Taylor's miracle ~ Part One

Remembering ... 10 years ago this spring.  Little did we know, that spring, the pain, suffering and fear that was about to engulf our young family for most of 2006.    A deep dark pit where man's earthly control proved error-prone and limited ... but God's awesome power overcame all.

Our medical journey was rare and unbelievable as the harrowing weeks turned into months and years of fear.  Some of the best pediatric specialists in the country were puzzled and apologetic as the medical trauma was unrelenting.  Our small hometown community and beyond united in ceaseless prayer and support for us while hugging their own children a little tighter each night.

Yet, the storm finally eased to a conclusion with what could only be described as a miracle.  Still to this day, ten years later, I thank Him daily for sparing our teenage son's life and the lessons it taught.

The chapters to follow are gleaned from a daily medical journal I kept in 2006 that was later transcribed to a manuscript the following year.   Though our son (now 24 years old) doesn't remember much during this frightening time, it's important to remember the details of his story as it relates to the many surgical scars on his body today.  Details that now serve as important history for future medical procedures and medications.

But more importantly, this amazing testimony is yet another remembrance of God's awesome power, mercy, and comforts of grace.

"Praise the Lord, my soul; all my inmost being, praise his holy name.  Praise the Lord, my soul, and forget not all his benefits ~ who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion, who satisfies your desires with good things so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's"  ~ Psalm 103:1-5

The darkened pediatric intensive care room chattered relentlessly with beeps from vital monitors, numerous tubes for IV infusions and life supporting equipment.   Chris gently adjusted the bed pillows for his 14 year old critically ill son in search of doing something to help.  Sensing his father close by, Taylor slowly forced his eyes open and in a voice weakened to nearly a whisper he said, “Dad, I can’t take it anymore.   I don’t think I’m going to make it.”    

Chris struggled to maintain his composure and hide his fear as he softly told his son in a loving, yet firm, fatherly voice, "No, Taylor.  You are going to make it.  You can’t give up now.” 

As I witnessed the defeated words from my son, I held my breath to choke back tears that threatened to explode into a mother's wailing.   I turned to escape the room quickly and quietly.  I needed to breathe.

The hallway gripped me with bright florescent lights and the hustle of nurses and doctors caring for many critically ill children in the large children's hospital.  The sickening knot in my stomach and the suffocating need for air sent me scurrying down the hallway once again to the nearest private restroom.

Often, I searched out secluded individual restrooms where I could lock the door to cry and privately pray.  It was a routine that became very familiar as my husband, Chris, and I kept weekly vigils at our son’s bedside.  As his mom, I had to remain strong and comforting in Taylor’s presence without tears of fear or worry. 

This time, my private prayer would be different from the many prayers in earlier weeks. Behind the locked door, tears formed their familiar small puddles on the restroom floor as I rested my forehead on my arms on the edge of the sink.  It was the easiest way I learned to catch my breath while responding to yet another set-back. 

“How long are we going to be trapped in this nightmare?” I desperately asked God.  Feeling forgotten, I awaited some kind of response.  Lonely silence was all I felt. 

I reviewed the catastrophic events of recent weeks over and over in my mind as if to remind God about our crisis.   Upon reflection, however, I could clearly see that events would only pause for a day or two giving us false hope.  Soon, another critical complication would occur which would spiral us many steps backwards yet again.

Where was God?  “Are you here with us?” I prayerfully asked.  Silence.  Filled with lost hope and defeat, I succumbed to the realization that our prayers were not working.   Taylor’s recovery did not appear to be in God’s plan.

“I’ve been very selfish, God, asking you for Taylor’s healing to keep him here with us,” I continued to pray.  “How unfair of me to ask this of You and then continue to watch him suffer so horribly.”

 In a final unselfish plea, I finally told God, “I’m letting go, so you can have him now,” as I sobbed uncontrollably.  
“I know your love is more powerful because he is your child first and then mine.  So please, please, make this nightmare stop.” I prayerfully begged of Him. 

It was one of the most heartfelt prayers I’ve ever prayed and to my amazement an overwhelming sense of peace and calmness immediately blanketed my soul.  “This is a strange feeling,” I thought, as I tried to comprehend the extreme comfort I suddenly felt.   I welcomed it's warmth and compassion and sensed it was God’s way of letting me know He heard me.

