“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”
Psalm 23:1-6 ESV
I write this to testify to the kindness and mercy of God and the power and importance of intercessory prayer. I’m compelled to share my experiences, miracles, and gratitude with as many as will listen-or read.
On June 22nd, 2022, after a lot of hesitation on my part and a lot of insistence by others, I went to the ER with some truly bizarre symptoms. They were scary, distressing, and came on suddenly without warning.
As I awoke that morning and lay in bed looking at my phone (as many of us do) I realized the time and that I’d better get moving. The plan that day was to take my two sons and my parents on a two-for-one outing for Father’s Day and my mom’s birthday. We were set to have lunch and see a movie. I did one of those big morning stretches in bed where you tense up your body then point your toes and fingers in opposite directions as far as you can to wake everything up. Upon doing so I felt an odd sort of hitch or crick seize my throat and neck. I froze. I waited a few seconds. No change. I carefully got out of bed, walked a few steps, stopped, tried to swallow…and couldn’t.
I deal with some anxiety symptoms and have had panic attacks in the past so my first thought was, “ok Stephanie, chill out”. I assumed it was just another iteration of my annoying anxiety and I could will it away. Over the next hour I tried relaxation techniques, deep breathing, icy hot, a warm compress and of course, prayer. It only got worse. I couldn’t even swallow my own spit. To my horror I also realized I couldn’t speak. I was home alone so I texted my husband Brett in an attempted nonchalant tone about my situation. He offered to come home immediately but I wanted to give it a little more time. I texted my symptoms to our family doctor and he called back right away. He said, “Stephanie, you don’t have to talk. I know you can’t anyway but listen to me. You’re probably having an esophageal spasm and you need to go to the ER right now. If you’re alone, call 911 because you shouldn’t drive. You’re going to be ok but you have to go.” That seemed entirely over-dramatic and excessive to me as I imagined lights and sirens speeding down my small, one street, cul-de-sac neighborhood. What a spectacle that would have been! Absolutely not! Thankfully my husband was already on his way so I stood in the bathroom, spitting into the sink, trying not to have an additional panic attack on top of whatever was already happening. I’m not one to run to the doctor for every little thing and certainly not the ER but by this point, my intuition told me I had no choice. Something was wrong.
After what seemed like forever, we arrived at the hospital. Brett tried to explain my weird symptoms to them because I quite literally couldn’t. A few times I even typed things in the notes of my phone and showed it to ER staff to communicate. After about 45 minutes of spitting into a cup in the waiting room and growing increasingly terrified, they called my name.
Here’s the part where I won’t go into specifics because from onset to end of my initial symptoms was eight long hours. To quickly summarize, after a litany of tests and IV meds, the symptoms vanished as suddenly as they had appeared! What?! I instantly felt a pang of embarrassment and thought I had been correct that morning after all; this was just the mother of all panic attacks. I prepared myself to be mortified. Mind you, my time in the ER was void of alternative explanations or possible diagnoses from doctors, nurses, or anyone else. The only thing they did say was it was NOT an esophageal spasm. So with my ridiculous symptoms at last incoherently resolved I thought, “whatever-great. Just get me out of here!”
Then my CTA (Computed Tomography Angiography) report came back. It revealed an intracranial carotid aneurysm located deep behind my left eye. To say I was in shock is insufficient; especially with the way the ER doctor so glibly told me. He basically said, “well, we didn’t find anything in your neck but we DID find an aneurysm in your cerebral carotid artery. But it’s probably no big deal. Usually they just watch them and make sure they aren’t growing. We’ll have a neurologist come see you. Oh, and we’re keeping you overnight. In the morning you’ll have an EGD (esophagogastroduodenoscopy) to rule out anything we might’ve missed in your throat.”
By that time it was evening. After I got re-attached to monitors and settled in my inpatient room, Brett and I just stared at each other for a few seconds. You best believe I had a pretty good meltdown at that point…but still no panic attack. Victory! I updated my family by phone with the news that I was staying overnight but didn’t tell them about the aneurysm yet. I knew nothing about it myself except that I had one. I knew it would make them freak out and lose sleep unnecessarily so I decided to wait until I had the accurate, viable information that I myself so desperately wanted.
As you might imagine, I was the one who lost sleep that night. I spent hours on a Google rampage learning all I could about ICA (internal carotid artery) aneurysms. With the advent of access to my medical records online via the patient portal, I also learned that the CTA was ordered due to “suspected stroke or ischemic attack.” No one in the ER had mentioned that! I knew strokes could affect swallowing and speech but it hadn’t occurred to me then. With the report I was also able to research the specific type of aneurysm I had including its size and location. Let’s just say that what I found was not encouraging. It certainly didn’t sound like the kind that was “no big deal” and could “probably just be watched”. I didn’t cry much more that night. I prayed a little. I honestly think I was too overwhelmed to do much of either.
