The spiritual warfare over me continued. My months in the hospital brought much improvement in my condition. When my doctors suggested I go on home care, however, the insurance company refused to approve it. Then after getting approval after weeks of haggling, a Strep infection nearly killed me. Since I knew nothing about spiritual warfare then, I became a human punching bag for the devil, absorbing punch after punch not even knowing I was in a war. The story details follow: However if you care to catch up on my prior postings that are a prelude to this story follow the following links:

Entering The Spiritual Realm, MY JOURNEY TO SPIRITUAL GOLGOTHA, IN HELL – CONFRONTED BY THE DEVIL, SWIMMING IN THE LAKE OF FIRE AND BRIMSTONE, Standing On The Seat Of Judgment Before God, MY EXPERIENCES IN HEAVEN AND HELL, THE DAYS AFTER DEATH, MY ABILITY TO BREATH IS ATTACKED, UNABLE TO GET ENOUGH NUTRITION TO SURVIVE , MY MEAGER ATTEMPT TO FIND GOD BRINGS A MIRACLE

THINGS BEGIN TO LOOK BETTER

As the second opinion predicted (MY MEAGER ATTEMPT TO FIND GOD BRINGS A MIRACLE), I began to feel considerably better and stronger. I no longer naped several times a day, my weight was controlled, and with more time on my hands, I roamed the corridors of the hospital out of boredom. Nevertheless, I continued having digestion difficulties that kept me attached to an IV that pumped life-giving fluids directly into my aorta.  

My family physicians, nevertheless, believed that I was out of serious trouble. They thought I should be discharged from the hospital and established on home care, where I would dispense my own aortal IV feedings. The primary benefit was finally being at home with my family every day. However, the insurance company withheld their approval of home care for me, even though they had a considerable financial gain to do so. Eventually, after endeavoring to sway the insurance company administrators for weeks, my family doctor resorted to calling an executive and securing the home care authorized for me. I was blessed to have this man in my corner, making things happen for me throughout this entire ordeal. 

After spending almost three months in the hospital, I was happy to be home. A home care team arrived at my home on my first day back and delivered the IV equipment and a small refrigerator to stow the IV solutions, keeping them fresh. They also taught me to safely attach myself to the IV and set up and manage the IV equipment. I would be responsible for properly connecting the IV to my catheter daily at the appropriate times from that point forward. The home care team would deliver sugar water IV solutions weekly, and a delivery schedule was established. In addition, I was required to attend periodic medical check-ups, ensuring that things were progressing as expected. 

THE INFECTION STRIKES

For the first few weeks, things went well. Then one day, and for no apparent reason, I suffered what I would describe as an intensely cold chill with uncontrollable quivers. During this episode, my body shivered and convulsed for approximately ten minutes. The coldness I felt could not be remedied with blankets, and I became so cold that my lips turned blue. Suddenly, however, the chills ran their course and ended just as abruptly as they had begun. I immediately went to the hospital, where they performed a series of tests. I talked to the doctors afterward, and they were baffled. I was worried, so I verified that the doctors knew the history of my illness and the home care aortal IVs I was receiving. Believe it or not, they told me it was likely nothing and that I should not worry about it. I recall thinking as I left the hospital that perhaps something was wrong with my home care function. After all, what else could it be? But they were paid top dollar to diagnose problems for people. After all, they are doctors. They should be able to figure this out. They are professionals. They know what they are doing, right? 

About a week to ten days later, when I began to believe that the doctors were correct, the chills hit me again, only they were much worse this time. I’m unsure how long they lasted, but when they quit, I was spent. This was a severe reversal in my way of thinking. After the episode settled down, I mustered up the strength to travel to the hospital again, where an even more comprehensive set of tests were performed, but the results were the same. They found nothing amiss and sent me home again. Yes, I once again made sure that they knew about the circumstances of my illness and my home care treatment. Evidently, they could not put the pieces together. They suggested that if they could see me having an episode, they might be able to determine the cause of these mysterious shivers and convulsions.

