Getting Better

Suffering is said to bring us closer to God. When my life was on the line, however, in the first two weeks of severe chest congestion with mucous plugs that stopped my breathing multiple times every day, I did not experience any deep spiritual experiences. In fact, my mind was pretty numb. It was like something in me just turned off.

I could have spent that time continuing to listen to the daily podcast that I began at the beginning of the year, The Bible in a Year with Fr. Mike Schmlitz. But I didn’t.

I could have listened to spiritual music, worship and praise, anything that would give me encouragement. But I didn’t.

I could have prayed the rosary — which I normally pray every day. But I didn’t even do that.

This reminds me of something that Mother Angelica once shared on EWTN about a terribly severe asthmatic attack that she once had. She was close to death, and she had always thought that whenever she might come close to that she would have great spiritual thoughts or, at the very least, see her life flashed before her eyes. But she didn’t. All she could think was, “I can’t breathe.”

So I guess I’m in good company.

I did pray during this period of time, prayed mostly that I would be able to survive. During four days in the hospital, a hospital in which I knew surgical abortions were performed, I said words in my head (or prayed) to offer my sufferings for the conversion of those performing the abortions and the women waiting to receive one. Whenever the little lullaby music played over the hospital speakers, announcing a new birth, I said in my head, and sometimes deep in my heart, “Bless the child.” And, as I’ve written here before, I would sometimes hear the words from the Book of Joshua, “Be strong and of good courage” as I struggled for air throughout my ordeal. This, you will no doubt say, did not come from a numb mind or someone who had no spiritual thoughts. But my mind and heart were only held for a few moments, and I was only doing the bare minimum. I was actually praying far less than I usually do. And I very consciously did not want to listen to the Bible podcast or faith-based music. Or any music for that matter.

At one point I felt like this was wasted time.

Grateful to receive Holy Communion at home from my parish priest on the First Friday of August, I was very happy and relieved that I could continue my devotion to receiving on nine consecutive First Fridays this year. He also heard my confession and ministered to me the Sacrament of the Sick. I don’t believe I’ve ever received three sacraments in one day before! I’d like to say that this brought instant improvement to my body and my mind. But it didn’t. My days were still filled with exhaustive coughing, struggles to eat, and continual denial of air into my lungs until my mother or my father dislodged mucous plugs for me to breathe again. And my nights still brought me little sleep, woken often (and one of my parents with me) with coughing and the need to clear mucus or die. (I don’t mean to be dramatic or garner pity. This is just a telling of facts.)

A Little Act of the Will

In the third week of my illness, I suddenly did something that I had often done in 2017, the last time that I was seriously ill. I requested music by Lauren Daigle from my smart speaker. This time around, though much weaker and denied air more often, I again found her music inspiring. My mother even noted that I must be feeling better because I was playing songs.

I was not feeling better yet. I still wondered if I would survive the invasion of mucus, still sometimes thought that I couldn’t go on in this exhausting way or that my blocked airway would not open this time or that. But my mind did begin to open, the spiritual growth available in every suffering did begin to sprout within me — but the opening and sprouting did not begin on their own. God’s grace was always available to me to draw me into closer relationship with Him, but I had to ask. I had to be willing.

So, yes, my true recovery began with a simple willingness to ask a smart speaker to play music.

Finding divine meaning doesn’t come like a flash of lightning when we aren’t even looking for it. Maybe it does for some people, maybe for the mystic saints. But for us ordinary folks, we need to be willing to look. (Aren’t mystic saints always willing to look?) As Jesus said, we need to ask and then receive, seek and then find. We need to look for the door and knock on it so that it will be opened to us.

My time of simple survival was over. Now the fight to survive would require more from me. I couldn’t be numb and just get through it, letting things happen to me. I was willing to cooperate with God’s grace, because I knew that God was at work in me. And so I opened myself to it, to Him. I believed it was God’s will for me not to die of this chest cold, but rather to live.

Growth

I did not get better day by day, but rather week by week. Every day there were mucous plugs. Many of them. Every day my life was saved multiple times. The first three weeks were torturous, I felt like I was being dismantled. That was my first big thought during all of this. Why “dismantled,” I didn’t know. Was it to prepare me for death, as this illness would be the end of my earthly life? Or was it to rebuild me for a fuller earthly life?

Once I opened the door to a fuller relationship with God, I became deeply immersed in listening to the daily Bible podcast, catching up easily on the four weeks I had fell behind. I found much solace in the words of Sacred Scripture, especially as the readings were from the prophets about exile — speaking intimately to me. (More on that in another post.) Experimentally, I tried to open a skill or podcast through my smart speaker that contained the Liturgy of the Hours, not knowing if there was one, and I was delightfully rewarded with a podcast where Lauds and Vespers are prayed in chant every day. My thought was to partake in this for a week, like a spiritual retreat, but I’m continuing even now and plan to continue it for as long as I can.

Although weeks four and five were still torturous physically, the mucous plugs weren’t quite as lethal as they were in the beginning. Still lethal at times, but not as much because the mucus became a little less thick. And then the mucus was lessened. And then those storms of thunder and lightning erupting in my chest — jets of mucus being sprayed into my chest, my lungs rocked and blocked by the waves — just came to an end. In the morning of August 24, I could not get the mucus out of my chest at all. I just wanted it done and over with, but in the devastation of not being able to clear my lungs, I knew I just had to buckle down and keep on fighting. “Be strong and of good courage.” And then, that evening, the mucus in my chest stopped.

No more invasions of excessive phlegm in my lungs.

In its place was a kind of thick coating in my airway that I could clear a little bit by little bit without coughing, which I’m still dealing with even now. Several times a day I get a spasmodic cough and need to powerfully clear my throat, sometimes it feels like the mucus will plug again, but it hasn’t yet. I still need extra medications and treatments, and I still need to be careful how I eat. I was eating only puréed food and needing my head held up in order to swallow without choking, but now I just try to eat food that won’t tickle or stick in my throat, and I only need my head held up rarely. I was and am very tired, but so grateful. Thankfully, I was able to go outside and have the sun bake into my chest during the illness when it was at its worst, and I continue to go out under the sky and love God as I get better.

God is good.

All the time.

God is good.

The lesson in this reflection, if there is one, is that I need to remember that prayer isn’t about words. A rich prayer life is not about checking off devotions on a list. To have true communication with God, one that enables us to grow in more intimate relationship with Him, we mostly need an open heart (even a quiet one) and patience. Then time is never wasted.

More about “waiting on the Lord” in the next post.

© 2024 Christina Chase