“Good morning, can you tell us your name?” asked an unfamiliar voice as a flashlight waved back and forth in front of my eyes. I looked around the room confused, completely unaware of where I was or how I got there. I stared blankly ahead, figuring this was just a snippet from a bad dream I would surely awaken from momentarily. Check cialis side effect

My memory of this past winter is foggy at best. What culminated in February’s three week stay on the neurology floor of the UC Medical Center started last fall when those around me began noticing a slow descent in my responsiveness. I would stare at the person talking to me, trying to make sense of what they were saying. After a brief hospital stay in mid-December where I was deemed perfectly healthy, I returned home only for symptoms to become even more pronounced. My confusion, trouble swallowing, and delayed responses unsettled many. Some feared I was at death’s door as my slow but steady decline became more and more evident. The shift was a gradual deterioration that I had trouble noticing. My wife wondered what was wrong, but I continued to insist I was fine; merely tired after several years of not sleeping well at night.

Push came to shove at the end of January when Stephanie found me having a seizure in the middle of an afternoon nap. She ran towards me, flipped me on my side so my foaming mouth could empty onto the bed, and called 911. Moments later paramedics loaded me unconscious into the ambulance as I was rushed to the hospital.

My brain waves were scanned and a feeding tube was inserted through my nose while dozens of tests were run to figure out what had transpired. Epilepsy? Sleep apnea? Blood infection? Undiagnosed brain injury from the original car accident? Was I secretly doing hard drugs? Over the ensuing weeks, test after test kept coming back negative, leaving the experts scratching their heads.

Meanwhile, hallucinations began to occur. I was hearing voices and constantly obsessing over numbers and letter patterns on the ceiling.

Confusion was magnified and my speech was slurred. PTSD symptoms emerged as I began to think it was 2009 and I was back in the hospital after my car accident. My demeanor would swing back and forth from catatonic to angry and belligerent, screaming at doctors and family members to leave me alone.

Paranoia ensued. On multiple occasions I looked at Stephanie skeptically, thinking she might be an imposter pretending to be my wife. Other times, when she would try to leave the hospital room I would ask incessantly when she was returning; certain that my wife was leaving me forever. One moment I was convinced I had died and was in heaven and the next I was in fear of being under investigation for playing a role in planning the terrorist attacks of 9/11.

At times I described the experience as “being in a videogame,” or like I was riding a roller coaster. It was as if I was removed from time and I wondered aloud if I was in the Matrix.

Then even stranger things began to happen.

Eyes rolling back in my head. Appearing to want to eat or speak but being physically unable to do so. An afternoon of seizure-like activity lasting for hours that one nurse described as “something from The Exorcist” while the EEG hooked up to my head showed perfectly normal brainwaves without a trace of seizure activity.

I would stare blankly at the ceiling, unresponsive as if in a trance for hours on end. When I did speak my words would war with each other; sometimes expressing feelings of self-loathing and remorse and at other times blurting out various biblical verses that would specifically combat the negative things spoken.

I spent full days unable to speak or eat, only to quickly snap out of it each evening and carry on a normal conversation as if nothing had happened, asking Stephanie what we were doing in the hospital and when we could go home.

Though every test showed nothing out of the ordinary, doctors remained perplexed and were understandably reluctant to send me home without being able to consistently eat or communicate. It was at this point that the psychiatric team was brought in and there was talk amongst the doctors of moving me to the psych ward.

Meanwhile, as nothing could be found from a physical standpoint, Stephanie and a few others continued to intercede on my behalf. Someone was stationed by my bed 24 hours a day to pray and read Scripture over me. Biblical truth was constantly spoken over me, regardless of whether I was conscious enough to respond. Worship music played on repeat in my hospital room.

At the end of three weeks, doctors decided to give me one last chance to pass a swallowing test before planning to send me home with a permanent feeding tube in my stomach. Their expectations for me passing the test were low at best.

Stephanie stayed by my side while they took X-rays of my throat. As she prayed fervently over me, I was suddenly able to respond and swallow effortlessly. The rest of the test was a breeze. After a good nights’ sleep and 21 days in the hospital, a very baffled physician discharged me, and I enjoyed my favorite jalapeno pepperoni pizza upon returning home that evening.

Since returning home at the end of February, I’ve slept better than I have in years. The sleep apnea I’ve been experiencing for the past three years is completely gone. Every person I’ve interacted with over the past two months has been astonished by how much more energetic, interactive, and animated I’ve been. Some have mentioned that even my face looks different. The strange happenings in the months leading up to the seizure and the weeks in the hospital have not returned. After countless tests and being seen by numerous professionals, I’ve yet to hear any specific diagnosis or explanation.

So what happened exactly?

Did the drugs the doctors had me on in the hospital play a role? I’m sure they did.

Did the lack of sleep and ensuing ICU delirium come into play? Absolutely.

Was there something more going on the spiritual realm? I’m sure of it.

It’s a taboo subject. Talking demons, angels, or the supernatural in our science and reason-based culture will cause people to look at you with a questionable glance. However, the Bible emphasizes that our battle is not against flesh and blood, but against a spiritual enemy who is described as a roaring lion roaming around looking for someone to devour. It’s abundantly clear that Satan hates us and wants us dead.

What does this look like practically? It’s the series of lies that echoes in my mind in the middle of the night, telling me that I don’t have what it takes to succeed, that this trial is too big for me, that my best is behind me, and that it would be easiest to just give up. If the enemy can use his subtle lies to get me to genuinely believe my life has no purpose, the ramifications will not be just confined to my mind for long. Over time, they begin to manifest in my physical body as I entertain these thoughts and they start to feel more legitimate.

On the heels of a very difficult few years in terms of chronic pain, worsening spasticity, and various physical and emotional setbacks, I believe what I experienced in the hospital was an exposure of God’s enemy when my body and mind were in the weakest and most compromised position they have ever been.

Thankfully, Jesus conquered Satan, death, and sin when he busted out of the grave with the keys to hell in hand. God also promises that He is faithful to strengthen and protect us from the evil one.

So what is my role in all this?

I will fight, relying fully on the heavy artillery that the Bible speaks of:

“For though we live in the world, we do not wage war as the world does. The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world…”

I have often wondered what phrases like this meant. Invisible spiritual battle? What are weapons “not of the world?” How do I “fight” in an alternative manner? After my encounter in the hospital, I now have a better grasp on the guidance of how to “wage war:”

“… Rather, they have divine power to demolish strongholds. We demolish every argument that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.” (2 Corinthians 10:3-5)

This is not a passive mindset. It’s not intellectual head knowledge. This is a daily battle to guard my thoughts and call to mind God’s truth. The relentless prayer, reminders of biblical truth, worship, and words spoken over me in the hospital were a perfect picture of what this looks like, even when I was unable to engage. It was also a reminder to lean into those around me and leave behind the facade of putting on a brave face and quietly suffering alone.

So now when those thoughts start to creep in I need to proactively refuse to entertain them. When I start to doubt that I have purpose or I am capable, I need to recognize where the whispers are coming from and snuff them out immediately. I may not fully understand everything that transpired but the physical and spiritual battles of this winter have resulted in an all-around healthier version of myself, and I look forward to what is ahead with a renewed sense of purpose.

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