After another week, I was in my family doctor’s office for a check-up when the third chill episode materialized. It began while I while the doctor examined me on his exam table. When the shivering began, the physician had his nurses wrap me with blankets, but they were inadequate in warming me. I then saw my lips turning blue in the mirror across the room. The convulsions were much more violent this time, and my fingers and toes became numb. My muscles were quickly becoming fatigued and began cramping. My doctor then checked my heartbeat with his stethoscope. As he listened, I could feel the now irregular rhythm of my heartbeat, and I knew the doctor was hearing it also. I looked up at his face and saw it slowly turn pale. His now wide-open eyes reflected fear, and I knew he thought I was dying right there in his office. His reactions reflected the seriousness of my situation. While I also believed I was sick enough to die, I again declined to let pessimistic thoughts into my mind regardless of my circumstances. Just like before, I knew that I would recover.

Then my body started shaking even more violently, and a nurse covered me with her body to provide additional warmth. Then an ambulance arrived, and I was wheeled through the patient waiting room and saw the horror and disgust on the faces of the people as I passed by thrashing. I guess they thought I was a goner as well! Just as before, the violent shaking suddenly stopped in the ambulance on the highway to the hospital. This time, however, the doctors must have concluded that there was something wrong with my catheter as they removed it as a precautionary measure. I believe that my doctor likely called ahead and told them to do so.

Later, tests confirmed my original suspicions. A strand of staph infection was growing on the end of the catheter inside my aorta. According to the doctor, the growth caused a chain of infectious materials that grew longer as time passed. Once it reached a critical length, the strand would break and be instantaneously released into my heart, causing these violent reactions.

SIGNIFICANCE TO THE VISION

I did not know it then, but I was once again the target of spiritual warfare. Satan kept hitting me, but I didn’t know to seek the protection of God. God was trying to get my attention, but I was not responding. He had something He wanted to tell me.

INTRODUCTION

Although I miraculously lived through that first night, my troubles were far from over. As strange as this may sound, I paid no heed to the Judgment Day messages I experienced that first night in the hospital (MY DAY OF DEATH, When You Disbelieve The Devil’s Existence…, Entering The Spiritual Realm, MY JOURNEY TO SPIRITUAL GOLGOTHA, IN HELL – CONFRONTED BY THE DEVIL, SWIMMING IN THE LAKE OF FIRE AND BRIMSTONE, Standing On The Seat Of Judgment Before God, MY EXPERIENCES IN HEAVEN AND HELL.) My life would continue, but now the devil had me on the ropes, and although I did not know it at the time, he was coming in to finish me off.

He continued attacking me in the hospital as I fought for my life. Several of his attacks damaged my body, while others aggravated my job standing and relationships. In my previous posting, he attempted to suffocate me (MY ABILITY TO BREATH IS ATTACKED.) When all else failed, he persuaded my doctors to get me to consent to a risky and unneeded operation. He repeatedly brought mayhem into my life with a relentless wave of events designed to abort my destiny and life purpose. In this posting, I will present how he attempted to starve me to death.

PROBLEMS WITH IV FEEDINGS

After I had been on IV feedings for a while, my physicians grew concerned about their ability to preserve my weight and health on continuous IV feedings. So they decided to see if I was healthy enough to begin ingesting natural foodstuffs again. They gradually introduced a liquid diet, and when that was successful, they pursued a soft nourishment diet. Everything went well for about a week, but unexpectedly my enzyme levels shot up dramatically again. 

So they paused these tests until my enzyme numbers turned back down, and when they did about a week later, they reinstated the same meal plan strategy. Unfortunately, my enzyme levels shot up again, and they suspended the feeding program for a second time. Through all of this, the IV feedings never ceased, and their effect began to take its toll as the veins in my arms, legs, hands, and feet broke down. Things were getting more alarming, and I wondered if the doctors had a resolution.

