or the engine will seize (unfortunately, this I learned the hard way - don't ask).

So, how do we recharge and refuel?  I know there are a couple practical ways that I do this.  The first one is to daily be in the Word.  When I read the Scriptures, God can speak to my heart and heal the broken places inside like no earthly person can.  I'm not so good at the 'daily' thing, but I've found that when I discipline myself to do this and make it a priority, the stresses of life are not as overwhelming.

The second one is to give my worries to God, in prayer.  I Thessalonians 5:17 says to "pray continually".  I have to remind myself that prayer isn't just me spouting my frustrations to God, although He can handle it when I do.  It is also waiting quietly for God to speak to my heart.  It is two-sided.  Like a conversation with a dear friend, I need to give Him time to speak, instead of dominating the conversation.

The third way to refuel is to allow ourselves a day of rest and dedicate it to God.  I know, nowadays this seems impractical, and for many their jobs don't allow it.  This is the hardest one for me.  There is so much I could accomplish on Sunday (my chosen day of rest).  I am behind the ball and I'm scrambling to get caught up.  But God thought it important enough to set an example.

 ^{Exodus 20:8-11} Observe the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Work six days and do everything you need to do. But the seventh day is a Sabbath to God, your God. Don't do any work... For in six days God made Heaven, Earth, and sea, and everything in them; he rested on the seventh day. Therefore God blessed the Sabbath day; he set it apart as a holy day.

Why is it so hard for me to set aside that day?  God wants to be with us!  What an incredible thought.  The God of the universe, who created the moon, the stars, the earth and everything in them, wants to spend time with me?  The least I can do is carve some time out of my week to be in His presence.

If your Sabbath can't fall on a Sunday, or a Saturday, I encourage you to find time, somewhere in your week to sit in His presence and reflect on His goodness.  He is waiting to spend time with you!

^{Isaiah 26:3} You will keep in perfect peace
      all who trust in you,
      all whose thoughts are fixed on you!

Floods

What a week!  You know how sometimes life just comes at you like a flood and you feel like you are dog-paddling to keep up?  Well, that is the way I feel today.  I wish I could write something more light-hearted - yesterday I felt a bit of a reprieve, but today - BAM!  Life is just hitting hard again.  In fact, I had completed today's entry when I heard a shout outside and there was the actual flood.  One of the kids had knocked the sprinkler system with a basketball and... well, here's what happened.  This day started out bad and it isn't getting any better.

But my minor crises are nothing compared to what others are dealing with this week.  There are two families I know who are grieving and struggling to come to terms with the loss of a  mother.  I have spoken with moms today who are overwhelmed and desperate for answers with how to help their children.  I have someone very special to me that is having a terrible crisis of faith and needs peace.  I am praying constantly for these dear ones.  I have no answers, all I can do is reach out in love and pray.

In the midst of so much pain and confusion, life goes on.  We have to continue with work, clean the house, make dinner and make sure the kids get their homework done (no easy task!).  I would rather curl up in my bed, close my eyes and make it all go away.

But I keep moving on, not on my own strength.  I am weak.  But through the strength of the One who brings me peace and has promised...
 "My grace is enough; it's all you need.
   My strength comes into its own in your weakness." 2 Corinthians 12:9

Peace in the Chaos

I had something different planned for my entry today, but just received news that made me change directions.

Today, the house that my daughter LA lives in was broken into. The place was ransacked and they stole whatever they could get their hands on from everyone who lives there. My first response is sadness, for my friend and her daughter and for my own sweet girl who has lost personal items and a sense of security.

My second response is anger. I would LOVE to take matters in my own hands and hunt down whoever it was that felt they could take what does not belong to them. How dare they invade someone else's property and take what they worked so hard for!

There are also, I must confess some why's involved. Why, Lord, would you allow this to happen to these good people and especially to my girl. She is so excited about her new career, her upcoming wedding and all the future has in store and now this! I also know how very hard K works to provide a home for her daughter. This is just not right!

But I know that why's don't always get answered and certainly not right away. The past several years, dealing with chronic pain have taught me this. When we don't know why we must cling even closer to the One who does. There is no peace without Him - no security in things, only in trusting the Maker of all things.

So, I ask that you would pray for peace for these dear ones, that God would restore them tenfold and envelop them with His peace and security. I have learned that without it, life is chaos.

"I'm leaving you well and whole. That's my parting gift to you. Peace. I don't leave you the way you're used to being left—feeling abandoned, bereft. So don't be upset. Don't be distraught." John 14:27 The Message