Morning came and it was time for my EGD. By that point I already knew in my gut that the test was pointless and unnecessary. The real problem was in my brain! The neurologist set to round on me hadn’t come yet so I was still floating around in a haze of the unknown. When the patient transporter arrived to take me for the EGD I thought I’d better use the restroom first since anesthesia would be involved. (Had to cover all my bases!) But as soon as I shut the bathroom door, I lost it. Tears and prayers suddenly poured out of me that had nothing to do with the impending EGD. All at once everything felt so heavy. I quietly prayed, “Lord, I know you’re always with me. So often I ask you to ‘please be with me’ but it’s needless; You’re always there. But I am so afraid! Holy Spirit, I need to FEEL you with me right now. Please, let me feel you near!” I blew my nose, washed my hands, opened the bathroom door and hopped onto the gurney.
It was a short ride down to the pre-op area. The two nurses that greeted me were warm and kind and that helped a little. They were unaware of my brain aneurysm diagnosis and only knew I was having an EGD due to previous difficulty swallowing. I was at that awful point of crying where you think you’ve got it under control but it keeps welling up and spilling out again. As one of the nurses, a small-framed woman probably in her 50’s with kind eyes and an accent I couldn’t pin down pushed my bed down the hall toward the procedure room, she noticed I was crying. She stopped pushing and quickly came around to face me. “Oh dear! Are you afraid?” she gently asked. I squeaked out a pitiful “yes” and she said, “do you want me to pray for you?” I nodded a big YES. I figured she might touch my hand and say a few quick words but what came next I’ll never forget. She put one hand in mine (which I squeezed hard) and the other on the left side of my head (where the aneurysm she knew nothing about was) and began to pray a beautiful prayer I wish I could recite. All I know is that she proclaimed the goodness and faithfulness of God and how He carefully created me and knew everything about me. As she spoke a wonderful peace soaked into my mind and body. I was amazed at her boldness as we were stopped in the middle of a busy hospital hallway but she wasn’t finished! She then walked down to the end of the bed and firmly held onto both of my feet. She continued with the same type of prayer, praising God for His mercy and interceding on my behalf. I was humbled, grateful, and amazed. Not even 20 minutes earlier I had pleaded with God to please allow me to FEEL the Holy Spirit near, then this wonderful woman I’d never met physically made it happen…from head to toe! As they prepped me for anesthesia she asked if she could also read a scripture. Without hesitation I said “yes, please!” Right before I went to sleep she read the following:
“Even the wilderness will rejoice in those days. The desert will blossom with flowers. Yes, there will be an abundance of flowers and singing and joy! The deserts will become as green as the mountains of Lebanon, as lovely as Mount Carmel’s pastures and the plain of Sharon. There the Lord will display his glory, the splendor of our God. With this news, strengthen those who have tired hands, and encourage those who have weak knees. Say to those who are afraid, “be strong and do not fear, for your God is coming to destroy your enemies. He is coming to save you.” Isaiah 35:1-4
By no surprise, nothing abnormal was found on the EGD. As soon as the neurologist saw me and a plan of action was determined, I could go home. At long last she arrived. She spoke curtly and quickly, buzzing through the basic facts of my case. Thankfully I had done my research the night before and had two important questions prepared. I asked if my aneurysm could be monitored for growth over time, or if it required surgery. She said flatly, “surgery.” I asked if its location was in a good place or a bad place, danger-wise. She said, “bad.” Her assistant said the office would call me with further instructions, appointments, and so on, and poof! They were gone.
Here’s another part of my story where I’m going to fast forward quite a bit. If you’ve made it this far you’re probably glad to hear it. Between that day and the day of my eventual surgery, eight weeks passed. Eight! That’s a long time to walk around with a “serious” brain aneurysm while trying to maintain your routine, manage your emotions, do fun summer activities, and effectively keep it together. During that time Brett and I had decided NOT to tell our 13 and 15 year old boys. They each had big summer plans with travel involved and there’s no way I was going to dump my scary problem on them. Not until I had to. I’ll admit, however, keeping my composure around them proved more difficult as the weeks passed.
As you may have guessed from my experience with the first neurologist, I wanted a second opinion. I actually got several more. Each had the same opinion on the treatment plan: open craniotomy with titanium clipping of the neck of the aneurysm. The clip stops the flow of blood into the weakened area of the artery and thereby prevents rupture. And it’s a permanent solution. One of the top neurosurgeons in the country, Dr. Ali Krisht, agreed to take my case. That’s another way God answered our prayers. He was recommended by everyone we knew and trusted in the medical community and beyond, highly seasoned, and even founded the CHI St. Vincent Arkansas Neuroscience Institute in order to share his skillful techniques and knowledge with the next generation of neurosurgeons. Students come from around the world to learn from him! It was also a huge blessing in itself to have that caliber of treatment conveniently located in our small state. But, any way you slice it, (no pun intended) it’s still brain surgery. It isn’t without risks. Once the plan was in place, my research continued, and deepened.