I was gradually moving toward a no-win crisis. My large veins had broken down, forcing the nurses to use smaller ones, therein reducing the amount of nourishment I could obtain in a day. They also had an increasingly challenging time locating a vein, often having to make several sticks were now becoming common. 

INSERTING A CATHETER IN MY AORTA 

After agonizing about this predicament, my physicians eventually resolved to take the risk of inserting a semi-permanent catheter into my Aorta. That’s correct, through the center of my chest and incredibly close to my heart. They were reluctant to perform this operation because one slip could result in permanent heart damage. Please note that the catheter insertion point in the diagram below is of the modern-day practice which moves the entry point away from the heart, most likely for safety reasons.

But there were several advantages to taking the risk. One benefit is that it would solve my nutritional issues. Once this catheter was in place, I would get all the nutrition required in just four hours. Secondly, it was considerably easier to use; merely attach an IV bag to the catheter and eliminate the needle sticks. Things would become more comfortable and pain-free. I could get up and move about more frequently as I would no longer have an IV bag holding me back. 

They performed the Catheter insertion procedure in my hospital room, and I was conscious throughout the operation as the physicians required feedback from me. They began by cutting a small opening in my chest so they could gain access to my Aorta from between two of my ribs. Then they injected the catheter through that hole and inserted it into my Aorta. But as fate would have it, they encountered considerable trouble piercing my Aortic wall. The Doc had to gradually exert increasing force to propel the catheter into the artery. This exertion persisted for several minutes until, finally, the physician leveraged all of his strength and body weight to get the job done. As all of this was happening, I became very concerned as I recollected the danger warnings they gave me before the procedure began. But the catheter finally pierced the aorta wall, creating a loud sound like the crushing of a giant beetle’s shell as the catheter punctured the Aorta wall. The good news is that the operation was a success. There were no slips, thank God. I was delighted and relieved that this ordeal was over.

In my next posting, I will present my meager attempt to find God by reading the Bible and communicating the remarkable healing miracle that followed.

BREATHING PROBLEMS

One morning soon after relocating to a conventional hospital room, I labored to get air into my lungs and found it difficult to talk. I notified the nurse’s station and was startled when they considered my breathing difficulty insignificant. They declined to do anything, proposing I wait for the physician to come around on his usual rounds. But I had been in the hospital long enough to know that this could take several hours and that it was also possible for the doctor to not show up at all.

I was getting scared as my disorder worsened rapidly, and I did not want to leave things to chance. So I phoned home, and they convinced our family physician to come to the hospital. He discovered that my vocal cords were swollen and restricted my airflow. He then explained that digestive enzymes damaged my vocal cords and proposed that this happened when I puked entering the hospital. He stated that if left unaddressed, a total blockage would eventually ensue, and I would suffocate. He ordered that I be placed on oxygen immediately and scheduled a tracheotomy for the morning.

The operation required that the physicians enter through a cut in the base of my neck. They then had to cut a hole in my windpipe just below my vocal cords and insert a small metal pipe into the hole. This mechanism ensured that the passageway remained open, allowing air to flow into my lungs through the tube even when my vocal cords closed completely. This device became my lifeline to the oxygen that I needed for the next several weeks.

This event was another attempt by the devil to end my life while in the hospital. The next attempt attacked my digestive system.

HANGING ON TO LIFE

Although I miraculously lived through that first night, my troubles were far from over. My life would continue, but now the devil had me on the ropes, and although I did not know it at the time, he was coming in to finish me off.

He continued attacking me in the hospital as I fought for my life. Several of his attacks damaged my body, while others aggravated my job standing and relationships. When all else failed, he influenced my doctors to persuade me to consent to a risky and unneeded operation. He repeatedly brought mayhem into my life with a relentless wave of events designed to abort my destiny and life purpose.

As strange as this may sound, I paid no heed to the Judgment Day messages I experienced that first night in the hospital. You can read about them in these postings: (MY DAY OF DEATH, When You Disbelieve The Devil’s Existence…, Entering The Spiritual Realm, MY JOURNEY TO SPIRITUAL GOLGOTHA, IN HELL – CONFRONTED BY THE DEVIL, SWIMMING IN THE LAKE OF FIRE AND BRIMSTONE, Standing On The Seat Of Judgment Before God, MY EXPERIENCES IN HEAVEN AND HELL.) 

