Eric Casagrande (16 Jan 2007)
"Miracle Testimony"
Hi John & All:
Many of the doves here know me for my biblical timeline and gematria studies that I have been posting, for almost eight years now. In a recent turn of events that began in August 2005, God has been leading me into a ministry of evangelism. I have related a few stories to John and others, of my experiences that took place in sharing Jesus Christ with complete strangers on the streets of my city. The Lord instructed me to not only share Jesus Christ, risen from the dead, with people, but that He will soon be returning to rule and reign on the Earth forever.
On Thursday, January 11th, 2007, I had an amazing meeting with the God who created the universe, in a way that I will never forget. Since I am a very private person, this is not easy for me to share publicly. But when something this big happens ... you can not hide it under a bushel.
I have a 19 year old son, whose name is Jordan. He was born with Duchenes Muscular Dystrophy. This is a terminal illness passed down genetically through the mother. The average life expetancy is generally in the range of 6 to 17 years of age. There is absolutely no cure. But despite the evil disease, Jordan has always been sustained by our Lord Jesus Christ, and was otherwise quite healthy.
Jordan had a plastic feeding tube inserted in his stomach during late spring 2006, in order to help him to continue eating. For him it was a necessity, although it can be used on regular patients for a short term purpose as well. The doctor who performed the surgical insertion shall remain nameless, for reasons that will become obvious later.
At any rate, Jordan was scheduled to go into the Civic Hospital, on Tuesday, January 9th, 2007, for an 8:30 A.M. out-patient treatment, in which his then lengthy tube was going to be changed for one of much shorter variety, often called a "Bard Tube". It was supposed to be a very simple procedure. Little did we know what was about to transpire.
From the get-go, my wife and one of the accompanying nurses felt there was something wrong with the doctor. His hands were shaking, as, without any localized freezing, he roughly yanked the current tube from Jordan's body. Of course, my son screamed in pain. The doctor then blindly inserted the shorter Bard Tube, without the use of a seeing-eye scope to direct him. He shoved it very strongly into Jordan's stomach, who once again gave out a loud yell. As the doctor walked away, the nurse involved became very concerned, and went to inquire of a second nurse to come and check the tube, to see if it had been even inserted properly. It was anybody's guess, and difficult to tell.
So without being offered any type of pain medication, my wife brought Jordan home in his wheelchair, via a specialized transport bus. As Tuesday wore on, Jordan was complaining more and more of pains from his stomach area. My wife was uncertain as to whether it might have been caused by the doctor being too rough, or simply a lot of stomach gas from entering air (which frequently happens). So just to be on the safe side, she telephoned a local agency, in an attempt to have a nurse come to the house and check Jordan out.
The agency said they required a referral letter from the doctor who performed the surgery, so my wife then phoned the doctor's office at the Civic Hospital. The secretary answered the phone, and after being told of the problem said she would have to call us back after advising the doctor .... but said phonecall never materialized. This was highly unusual, since the doctor himself said to phone if there appeared to be any problems.
So the next (Wednesday) morning, Jordan was in more agony, begging us to phone 9-1-1. We really did not know what to do, since a person with Jordan's disease can not be transported so readily, as it causes a lot of wear and tear on them physically. We especially didn't want to do it blindly, without being aware of what the nature of the problem might be.
Then early Wednesday afternoon my wife managed to get a registered dietician to visit the house, who we knew is dealing with people on feeding tubes. After examining Jordan, she felt that it was a matter of there being a large buildup of air in Jordan's stomach as a result of the tube switch, and that with time he would eventually release it. So after the dietician left the house, my wife tried giving Jordan his very first feeding since the tube had been changed almost 30 hours earlier.
Jordan absolutely went beserk when the food entered his stomach, and my wife had to rush to turn off the feed-pump. He was just screaming again in agony, louder than ever now. My wife, by now almost out of her mind in panic, called back the doctor's office to see why her call had not been returned. The secretary simply replied that the doctor said we should take Jordan to his G.P. (General Physician), for any issues! Well this was ridiculous, but when my wife phoned her G.P. their office was closed for the day, and the emergency number on their answering machine was not available.
Finally at around 4:30 P.M. on Wednesday, January 10th, when Jordan began complaining of having difficulty breathing, my wife called the emergency 9-1-1 number. An ambulance rushed Jordan and his mother to the Civic Hospital Emergency, while I cared for our other child.
When the ambulance arrived at Emergency, the on-call doctor and nurses realized there was a serious problem with Jordan. His stomach now appeared very distended (bloated), to almost three times it's normal size. They did some tests, and while awaiting the results quickly called in a technician to perform an emergency M.R.I. on Jordan, whom they suspected either had a rip in his stomach, or a severe type of blockage in his bowels. It took nearly 1.5 hours to perform the M.R.I. because Jordan could not lie still in order to properly do the scan of his body. He was just freaking out the whole time.
