Chain Breaker

I am not a follower of contemporary Christian music.  In what have been called the “worship wars,” I was always on the side of more traditional hymns and what some might call a formal approach to the musical side of a worship service.  I have tried not to be antagonistic to those who have different tastes, but I doubt I could name one song or artist who has won a Dove Award.  With that as my background, I was somewhat surprised when I came across a contemporary Christian song that moved me deeply. 

I often have the TV in my Study tuned to the Youtube Channel and zeroed in on music, which is often little more than background as I read.  One day my attention was arrested by a song entitled Chain Breaker by Zach Williams.  I went back and listened to it a second time, and as the chorus repeated I began to see how that song spoke to my need.  The chorus says,

If you’ve got pain, He’s a pain taker

If you feel lost, He’s a way maker

If you need freedom or saving, He’s a prison-shaking Savior

If you’ve got chains, He’s a chain breaker

Now, I fully realize that the intent of the songwriter is to say how Jesus can save our souls and untangle the web we often find ourselves caught in, but I had a different application in mind.

If you’ve got pain, He’s a pain taker

I can’t complain of major pain, but I do have pain.  How much to attribute to CBD (Corticobasal Degeneration) and how much is the result of a broken hip I can’t tell.  I often have sharp pain in my left shin and ankle, dull pain in my hip, and continual discomfort in my left arm.  If I sit for more than a few minutes I will stiffen up, making my gait look more like that of Tim Conway doing his “little old man” routine.

If you feel lost, He’s a way maker

I apply this to the dark cloud of depression that seems to move in like an unexpected cold front.  I am not clinically depressed, and I am anything but suicidal, but every which way I turn I find more restriction.  My world seems to be shrinking, and the relentless nature of this gets me down.  I admit it--often I feel lost.

If you need freedom or saving, He’s a prison-shaking Savior

Freedom means different things to different people.  I am sure that prisoners think of freedom as being on the other side of the bars and outside the walls of their prison.  I don’t deal with that sort of confinement.  I suppose you could say I am under a sort of “house arrest,” but it is a very nice house and I don’t mind spending far more hours at home than I ever have in the past.  Sure, cabin fever will make an occasional appearance, but it doesn’t stay long.  The freedom I miss is to walk without effort, to be sure-footed enough that I don’t have to constantly either be looking down or anxious about my next step.  I suppose freedom and independence are not quite synonymous, but they do go together.  About a year and half ago my neurologist asked me if I was still dressing myself.  I was a bit taken aback by the question and wondered if it would come to that.  It has.  What’s more, at my last visit to Dr. Callahan we talked about my giving up driving.  My argument has always been that it is primarily my left side that is affected by CBD, and you work the gas and brake with your right foot.  The neurologist pointed out that my reactions would not be as good as they used to be even on my right side, and that if I ever were involved in an accident my neurological condition would probably be used against me.

If you’ve got chains, He’s a chain breaker

Yes, I have chains and I am not too proud to admit it, but I also realize Jesus is a chain breaker. Having reflected on what chain breaking would mean in my situation, I can think of only three possibilities.  The first is some sort of medical intervention. Having scoured the internet for possibilities, I come again and again to the line, “There is no treatment for CBD and nothing that has been shown to slow its progress.”  The second possibility is divine healing.  I should point out that I don’t see medical treatment and God’s intervention as mutually exclusive; in fact, medical treatment might well be the way the good Lord answers prayers for healing.  That caveat aside, I have begged God for healing.  I know multitudes of people have prayed and will continue to pray for me, and I am fully convinced that God is more than capable of miraculously healing my degenerative disease.  Something tells me that is not God’s plan for me.  While I have not had the experience of the Apostle Paul recorded in 2 Corinthians 12 about his “thorn in the flesh,” I believe the Lord is saying to me, “My grace is all you need.  My power works best in weakness.”  Paul went on to say that he would boast in his weakness.  I am not there yet, and I may not ever get there, but I am resting on the phrase, “My grace is all you need.”  Finally, and ultimately, I know Jesus can break my chains by calling me home.  I have a recurring dream where I fall down, which has become an ever more frightening thing, and before I realize what I’m doing I almost spring to my feet.  In the dream it occurs to me, I can’t do that, and then the realization dawns on me that I must be dead!  Nothing hurts, and just as I begin to walk, I wake up.  Let me say again, I don’t want to die, but I have every confidence that making the inevitable step into eternity will be when I hear the clank of my chains falling away.  You see, He’s a chain breaker.