I learned that all brain surgeries carry the risk of post-operative neurological deficits, some permanent and severe including paralysis, speech problems, cognitive disabilities, and memory loss, to name a few. The risk of death isn’t terribly high but high enough to be disconcerting. But even with all the unsettling statistics, waiting, and worrying, I assure you we hadn’t lost sight of the miracle I had already been given. I had only gone to the ER because our family doctor insisted. The aneurysm was only discovered because a scan was ordered that specifically investigates the arteries in the brain. It was ordered because I had symptoms of a stroke that have still never been explained! Without those faux symptoms I wouldn’t have gone to the ER, a CTA wouldn’t have been ordered, and the aneurysm wouldn’t have been found. It would still be laying silently in wait, plotting to take me out, or may have already done so-in which case you wouldn’t be reading this.
During the eight weeks of waiting I opted not to “go public” with my situation. Not in the popular social-media-announcement-way that is. I shared what I was facing with family and close friends and trusted they would pray. Nonetheless as time went on, I heard of many others praying for me including churches, Bible study groups, house meetings, prayer chains, and even the leadership team of my kids’ school. I received three prayer cloths, one of which was Fed-Ex’d by a dear childhood friend from another state! Each of them were anointed with oil and held in the hands of people who prayed over them for my protection, healing, and restoration. I was literally covered in prayer, supported by the faith of others when mine wavered, and relieved of some of the weight of my heavy burden as their love helped me bear it. Prayer is more than good thoughts and well wishes. It produces tangible effects that change things. I understand that all prayers aren’t “answered” in the way we want and some things don’t work out as we’d hoped, but prayer gets us through whatever outcome by providing an atmosphere of peace beyond understanding and the faith to trust God regardless.
There’s a family calendar hanging on our kitchen wall. On the August 15th square I had written “Cranie Day”; a day I both longed for and dreaded. I desperately wanted that grenade out of my head but the method required was daunting. I knew about the risks. I knew recovery would be long and painful. But I also knew about all the prayers. Because of them I was able to hold my fear AND my faith together. I don’t subscribe to the belief that fear means you lack faith. It means that you’re human! And I don’t believe God is offended by our fears. He made us in His image and felt every possible emotion we could ever have during His 33 years on Earth. He can handle them all. He knows and understands us more than we do ourselves.
Before the sun came up on August 15th, Brett and I arrived at the hospital. We were greeted by my parents, their pastors, and my sister. They prayed over me once more in the middle of that dark parking lot. Then, like a band of comrades, walked me inside. I wish I could say the process went as scheduled but, alas, it did not. Maybe the Lord was teaching me one more lesson about waiting? Due to two emergency cases (patients whose brain aneurysms had ruptured), Dr. Krisht attended to them first, saving their lives. Such humbling knowledge because it just as easily could have been me that day-or for however long I’d had the aneurysm. I again thanked God for Dr. Krisht and prayed for the best possible outcomes for those patients. For whatever reasons I had been spared that complication and the terrible implications it held. It bothered me that those people weren’t. As those thoughts registered my emotions heightened and swirled. Ten hours later, I was still waiting. My anxiety climbed higher than I felt I could tolerate as the risk of my case being cancelled became more real. I thought, “no way. NO WAY! I’ve already waited eight weeks!” Finally, just at my breaking point and to my enormous relief, they came to take me to the operating room.
The added stress of waiting ten hours on top of my preexisting emotions had me teetering on the edge. To no surprise the tears were flowing again, especially as my family offered their goodbye hugs. In a setting like that, goodbyes take on a much heavier tone. I still shudder to think it could’ve been our last. They wheeled me into the OR and things started moving rapidly. I scooted over to the hard, narrow operating table and instantly the anesthesiologist had the oxygen mask pressed firmly over my nose and mouth as all manner of activity went on below. Still crying and finding it difficult to get my words out, I raised my hand like a kid in a classroom. They lifted the mask enough to listen. Before the anesthesiologist sent me into my welcomed deep sleep, I requested a 15 second warning so that I could pray. They obliged.