As I contemplated this new prayer being answered, I worried about Taylor entering heaven alone.  He had not yet experienced the death of a relative or close friend who might be there to greet him at his new home.  Would he be frightened and confused on his lone journey?  I trusted God though, and knew Taylor would be greatly loved in a wonderful place.

I continued to bask for a few more minutes in the odd comfort of peacefulness which still hugged me tightly.  Soon my sobs subsided and I could breathe more easily.  Dabbing my eyes dry with toilet paper, I gave myself more time for my flushed face, swollen red eyes, and hiccup breaths to settle down.  

“Wow, this is going to take awhile,” I said to myself as I looked at my washed-out reflection in the mirror above the hospital sink.  “I can’t go back into Taylor’s room looking like this.”  I decided to take a brief walk to the main lobby downstairs to finish cooling down.  Chris would be worried about me and he probably needed a getaway break as well.

The short walk and cool breeze of the lobby and hallways helped me regain composure, so I decided to make my way back to Taylor’s second floor room.  After stepping off the elevator, I turned to enter the long hallway to the entrance of the intensive care ward and noticed a commotion ahead. 

A large family was gathering as they exited the double doors of the intensive care ward.  They paused, blocking the entrance, to sob and comfort each other in hugs.  I instinctively sensed their child had lost his battle.

I stopped midway in the long hallway and was frozen in place as I absorbed the premonition ahead.  Slowly, I eased my way to the nearby wall and leaned back against it giving the family a moment to grieve from a distance.  In the brief minutes I waited, I said a silent prayer for the strangers, knowing the frightening bond we shared.  Soon, the family slowly disbanded and made their way towards me down the hallway.  I quietly passed by and extended apologetic eye contact for their sorrow.  “Please Lord, give me strength,” I whispered while pushing open the double doors.

As I returned to Taylor’s bedside, I found it hard to believe how this once energetic, athletic, curly haired boy, so full of spunk and laughter, might be going to heaven soon.  His body and now finally his spirit showed the trauma of the war it had been fighting for weeks. 

Teams of doctors from various specialties and nursing staff continued to whisk in and out of his ICU room hour by hour.  The medical staff met regularly at the round table outside Taylor's door to discuss his unusual medical case, the latest hourly test results, and the next agreed upon plan for treatment.   I observed and listened to the medical discussions from the doorway searching for encouraging words.

We were all growing tired of hearing doctors continually say, “We’re so sorry for what you’re going through.  We’ve never seen anything like this before.”   Doctors would pause frequently at Taylor's bedside, lost in deep thought or perhaps prayer, and stare silently at him.  Chris and I, as well as Taylor, could sense their unspoken fear, frustration, and uncertainty.  Slowly shaking their bowed heads, they too struggled with the unbelievable journey this young teenager had endured which began two months earlier with out-patient knee surgery.   

I swear the child was born practicing for the Punt, Pass and Kick competition.  Unlike his three siblings who were smaller six pound babies at birth, Taylor arrived at a husky eight pounds displaying athletic aspirations I felt in my belly months before his birth.  As he grew into a rambunctious toddler, we began channeling his extra energy into t-ball and pee-wee basketball starting at the age of four.  He loved it. 

As the years wore on, he progressed to Little League baseball, basketball, flag football and later tackle football.  He was never the tallest kid on the team thanks to genetics of short parents, but he developed into one of the fastest and toughest.  

He enjoyed the adrenaline rush of being the player who could provide a surprise turnover for his team.  His aggression and strong defensive nature often found him closely guarding a point guard until he could steal the basketball for a layup or assist; sacking a quarterback or intercepting a football for a touchdown; or quickly stealing home base because of a missed catch by a baseball catcher.  His keen eye for analyzing the court or field for split second turnovers was a gift respected by teammates, coaches and fans.  

