Sometime in June this year I started feeling fatigued and very weak. I thought to myself I needed some rest from work, so I asked for a few days off and was granted three to four days starting from a Wednesday. I stayed home and tried to get as much rest as I could and also resumed my faith confessions. I also broke bread occasionally.
By Sunday of that week, I was feeling so weak that even though my husband drove me to the church gate, I just could not walk into the church, so we dropped off the children and he took me back home. Thank God for live streaming, I was able to watch Pastor preach that day. I stayed in bed most of that Sunday, just prayed and rested, only doing minimal work around the house.
By Monday morning, the symptoms got worse so much so that I could not even walk around the house. I was struggling to breathe and was feeling very exhausted. I called on a sister in church who lived in my neighbourhood; she immediately helped me to get to the clinic.
After the initial resuscitation at the clinic, my vitals stabilized, but all the investigations came out normal! All my systems were working okay from the test results. The explanation for the symptoms I was having, became a puzzle for so many days. Further investigations were carried out, which surprisingly were all also normal.
Eventually, a diagnosis of panic attack was made and treatment commenced. Although my husband and I did not fully agree with this diagnosis, we decided that I should take the drugs. I particularly was gradually being seen as a difficult medic to manage, as a few days earlier I’d refused some medications that I thought were inappropriate.
The treatment process became a horrifying experience in itself as I was reacting unusually to all the drugs I was given. One of the treatment options entailed me being tranquilized using the most minimal dose of a drug. Even this turned out to be another horrifying experience. One day, after having tried a few drugs and I was still reacting badly to them, I was told that since I seem to be reacting rather unusually to the drugs even at the lowest dose, maybe the line of treatment needed to be changed. I was now really upset! It appeared there was still some uncertainty about the diagnosis after all. My husband and I decided it might be better if I was discharged, so I could go home to allow some time for me to recover from the effects of the previous medications I’d already taken. So I was discharged on request.
At this point, although I still said my prayers and read my Bible, somehow I had stopped saying my faith confessions, and only broke bread rarely. I realized that I’d allowed my mind to be filled mostly with medical explanations. Let me quickly add that I’d had a similar health challenge at about this same time the previous year that kept me away from work, and most social activities for about three months, but the Lord restored my health as there was also no medical explanation or remedy. However, I recalled that a few days prior to commencement of the symptoms, one night while I slept, I felt like someone was pressing down over my heart area, and while still trying to understand what was going on I heard clearly in my spirit: “The thief comes not but to steal, kill and destroy” (John 10:10). Then I started shouting, “Jesus!” until my husband could hear me. We prayed afterwards and I continued praying days after.
This time, when I got back home, I resumed my confessions and broke bread several times a day. Several weeks after my discharge, I was having withdrawal symptoms from the medications. I could not sleep for several days, and I was getting weaker and faint by the day. Although this was medically expected if the drugs were stopped abruptly, it was however still strange since I was only given very low doses of the drugs. I had the option to resume the drugs again to abate the present symptoms or go through them for as long as they take to fully resolve, which could be several weeks more. There were some things I was not sure of at that time, but going back to taking any of those drugs was not one of them.
I chose to break bread instead. I took my confessions more seriously. I just told God in my prayer that I was going to rely on His faithfulness, and like at other times when I’d gotten to my wits end, He brought me out. I also sent a text message to Pastor about my health, and she called back the next minute, a bit upset that I did not involve her earlier, but after I relayed all that had happened, and added that I’d actually been noticing some strange marks on my body, she immediately said it was the Devil playing games. I needed to come to church that evening because she has to lay hands on me. She encouraged me that it was important to come out to church even though that’s the last thing I’d want to do that day, adding that the Devil works well by isolating believers. She prayed with me over the phone. Later that evening Pastor laid hands on me and rebuked the spirit of oppression, declaring God’s peace over my life. I have not had any more strange scratch marks on my body since then. Praise God.
In the days that followed I continued to make efforts at walking around the neighbourhood even though it did not feel like I could. I’ve also come to rely fully on Psalm 118 and among all other confessions maintained that “The Lord is my Strength, my Song and my Salvation.” I believed that this was just a temporary experience, which would soon pass.
A few weeks later, I had an opportunity to be away from town and was seen by a doctor who thought I had some chemical imbalance and commenced a fresh set of medications. I thank God because I know I can rely on His faithfulness for a total recovery. Thank you Pastor Nkechi for answering immediately I called.
Sometimes, things can happen to us that defy all forms of explanations and there is nothing in the physical/natural that we can do about them, but God can be trusted absolutely. He is faithful and can be relied upon through the darkest nights.