This entire encounter was so unbelievably dreadful and depressing that I often doubted if these terrifying experiences could even be real. So, I blocked all my reflections of that night because I no longer wanted to dwell upon them or think about their consequences. I rationalized them away as being nothing more than an awful dream. I pictured them as being very small and far away in my mind. Unfortunately, the consequence of these measures is that they exposed me to a new series of demonic attacks. I was about to experience the truth of living without God to block the devil’s attacks.

THE NEXT FEW WEEKS

I spent the next few weeks in the intensive care unit (ICU), and quite frankly, I could not have been any sicker. It was so bad that I remember thinking, “oh well, at least I’m still alive.”

The doctors confirmed that my pancreas was the problem. They explained that it had exploded into hyper-production, generating thousands of times the required volume of digestive enzymes and discharging most of them into my bloodstream. They said that these digestive enzymes decompose proteins resulting in massive deterioration over most of my body. My blood, veins, arteries, muscles, nerves, organs, bones, and brain were all decomposing. That would explain my sensations of needles and pins all over my body and the numbness I felt after I entered the hospital.

The physicians continued to divulge that this hyper-production of digestive enzymes created immense pressure on the internal lining of the pancreas. This force became so powerful that it forced the inner lining through the outer wall, forming a balloon-shaped cyst outside the pancreas. The doctors called it a pseudo-cyst, and they deemed it to be a potentially deadly condition. They articulated that even though my pseudo-cyst was leaking, it had not yet ruptured. Eventually, it would harden and break open, abruptly releasing massive quantities of digestive enzymes into my bloodstream, creating even more impairment to my body. My surgeons said my pseudo-cysts were a ticking time bomb and would require defusing before this explosion struck me.

Even worse they did not have a medical solution to my condition, and I believed that surgery was on their minds and in their hearts from the very start. I also knew I was not strong enough for surgery then, as my body needed to heal and gain strength.

In the meantime, the physicians proceeded with a recuperation strategy founded on food abstinence. They asserted that total fasting would slow enzyme production considerably because food consumption activates the digestive processes. Beginning this program would also give my body time to purge itself of the harmful toxins in my blood. To confirm that the program was working, they monitored my blood regularly. Within a week, they declared that my enzyme levels were consistently descending.

I made it through the first few weeks without eating anything and lost 30 pounds in the process. They then started IV feedings that consisted of sugar water and vitamins. The physicians said afterward that my body responded as desired, and I had gained strength. While this was good news, I still felt very sick.

THE STENCH OF DEATH

It was more than physically feeling very sick, however. I began to sense there was something very different about my behavior. One thing that I noticed was my inappropriate speech. Vulgarities were now flowing out of my mouth, seemingly with every sentence I uttered. For some reason, I did not seem to care who it offended as I spared no one from my bad speech, not my mother, father, or even my children. Physicians and nurses were daily victims, and things like my handwritten notes strangely included vulgarities. It was so bad that even though it was clear to me, I seemingly could not stop. I wondered to myself, why am I saying such disgusting things? It was obvious to everyone around me that my vocabulary had changed. In reality, the stench of death was all over me. I was still alive and in this world, but the scent of death had wrapped me like a blanket.

My mind was also influenced. My thoughts were of sensual pleasures and flirting with nurses. This conduct was inconceivable for someone so sick that they could die at any moment. I recall thinking, what is wrong with you? You’re so ill you cannot stay awake for more than an hour at a time, and you are harboring these absurd thoughts?

Not knowing that I was in a war for my life (spiritual warfare) allowed me to become a punching bag for evil. In my next posting, I will communicate how being unable to digest food became the next punch threatening my life. This will be followed by a series of punches through my stay in the hospital, followed by a breakthrough that started my journey back to God.