It was February 2005 as we sat in the bleachers watching Taylor play in a seventh grade basketball game.  He had just released a jump shot along the baseline and landed awkwardly on his left leg buckling his left knee with three loud pops.   After hitting the floor, he rolled and thrashed in pain while clutching his knee.  The game was temporarily halted by the referees while the coaches and Taylor's dad assessed the sudden injury.  He was carried off the court and taken to the locker room for further evaluation. 

The coach’s assessment was that he had hyper-extended the knee resulting in a swollen sprain.  A trip to our family doctor later confirmed the sprain.  Taylor recuperated on crutches for the next several weeks sitting on the team’s bench and cheering his teammates on during the year-end basketball tournament.

He eventually recovered and returned during the summer to play baseball.  He also played football during the fall of his eighth grade year and had a great season as a running tailback and defensive line backer.   

But injury struck again twelve months later in February 2006 during an eighth grade basketball practice preparing for the first game of the year-end tournament.  Without warning, his knee slipped out of joint resulting in a second excruciating sprain.  Another trip to the family doctor confirmed yet another sprain of the same knee.  He was out again for the tournament.  

This time, however, Taylor pushed the recovery of the second sprain because high school pre-season football conditioning was beginning in March.  It was an exciting, long awaited time for eighth grade athletes to condition with the big boys at the high school.  With a tightly wrapped knee, Taylor anxiously attended the conditioning work-outs at the high school a month later.

Unfortunately, during a warm-up of high skips, Taylor’s knee slipped out of joint once again creating a third excruciating sprain and additional swelling.  As Taylor writhed in pain, anger and frustration with his dysfunctional knee, the football coach said, “Taylor, when are you going to quit messing with that knee and get it looked at by a specialist?” and walked away annoyed leaving him to the care of the athletic trainer.

The athletic trainer called our home, explained Taylor’s new injury, and requested a conference when we picked him up at the high school.  Upon our arrival, permission was asked by the trainer to refer Taylor to an orthopedic doctor for a consultation.  We agreed and the next day Taylor was seen by an orthopedic surgeon who specialized in sports injuries.

After an extensive physical evaluation and history discussion with the orthopedic surgeon, Taylor was ushered to x-ray.  After x-rays were completed, we were led to the physical therapy department where a therapist applied a mechanical contraption to test Taylor’s injured knee.  The device measured the amount of sift or slippage in the knee joint when the lower leg was tugged away from the thigh area of the leg.  Taylor’s slippage measurement was extreme.

The therapist then led us back to the orthopedic patient rooms for further consultation with the surgeon.  After reviewing the x-rays and slippage measurement with us, the doctor’s earlier suspicions of a torn ACL was the diagnosis.

The doctor explained the role of the ACL inside the knee joint.  The strong ligament, which attaches the upper femor leg bone to the lower tibia leg bone, serves the purpose of keeping the upper leg in line with the lower leg.  The ligament can be torn from a fall, twist, or blow and create an unstable knee like Taylor was experiencing.  Once torn, the ligament does not heal or repair itself.  So, he gave us several options to consider.

First, a non-surgical approach was to heavily brace the knee in a customized ACL brace.  Taylor could resume sports with the brace but would run the risk of continued future sprains as well as potential cartilage and meniscus tears.  Even non-sport situations such as walking on uneven surfaces posed the risk of future damage.

Another option was surgical reconstruction.  The orthopedic surgeon would harvest a section of Taylor’s hamstring to create a new ACL.  It would be implanted into the knee joint by drilling a tunnel into the end of the thigh femur bone and secure the new ligament with a pin and screw.  Another screw would secure the other end of the new ligament in a tunnel drilled into his tibia bone at the lower knee joint. 

The recovery for the out-patient surgical procedure would take 4 to 6 weeks; however, it would take 5 to 6 months for the new ligament to securely graft to the femur and tibia bones.  If surgery was elected, the doctor recommended an MRI to officially confirm the torn ACL before surgery.

After all options were thoroughly discussed, there was no question in Taylor’s mind… he wanted the surgery.  With such a long recovery ahead, Taylor pleaded for immediate surgery in hopes of returning to the football gridiron his freshman year by September.  After a little more thought and discussion with the doctor, we agreed to pursue the surgery option and requested the MRI for confirmation.