911

Friday, September 15^th, turned out to be quite an eventful day for me.  I had been to STEPS Fitness for the massage therapist to work on my shoulder and had returned home for lunch.  Once I finished my bowl of Grape Nuts, I decided that such a healthy lunch should be followed up with a bowl of ice cream!  As I moved into the kitchen, my right knee buckled.  Earlier in the day, I had successfully dealt with the knee giving way, but this time I had in hand a porcelain dish instead of my cane, and I hit the floor, hard.  I had a fleeting thought as I went down that my head would hit the island in the middle of the kitchen.  What reflexes I do have caused me to turn enough to avoid the head injury, but instead I came down with my full weight on my left hip (and the bowl shattered into many pieces as it hit the floor with me).  I could feel something shift in my leg, but there was no immediate pain.  That reprieve lasted only for the second or two that I was motionless.  As I tried to roll to my right, the sharpest pain I have ever experienced radiated out from my left hip.  I am confident the my neighbors next door, across the street, and maybe even passers by on Highway 12 heard the scream I let out!  I came close to blacking out.  I had snapped the femoral neck, below the ball of my hip joint.  I would learn this is the most common variety of hip fracture.

As I assessed my situation, I knew I had to get help.  Joy would not be home until 6 and it was only 2.  The first task was getting my cell phone out of my pocket.  It would, of course, be in my left pocket.  After about 5 minutes of effort I got to the phone and tried to call my wife.  During most of the day she keeps her phone on vibrate, so I left a voice mail and then called the school office.  Within what seemed like a minute of that, Joy was on the phone with me.  I didn’t want to panic her, but still needed to convey the seriousness of the situation.  We jointly decided that she should call 911 and explain that she was on the way.  It was a good plan, until you factor in that EMS got to our condo much quicker than we expected, and what Joy estimated would be a 10-minute drive turned out to be closer to 20 minutes.  She got there just as the men were making a decision to come in either by breaking down a door or through a window.  Thankfully, they didn’t have to do either.  Seven beefy men and one thin young woman were soon in our kitchen assessing my situation.  Turns out, the woman was the medical authority of the group and directed the men in the least painful way to get me on the gurney.  Joy and I quickly decided our destination, Centennial Hospital, where my most recent medical problems (a heart stint and a pace maker) had been dealt with.  I would spend from Friday afternoon until Monday morning at Centennial and have a partial hip replacement.

I have had a week now to think about all of this, and I have come to some conclusions.  First, there are people I don’t even know whose job it is to care for me.  When the EMS folks filled our kitchen, I had no idea how they were going to get me out, but they did, and with less pain than I anticipated.  Second, there are people who do know me who care even more.  Once word got out, I received texts, emails, calls, and Facebook assurances of prayer from friends, flooding in.  The morning of my surgery Joy told me (I was a bit out of it) that quite a crowd assembled to show their concern and support.  This has been followed by many other visitors--first to Centennial and now at the Tri-Star rehab affiliate here in Ashland City.  I have to admit that during some of those visits I nodded off a bit while a visitor was talking to either me or Joy.  I was embarrassed, but then I thought, I’ve been talking in people’s sleep for years!  Third, the people who know me best, care the most.  My family has rallied around me.  It says something good that both of my brother-in-laws prayed with me, and my sister-in-law spent the better part of two days in my hospital room.  My siblings were ever present and carried the message of my fall to our mom, telling her I had broken my hip so I could be more like her!  My boys and their wives showed constant concern.  Benjamin and Rhonda brought their daughters to see PopCorn (their name for me) in the hospital, and I will never forget the worried look on three-year-old Melody’s face as she asked, “PopCorn, is your hip better?”  Last, and I assure you not least, is my dear wife.  She has done everything from hold my hand, to minister to my personal needs (and that is quite a list), debate the best medical procedure for me with my surgeon, and handle all the details of hospitalization.  I know I am not the easiest person to live with under the best of circumstances, but add significant pain and I really become a piece of work!  She has handled all of this with grace.