The technician said that as far as he was concerned, there did not appear to be either a tear inside of his stomach, nor any blockage in his bowels. When the emergency doctor asked if he could give a guarantee of those results, the technician replied: "No ... I can't guarantee it.".
The emergency doctor felt there was no question Jordan must have a tear in his stomach, caused by an improper insertion of the Bard tube. Jordan was then hooked up to a machine monitoring his vital signs. When the results of the test came back, the news was devastating. It was more than obvious by now that Jordan indeed had a tear in his stomach, because the results showed he had perentinitis at a level which indicated large amounts of poisoning soaking his organs.
It was by now early the next morning, and Jordan's vital signs began deteriorating. Tears began to fall on the faces of all the medical personal within the emergency department, as they watched the tragedy begin unfolding. The emergency doctor called my wife aside, and told her they had only one chance, and that was to pump antibiotics into his system and hope that it would against all odds, fight off the poisoning in Jordan's ravaged body. My wife sat stood there in shock, her eyes mere pin-holes almost swollen shut by all the tears she had cried.
As the emergency team began to pump massive amounts of antibiotics into Jordan's body, his vital signs began to drop to almost non-existant levels. His breathing was very shallow. It soon became apparent he was not responding to the antibiotics.
Finally the emergency doctor and one of the nurses came up to my wife. They eyes were red and their faces wet. The doctor kneeled in front of the chair in which my wife sat, and cried bitter tears into her lap. He shook his head and told her: "Mrs. Casagrande ... I am so sorry ... there is nothing more we can do for your son. He is so far gone that it would be useless to even open him up ... It's time to put him on the intubater now, so that at least he won't suffer." An intubater is basically a machine that assists people who are unable to breathe properly.
At 6:13 A.M. on Thursday morning, January 11th, I was awakened by my wife's phonecall, telling me to get in to the Emergency as quickly as possible, because Jordan was dying. When I heard the news I was in total shock. After getting someone to watch my younger son, I raced like a madman to the Hospital so that I could say goodbye to my son, and tell him that I loved him before he died.
In the interim, they prepared Jordan for death, by sliding the intubater line into his mouth and throat, so that he didn't die choking for breath, and then injected him with morphine to deaden the pain. Then my wife and the medical staff gathered around his bed and waited out the final moments.
After ten minutes had passed, the emergency doctor suddenly decided that even though it would not do any good, he might as well open up Jordan since there was nothing to lose. I arrived just as they had him all hooked up and prepped for one last "Hail Mary" attempt on my son, whose vital signs were close to non-existant, and a machine was breathing for him.
I was speechless as I approached the side of his guerney. No words came. The shock was too much. I could only reach over and softly rub the top of his hair. He looked horrible and almost colorless. I could only watch as they wheeled him away, knowing that I was seeing him alive for the last time.
A nurse then led my wife and I up to the second floor Intensive Care Unit family waiting room, and told us the doctor would speak to us after the surgery. I began praying quietly, asking for God's intervention on behalf of my son, Jordan. I began slowly pacing the floor back and forth, while my wife lay down on one of the couches, trying to get some rest after going without sleep for into her second day. It was truly the worst day of our lives.
While pacing back and forth it felt as if my mind had gone numb. I began wondering about how to plan the funeral arrangements. Then I on of my trips back and forth, as I reached the far end of the room, I noticed the slightly opened door to a secondary area. Its lights were off, and the room was almost pitch black. In the tiny corner closest to me was the only spot faintly illuminated by the secondary light from the main waiting area. This solitary light fell upon the corner of a tiny end-table, upon which lay a book.
The Holy Bible. The word of the Living God.
I silently thanked God for letting me notice it, then turned around and continued my pacing. As I came back to that point, I noticed the Bible a second time. Again I gave thanks to God, and then turned around and continued pacing. When I came back, I glanced at the light sillouetted Bible, laying in the darkened room a third time.
This time the Spirit of the Living God spoke to me. He said: "Go and pick it up. I have placed it here for a reason." So I opened the door wider, reached in, and picked up what looked like a very old and worn Bible. Then I sat down in a chair across from my wife, who was sleeping fitfully. The Spirit of God then spoke to me again, saying: "Open it to the Book of Psalms."
Upon finding the Book of Psalms, my mind wondered: Where do I go? Psalm 23? Psalm 91? What do I do now? The pages of the Bible suddenly fell open to its fore-ordained destination -- Psalm 20. God then spoke to me the third time, saying: "Read it."
"The LORD hear thee in the day of trouble; the name of
the God of Jacob defend thee;
Send thee help from the sanctuary, and strengthen thee
out of Zion;
Remember all thy offerings, and accept thy burnt
sacrifice; Selah.