As expected, the MRI conducted a few days later confirmed a missing ACL and surgery was scheduled for three weeks later.  If the injury had been recent, the MRI tissue scan would most likely have shown pieces of the snapped ACL still attached to one or both of the bones.  Taylor’s MRI, however, showed no evidence of ACL pieces at all.  It was therefore determined, the ACL most likely tore the year earlier during the seventh grade basketball game. 

The next three weeks slowly approached as Taylor impatiently waited for the surgery date.  Chris and I, meanwhile, used the time doubting, debating and praying whether we should continue to allow the surgery or choose the non-surgical brace option.

During numerous discussions with Taylor, we encouraged him to reconsider the non-surgical option until he was finished growing.  However, he continued to firmly insist he wanted the knee fixed right away.  As the surgical date arrived we nervously consented, under Taylor’s relentless pleading, to proceed.

On Friday, April 14^th, 2006, we arrived at the surgical center in the early morning hours.  Taylor was prepped and the procedure was once again explained in detail.  The surgeon also announced for our viewing pleasure, we could watch Taylor’s surgery via an arthroscope camera that would be inserted into the knee during surgery.  The live surgical video would be broadcast to a television monitor in a private waiting room if we wished to observe. 

“I’m cool with that,” said Taylor’s 20 year old brother, Ryan, with Chris also joining in with agreement.

I was not cool with that.  I didn’t think my motherly nerves could withstand seeing the live video; but not wanting to spoil the opportunity for Ryan and Chris, I reluctantly agreed to join them in the monitor room. However, I was prepared to read a book and not watch.

As the surgery began, the live arthroscope video camera rested on a surgical tool table aimed towards Taylor.  “Look Mom, you can see Taylor,” Ryan exclaimed with amazement. 

I looked up from my book and saw my son in the monitor.  He was lying unconscious on the operating table as the surgeon made several knee incisions.  I wanted to look away, but found I couldn’t.

Next, the surgeon picked up the camera scope and inserted it into Taylor’s knee joint via one of the incisions.  It was actually quite fascinating viewing the bones, meniscus and cartilage inside Taylor’s knee and it did not appear gruesome at all.

Soon an instrument entered the picture from another incision site and removed some torn meniscus tissue. Next, a drill was inserted and began drilling the first tunnel into one of the leg bones. As tiny pieces of bone fragments and blood began whirling around the picture in the monitor, Ryan promptly announced, “Okay, I’m out of here” and quickly left the room. It was too much for the big brother to watch.

As much as I wanted to look away or join Ryan in the main waiting area, I simply could not.    I continued to watch the amazing procedure as the new ligament was implanted and the surgery was successfully completed.

After the nearly two hour operation, the surgeon joined us in the observation room and informed us the surgery went very well with no problems.  As planned, Taylor would stay overnight at the surgical center and would be released within 24 hours to qualify as out-patient status. 

The surgeon said Taylor had received a 24 hour numbing injection in his leg for pain relief.  He warned that by the next day, the pain would intensify and pain pills would be necessary.  Unfortunately, ACL reconstruction has a painful recovery for the first week or so.

Taylor easily awakened from the anesthesia a short while later.  After enjoying his favorite dinner carried in from the nearby Taco Bell and a restful nights sleep, he was anxious to go home by early the next morning.  His leg, which was heavily bandaged in a soft cast-like immobilizer, only mildly hurt thanks still to the numbing injection.  The surgeon was pleased with Taylor’s uneventful overnight recovery and by 7:00 the next morning, Taylor was released to go home.

During the drive home, Taylor begged to stop by our hometown YMCA to watch his teammates play in an intramural basketball game that Saturday morning.  I cautiously agreed after assessing his alertness and mobility on crutches and pain tolerance.  With ease and virtually pain-free, Taylor skillfully entered YMCA on his crutches and rested his leg on a bleacher as he watched the game.  His teammates were happy to see him and were glad the surgery was a success.

A few hours later at home, the numbing injection finally wore off and the pain greatly intensified.  Pain pills brought much needed relief as he became couch bound for days while watching television and playing video games with visiting friends.

Within a week, the pain subsided and he no longer required the strong pain pills which made him drousy.  He was able to return to school on crutches that next Monday, ten days after surgery.

