My Shunt Surgery – Healing

Apparently when my neurosurgery team told me, “If you feel anything at all, let us know.” They meant, “It can take even eight weeks before your body adjusts to the shunt.”

So by three weeks post-surgery, I was back at the hospital once again begging for relief.

As I stood hunched against the corner of the elevator trying to stretch out the pressure, who do you think was to enter the elevator that Friday morning but my neurologist – my God-sent angel – the only one who could ever convince my neurosurgeons to help me. And despite ridiculous feuds with my neurosurgery team that day, my shunt was adjusted and infusions were ordered.

By evening, I was better – physically.

Mentally, I was broken.

In the Mouth of the Lion

I was already battling all thoughts of depression just thinking about how low my life had gotten. My body had been drastically altered. My family, my home, my possessions, my job, my freedom – everything had been disrupted. I had missed out on Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, parties, and holidays. I couldn’t even count the days I had missed with my baby or all the days I couldn’t hold him. I had barely been alone the past few months, and now I really couldn’t be alone.

With everything else going wrong, the shunt was not the fix I thought it was. It would take time, and who knew how much time. Who knew how many adjustments would need to be made before they got it right. There were no other surgeries they could perform for this condition. This was it. Then it was back to being a guinea pig with medications.

For the first time through everything that had happened, I wanted to give up. I felt hopeless. I had grown up knowing that God would never give you anything you couldn’t handle, but this was my limit.

Angry, depressed, sick, frustrated, and in pain, I told God I had enough. I knew I was being crude, but I knew He could see right through me anyway. There was no point in hiding it. I told Him exactly how I felt. I was done. I had tried everything. I had been working morning till night trying to please Him, trying to praise Him through the pain. I had been begging for it to end, claiming my healing, and my last hope was failing.

I felt as though I had seconds left to my breath when God pulled me up for air once more. He showed me II Timothy 4:17-18:

“But the Lord stood with me and strengthened me, so that the message might be preached fully through me, and that all the Gentiles might hear. Also I was delivered out of the mouth of the lion. And the Lord will deliver me from every evil work and preserve me for His heavenly kingdom. To Him be glory forever and ever. Amen!” – II Timothy 4:17-18

This was my renewed salvation, my reminder of God’s faithfulness and His promises. He had saved me before, and He could save me again. He had given me the comfort and strength and endurance I needed to make it through the past year, and He would make sure I lived to share my testimony with others.

Healing

Over the next couple of weeks, I continued to have a few more random episodes, but each one seemed to be shorter and less intense. I constantly repeated that Scripture.

August 2018, I met my goal of thirty days without an episode. My restrictions were lifted, and I could finally hold my baby again. I felt great. I felt invincible. God had defeated my enemy of sickness. I had become more than a conqueror, and I couldn’t wait to share it with the world.

For months straight, my life had been controlled and destroyed by this sickness. Now, I was finally going to be able to use it for good to help others see the hope on the other side.

Except, it wasn’t over.

The hardest part is still thanking God for His goodness when you wake up once again in pain, when you find out that the brain surgery didn’t work, that August was all only a remission stage, and that you still have a battle to fight.

In September, I was admitted yet again. This time, I found out that shunts really only have a 50% chance of being successful. Needless to say, I fell on the wrong half of that statistic. While my shunt seemed to help with the gradual fluid increases, the sudden or drastic fluctuations left too much to try to divert at once. It was back to medications, experimentation, and guarded self-care. It would now be my life that I had to adjust.

Wholeness

June 2020 made two years since my shunt surgery, and I am still continuing to learn what perfect balance entails. I still feel spasms and stabbings of abdominal pain from the foreign matter in my body. I still limit my activities and tweak my medications on a daily basis. I no longer work. I still don’t drive. But I do get to be with my son every day.

Do I regret my surgery? No. I did all I could do. I don’t have to worry about any thoughts of “what if?”. And I would like to believe the worst is truly over.

Man’s way of healing may have failed, but I know my God has declared I am healed. I may still suffer with symptoms, but I know I suffer with purpose, that the glory of God may be revealed through me. And I could never regret that.

I can only keep fighting. Fighting against the spirit of infirmity. Fighting for my healing. Fighting for answers, for others to have hope, and ultimately for the cure.