I had been told early on that falls are a major problem with CBD.  I believe that was the underlying cause of my knee buckling and certainly it slowed my reflexes and reactions, making a bad situation worse.  Recovery will be harder and longer, but this episode has shown me just how many people the Lord has brought together to be a blessing in my life.  I firmly believe that my fractured hip is one of the “all things” Paul had in mind when he wrote, “And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to His purpose.”  I am a blessed man.

Just Can't

For almost two months I have been going to Step Fitness where there are a number of programs for folks with various physical challenges.  Mine is called Rock Steady Boxing where we use many of the exercises designed for boxers to increase agility, flexibility, balance, and to decrease tremors.  It is for people with Parkinson’s disease, and since I have what is called a Parkinson’s Plus illness, there is hope it will slow the progress of my symptoms. 

I have to say that I do think it has helped me in three ways.  First, I have surprised myself by working through some of my stiffness.  I have gone in on some days with short, almost jerky, steps and left with a near normal gait.  I wish I could say I stayed that way the rest of the day, but sitting for perhaps 30 minutes will bring back most of the rigidity in my leg muscles.  There have been times that just the drive home will do that, but I still have to think it is a net gain.  Second, I have to admit that punching the heavy bag is a great way to relieve stress!  It is downright frustrating to me when I think about all of the things I can no longer do, and I get angry at the prospect of losing even more.  A series of hard right crosses allows me to vent that anger.  Third, I have enjoyed being around the rest of the class and the trainers.  My group is usually eight folks who are at various stages of physical decline.  I am not the worst off in the class, but I am the only one to fall in the weeks I have been attending.  Each session we have either three or four trainers working with the group, and ever since my fall I have been shadowed by at least one of these trainers.  It is good to be with people who understand what I am going through.  Many of my friends are concerned about my situation, but these folks at Rock Steady can empathize.

As I mentioned earlier, there are other groups using the same facility.  I am not sure of the name of the group that comes in just as I am typically leaving, but they apparently have more physical challenges than I am currently facing.  There is one man who seems to always have the same tee shirt on.  It features an upside down Nike swoosh and two words in bold print, “Just Can’t.”  This play on Nike’s catch phrase may strike you as cynical, at least it did me the first time I saw it, but on reflection it seems less so.  Someone has said that life is a series of compromises, and a serious neurological disease accelerates those compromises.  For example, even the most avid golfers will play less and less if they live long enough and will typically stop altogether once their stamina is compromised by age.  I just got there a lot earlier than I wanted to.  I have encountered a number of things which I just can’t do anymore.  Things like riding my spin bike (lack of balance), walking long distances or negotiating bleachers (lack of leg strength and pain), even singing the congregational hymns at church (inability to “clear my throat” and weakened throat and mouth muscles).  Believe me when I say this list is suggestive not exhaustive!  Which brings me back to my tee-shirt-clad friend.  I prefer to think that “Just Can’t” isn’t a statement of resignation but of realism.  My reality has been restricted by Corticobasal Degeneration.  To think otherwise would be a self-destructive delusion at best and a one way street to depression and despair at worst.  No, I want to be realistic about what I can’t do, but I also want to always be pushing right to the limits my malfunctioning brain will permit.

Just can’t?  Sure, there is a growing list of things I can’t do, but why not work to maintain what I can rather than bemoan what I can’t?  This is not the intended challenge of Nike’s phrase, “Just Do It.”  I think it is far more than what the people at Nike had in mind.

Fighting Back

Ever since my diagnosis of Corticobasal Degeneration (CBD) I have looked for some sort of treatment.  My neurologist, or perhaps I should say, my neurologists, have assured me there is no treatment for my malady.  What would you do if you were told you had an incurable illness that is progressively robbing you of your balance, your voice, and your emotional equilibrium?  On top of that, since this is a degenerative illness, no matter how bad it is today it will probably be worse tomorrow.