As with the surgery, the recovery also progressed very well and uneventful.  He attended physical therapy appointments for the following month and constantly worked out at home with the specialized ACL exercises he was taught to keep his muscles strengthened.  Within three weeks, the incisions were healed and fading, the crutches were unnecessary and the knee felt nearly back to normal again.

The surgeon, however, had cautioned Taylor during a post-op appointment that within a few weeks Taylor’s knee would feel back to normal again and he would probably think he could test it out with a careful game of basketball or football.  The surgeon firmly warned him to resist the urge to play and allow the new ACL the time it needed to graft to the bones.  “The five months of waiting,” said the surgeon, “is the hardest part for athletes recovering from ACL surgery.”

Taylor was also told by the doctor that it was fine to climb the stairs at school and home, and even lightly jog on flat even surfaces.  However, for the next five months, he was instructed to avoid walking on uneven surfaces, and quick stops and turns that would require the use of the new ACL.  He was also told not to use the leg in a motion such as kicking a ball.  Understanding the importance of the precautions, Taylor was a good patient and carefully monitored his knee activity while it healed.

As his friends continued spring conditioning for high school football, Taylor was discouraged that he could not participate.  He missed the excitement shared with his buddies of the long awaited opportunity to play high school athletics.  It was also the first summer in his memory that he would not participate in summer league baseball.  He wasn’t looking forward to a long, empty summer. 

By early May, about three weeks after surgery, he began going to his dad’s shop everyday after school to help fill the empty, athletic-free void in his life.  Chris owned and operated an automotive detailing business and Taylor and his two brothers always enjoyed spending time with their dad working at the shop.  The variety of cars from new release vehicles to restored antiques, hotrods and race cars that arrived for detailing thrilled the boys. 

One evening after working with his dad at the shop, Taylor came home and showed me a deep cut on one of his fingers.  He had cut it on a razor blade used to take stickers off of vehicle windows.  The diagonal cut was very deep resulting in a large thick flap of skin that needed to heal. 

As I closely inspected the cut for possible stitches, I asked Taylor if he cleaned the wound immediately with soap and water at the shop.  Taylor confirmed he had washed the wound and held it under running water until it finally quit bleeding and he could apply a large band-aid.  It was a nasty cut and remained sore and uncomfortable the next several days as it healed.

As the month of May continued on, school was nearing an end the first week of June.  Taylor was still attending physical therapy sessions after school several times a week and then joined his dad at the shop afterwards.  His surgeon and therapists were thrilled with his speedy recovery.  He had finally advanced to the stationary bicycle at physical therapy and by mid-May he was nearing his last scheduled therapy appointment.

However, on Thursday, May 11th, Taylor began noticing some new discomfort in his knee while attending school.  He had just completed gym class where he rode a stationary bicycle while the rest of the class participated in a sport.  As he sat in his next class following gym, he began rubbing the sore and aching knee.  When he complained that evening at home about the soreness, we initially thought the new exercise on the stationary bicycle was the source of the ache and he overdid it with both physical therapy and gym class activities. 

By the next day, the pain had increased and the knee showed signs of swelling.  I called the surgeon’s office with our concern, but the nurse assured us it was normal to experience some pain and swelling for up to six months after ACL surgery.  However, a few days later when he became lethargic, lost his teenage appetite, and spiked a fever, I knew something was not right.

On the afternoon of Mother’s Day Sunday, May 14th, a month to the day since his surgery, I called the surgeon’s office again and talked to a doctor on week-end duty.  After explaining Taylor's symptoms and pain, he told us to take him immediately to the emergency room. 

As we gathered our things for the 45 minute trip to the hospital, Taylor struggled to walk on the extremely painful leg.  He refused to resort to crutches again.  His fear of needles also upset him to think he might have to have an IV inserted at the hospital.  The IV, he said, was the worst thing imaginable and he just didn’t want to go.  Chris and I consoled him by saying the doctor would probably prescribe an antibiotic and we’d be on our way home shortly. 

Little did we know the horrible journey that lie ahead.

                                       **** to be continued ****

Jesus looked at them and said, "With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible."     ~ Matthew 19:26