Grant thee according to thine own heart, and fulfil all
thy counsel.
We will rejoice in thy salvation, and in the name of
our God we will set up our banners: the LORD
fulfil all thy petitions.
Now I know that the LORD saveth his anointed; he
will hear him from his holy heaven with the saving
strength of his right hand.
Some trust in chariots, and some in horses: but we
will remember the name of the LORD our God.
They are brought down and fallen: but we are risen,
and stand upright.
Save, LORD: let the king hear us when we call.
The very instant that I read this Psalm, I knew that God was speaking directly to me, giving me comfort, and encouraging me not to lose hope, but to trust in Him. So like a bulldog I tenaciously hung onto that Psalm, reading it over and over and over again, thirty, forty, fifty times, until I lost count. I knew that I was in the presence of the Living God, and refused to move my eyes to the right or left, but kept them glued straight ahead on the pages of His word.
Eventually, I placed the bible on the table in front of me, leaving it open to Psalm 20. I told my wife that I needed to use the washroom. When I got to the tiny one-seater room, I locked the door behind me and got down on my knees by the toilet, holding onto the bar on the wall. I cried out to God for the very life of my son. I prayed thusly:
"Lord, you know that I faithfully and obediently supported your children in the land of Israel, after they were sinfully forced out of their rightful land in Gaza, and many were homeless. I did it in support of and in obedience to your word, in fulfilment of your promises to them, and concerning the eventual return of the Messiah. Now would the God who threw the stars up in the sky turn His back on my son, who lies dying and without hope? I respectfully remind you that we are in a covenant, sealed with the blood of your only Son, our Lord Jesus Christ. Thank you."
As I left the washroom and headed back to the ICU family waiting room, I felt something rising up from the inside of me. I knew something was going to happen. The feeling was so strong that I looked at my watch. It was 8:57 A.M.
I sat back down and picked up the Bible, continuing to read Psalm 20 over and over again. Neither did I turn my eyes to the left or right, but glued them straight ahead to the Word of the Living God. Precisely 18 minutes later, the doctor came into the waiting room, and motioned us into the very side room where God had placed His Word for me. As he motioned for us to sit on the couch, I kept watching for him to see if he was going to shut the door behind him or not.
He sat down, leaving the door open.
Though he tried to keep a straight face, you could read the shock on his face. He spoke very slowly and deliberately, as though stunned at the news he was about to give us.
My son, Jordan, was alive.
Sometime during the surgery, his body suddenly began to revive. It was processing the antibiotics being pumped into his system, and his vital signs which had previously crashed, were just as suddenly coming back to life. His body had completely stabilized.
When the doctor finished speaking, we all momentarily sat there in silence, just staring at each other. So I finally spoke up, and asked the doctor if I could give him a hug. He sat there staring at me speechless, afraid that he was once again going to lose his composure. Finally he said it would be okay, and we stood up and I cried as I hugged him and thanked God.
We got to see him, about an hour later, in his ICU room. He was sleeping peacefully, still under sedation. I had never thought I would see him alive again. After a while I told my wife that I needed to go out for some fresh air and a walk, to release all the pent up energy.
As I walked out of the hospital onto Carling Avenue, my mind began racing over the events of the past six hours. I suddenly began crying uncontrollably while I walked, all the time giving thanks to Jesus for sparing the life of my son by the power of His Blood. It was a bitter cold January wind, as I continued on crying and saying: "Thank you, Jesus ... Thank you, Jesus ... Thank you, Jesus."
Whenever I passed people on the street, I tried to regain my composure. I am sure some of them thought I was some kind of real nut-job out on a day pass. But I could have cared less. I was walking down the street on a bitterly cold January day, with the God who gave up His precious only Son, so that my son could live.
Jordan is recovering incredibly well, and although he will remain in the hospital for maybe another week just for observation, we have already began making plans to bring him home. Somehow I have to figure out how to get his wheelchair into the hospital so he can ride it back in the specialized bus. It's too big to fit in my mini-van. Oh well ... it's a nice problem to ruminate over.
When I got home on the day my son rose from the dead, the Lord instructed me to listen to a song on my CD that is called: "The Golden City." It is a song about the rapture of the Church. The chorus goes like this:
We will meet in the Golden City, in the new Jerusalem.
All our pains and all our tears will be no more.
We will stand with the host of heaven, crying "Holy is the Lamb"
We will worship and adore you evermore.
Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lamb.
Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lamb.
By the way and just as a footnote, when I went back into the hospital to visit Jordan the next time. I also went in to the ICU family room, to see if the Bible was still sitting where I left in on the table, opened to Psalm 20 .... but it was gone. I checked every room in the area. Every single magazine and literature that was there on that fateful morning of January 11, 2007, was still there. But the Bible had disappeared.
God bless you, everyone.
See ya in the air,
Eric