I believe I have made it all the way through the Kubler-Ross stages of grief in the past two years.  If you are not familiar with this, Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, a Swiss psychiatrist, observed that most people dealing with a major trauma pass through five stages, which may overlap.  These stages are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.  I know that I, at first, denied this was happening to me.  There must be some other explanation, but I suppose my second trip to Mayo Clinic convinced me I was dealing with CBD. 

I have tried my hand at bargaining with God, but I am a good enough theologian to realize the Lord does not typically respond to our prayers the way we have it figured that He should.  That has not stopped me from praying for deliverance and asking anyone and everyone to join me in that plea.  I know I am on quite a few prayer lists, and I am always humbled when someone says they are praying for me.  Of course, all this intercession has had some interesting twists and turns.  I had a chance encounter with a young man of the Charismatic persuasion who, upon seeing my cane, asked if he could pray over me.  I certainly wasn’t going to object, but after the prayer the fact that I still needed the cane seemed to disappoint him more than me.  While he did not say it bluntly, there was mention that lack of faith might have short-circuited the process.  In that same vein, a sincere Pentecostal friend came to my home to anoint me with oil and earnestly pray for my healing. 

I know the Lord is more than capable of working a miracle, but I must go forward with my life dealing with my situation as it is.  I have been more than a little depressed by all of this.  The thing that does not allow me to stay there is the remarkable blessings God has poured out on me along the way.  In fact, I have come to expect that when things really seem dark, God will turn on a light.  I am somewhat surprised that I have not really been angry about all of this.  I can see where someone might be, but I believe I am just not wired that way.  The last stage is acceptance.  I am not sure I am there yet, and if acceptance means resignation, I don’t want to get there.  I am determined to fight back.

My first thought was to get some experimental drug treatment, but I have yet to find one for CBD.  When I say “experimental,” I mean it.  I told a friend that if there was some drug that was successful with rats, I would be willing to give it a shot!  I know that is a theme in quite a few sci-fi movies, and it never turns out well, but I just might be the exception!  Returning to a serious note, I have tried to stay abreast of the developments in neurodegenerative diseases, and my doctors assure me that there are promising developments coming. 

Since drug trials are not an option, my next thought was the “off label” use of some existing drugs.  This has led me to low dose Naltrexone, or LDN.  My physician didn’t see how this could hurt so he gave me a prescription at my request.  I have been on LDN for about six months.  It is difficult to estimate its value since you can’t know how you would be without it, but I plan to continue its use.

One thing my neurologists have consistently suggested is physical therapy.  I was of the opinion that I could do that myself, but as I saw continued deterioration in my walking I knew I needed professional help.  CBD is considered a “Parkinson’s Plus” disease since it has some of the same symptoms as Parkinson’s.  That led me to more than a few websites which deal with that illness.  I was particularly interested in a program that uses the training techniques from boxing.  That’s right, boxing!  They explain that the forced intensity of the exercise is good for balance, gross motor coordination, and punching seems to calm tremors.  That was enough for me to call the local affiliate, Rock Steady Boxing of Music City.  Joy and I went to observe a class and decided it was worth pursuing.  My first session left me stiff, but excited that I may have found something that would be helpful.  As we drove home I remembered Apollo Creed’s line from Rocky III, “He has to use and strengthen muscles he didn’t even know he had!”  I have definitely found some of those muscles, I wouldn’t say I have strengthened them yet, but I am determined to do so.

Some of you reading this are probably wondering if this training includes getting punched.  No, at least not on purpose!  At my second session I just lost my balance and went, face first, into the floor.  Joy, and the three trainers for the class, rushed over to help me up.  Joy’s first statement was, “Did you break your nose?”  I suppose it was my reddening nose and a small amount of blood that led her to that question.  The coach assessed the situation and realizing no major damage was done said, “Well, now when you tell people you have been training to box you will look the part!”

I want to do more than look the part; I want to live the part.  I want to fight back against CBD and perhaps regain, if only temporarily, some of what it has taken.  I know it will be a tough fight and involve blood, bruises, scrapes and stiffness with a good amount of frustration sprinkled in for good measure.

In the movie Rocky, the night before the big fight, Rocky confides to Adrian, “I can’t do it.”  He knows he can’t win against the Champ, but he determines to “go the distance” with Creed.  “Nobody has ever gone the distance with Creed.”  That is what I want to do--go the distance.