A year ago today I did not die. Of course I can say the same thing tomorrow. And yesterday for that matter. And I know that everyone reading this can say the same thing every day of their lives. And in almost all of those instances the statement is definitively unremarkable. However, when I say that a year ago today I did not die, it is meaningful.
Miraculous even, a word used less often these days. And I do not throw the term around lightly. As said by Dr. Jim Platt, “I’m not typically the kind of person who is really given to hyperspiritualizing the ups and downs in my life.”
For those who have not heard my story, a description of January 4, 2016 is necessary. When I came home from work that Monday night, I felt fine and decided to go for a run. Though it was cool, the jog was as normal as any other, but when I returned to my apartment I was struggling with a worsening headache, and as is the case with most of my headaches, a bout of nausea. While lying on the floor of my living room trying to get comfortable, I passed out and began to seize violently. My roommate called the ambulance. I was rushed to Mercy Hospital in Pittsburgh, PA.
After a CT scan, the doctors easily saw a massive bleed that was squishing my brain to one side of my skull. Immediate surgery was the only option.
My family came to the hospital when they found out from my roommate that I had been taken there. In the waiting room, with some friends besides, they heard the diagnosis and waited for the results of the surgery. My heart breaks for the emotional pain that they endured in those first hours and days, with which my own misfortune can hardly compare.
When at last the procedure was completed, the surgeon confirmed that my life was saved, but no one could say if I’d wake up. Or if I did, if I would regain much mental function or any of my higher cognitive and physical abilities. Only time would tell.
And time did tell. Over the first week I began to wake up, and eventually I would remember what was explained to me countless times: where I was and why. Day after day, I slowly regained the ability to remember new information. Week after week, I redeveloped my personality, which due to the physical stress on my brain had taken an unfortunate turn to the flirtatiously uninhibited. Month after month, I won back my intellect, which had always been the primary source of pride in my blessed and privileged life. After three months without a third of my skull, I received a cranioplasty, and my head was whole. After six months, I returned to work and normal life as if nothing had ever happened. After nine months, I founded my own publishing company with the goal of shifting into writing full time.
Still, the rub is that spontaneous subdural hematomas are all but unheard of in young, “healthy” (a relative term) people. At 25 years old, it is extremely unlikely to suffer the medical phenomenon, and after suffering such an acute case, recovery could not be a reliable expectation. Yet, after all these months, after one year, here I am, fully recovered and flourishing a brain that is once again as it had been.
The injury itself was one of unreasonable odds and so too was the recovery. I believe the term “miraculous” applies regardless of one’s religious or philosophical bent.
Whether or not I am still experiencing long-term effects from that night typically depends on how obnoxious I am being. Every so often my family has to blame a rash of orneriness on the brain injury. They can blame my misbehavior on what they like, and others can explain away my recovery on their own gods, fates, or odds, but what is not up for argument or interpretation is how my faith was affected in 2016.
God blessed me with an unexpectedly whole recovery. He spared my life and has rejuvenated my outlook. He has strengthened my faith and given me hope that the life I live is one worth the living. For what, I am still noodling myself. But here I stand with life, with breath, with faith and hope, with ordained, unquestionable purpose. God demonstrated his grace and mercy in giving me life on 1/4/16. He has done the same every day since. As a sacrifice in honor of his great love, I am doing my best to give him every day of the rest of my life. My prayer is that God may lend me a few years yet, so that He who began a good work in me might bring it to completion. I pray that these words of mine and those I have yet to write might comfort and inspire those around me and perhaps even touch future generations. I hope that I have the opportunity to introduce a few lost sheep to the love of an unrelentingly loving God.
I know that I am not promised anything concerning tomorrow. I am not even guaranteed the balance of today. Every day, hour, and minute could be our last. Regardless of our grandest plans for the arch of our life, we can do nothing to assure the future. Absolute blind chance might knock you to the ground with a massive brain bleed, and one of the most talented neurosurgeons in the world might not be just a couple of miles down the road. In light of such gravity, let us live our days with an aim. I cannot tell you what to believe, but I implore you to consider what is important and what is real and what life is all about. When you find it, pursue it. With everything you have. Because you might not have the chance tomorrow if you put it off today.
As for me, I can tell you without doubt or wavering what orients my efforts and affections:
God is good. I am alive today by His grace. I live each day for His glory.
These are my creeds. This is the totality of my life. There is no more.