Let me pause here and say that for the eight weeks before surgery, I prayed Psalm 23 every day; usually aloud. The word through became very significant because I knew I wasn’t getting over or around the valley that lay ahead. As time passed leading up to the big day I began to notice that as I prayed verse 5, “you prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies” I envisioned the OR tables covered with sterile drapes and loaded down with surgical instruments to be used against “my enemy.” As I prayed “you anoint my head with oil” I envisioned nurses carefully shaving, washing, and prepping the area of my head about to be opened. As I prayed “my cup overflows” I envisioned the anesthesiologist putting me safely to sleep in a state-of-the-art facility where advanced medical treatment by one of the world’s top neurosurgeons was available. So there I lay on the table, 15 seconds before battle, praying Psalm 23.
I’ve always been skeptical of anyone claiming that God “speaks” to them. Many are just plain wrong. History proves that. But I also have people in my life to whom I fully believe God speaks, just rarely to me! Not audibly, anyway. Feelings and spiritual promptings, sure. But clear-as-a-bell verbatim messages, not so much. I’ll also note that in all the worrying I’d done during those eight weeks, rupture hadn’t been high on the list. That might sound ridiculous but it’s because a sense of medical urgency simply hadn’t been conveyed. I was far more afraid of permanent neurological side effects or death from the surgery itself. Believe me, there are medical journal statistics to validate my concerns and Lord knows I probably read too many of them.
At last, as the anesthesia washed over me and the final few seconds lapsed, as my hearing faded and things started to go dark, as I internally prayed verse 6, “and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever”, I heard a voice that was not my own from somewhere deep within say, “it’s worse than he thinks it is.” Ok-I know what you’re thinking-that does not sound like a comforting thing to hear from God in that situation. But for me it was! It provided a sense of calm resolve because I knew then, without a doubt, that I was exactly where I needed to be. Fears about negative side effects and outcomes were suddenly usurped by this God-given, insider knowledge that my aneurysm was actually more dangerous than anyone knew.
After the three hour surgery as I slowly regained consciousness and became coherent in the ICU, I waited for Dr. Krisht, eager to hear what he found. My mom and sister were with me when he came in and said frankly, “Well, the surgery was a success, but it was a lot worse than I thought. The aneurysm walls were very thin. It was nasty and rupture was imminent. And it wouldn’t have mattered where you were when it ruptured; YOU WOULD NOT HAVE SURVIVED.” [paraphrased]
I’ll never know how many people said how many prayers for me throughout this ordeal. Entire churches and various other groups across the country have prayed. Prayer Warriors I’ve never met (friends of friends and family) have spoken my name to God in prayer. My family and friends have fervently prayed for me with tears streaming down their cheeks. My parents have travailed on my behalf as only parents could. My mother in law sacrificed sleep to pray that I didn’t lose any, otherwise I don’t know if I could’ve kept my sanity during those agonizing weeks of waiting. Many still continue to pray for my complete restoration.
So now, four weeks into my recovery with quite a ways yet to go, I remain astonished! Astonished that this deadly problem was discovered incidentally due to sudden, unexplained, idiopathic symptoms I haven’t had before or since. Astonished that I was unknowingly living with a time bomb in my brain despite having zero significant risk factors, family history, or even a headache. Astonished at how God guided me to the right places and allowed people to be His hands and feet including Dr. Krisht and many unnamed others. Astonished at how God gave complete strangers the words to say and the courage to say them when I needed it most. Astonished at the overwhelming love, support, and encouragement of those closest to me as well as some whose unexpected support has blessed me more than they realize. Astonished at this undeserved second chance I’ve been given, and simultaneously humbled because so many don’t get the same. Astonished at how different things could be for my family without the kindness and mercy of God. Astonished (far more now) at the fragility and uncertainty of life and the absolute gift that it is.
So, to anyone who whispered my name in prayer even once, thank you! To everyone who supported me through visits, calls, FaceTimes, texts, meals, cards, gifts, flowers, hugs, shared tears or by simply listening, thank you! To anyone still praying, thank you! I assure you I feel them every day. Know that as I continually thank God for saving my life, I’m also thanking Him for you.
While I admit I underestimated the recovery process (wow!) I’m doing well and have Brett to thank for that. He’s taken better care of me than I could’ve asked. He’s been patient and kind while also assuming the role of Mom like the boss that he is. I love and appreciate him now more than ever. I look forward to feeling like myself again although in some ways, I doubt that’s possible. I’m forever changed. I trust that this miraculous experience has and will continue to transform me into who God created me to be in this world.
For the record, I don’t believe God put me through this, but He certainly walked me through it. He never left my side. That’s one of the understated, under-emphasized reasons why the hideous Cross of Christ is also beautiful. We hear plenty about the sin of the world but he also took the suffering of the world, all that was or ever will be, and suffered it with us on the cross, and in His resurrection redeemed (freed from what harmed) us. He is making all things new! This life is a wild, ongoing journey, full of uncertainty and guaranteed to involve suffering and pain, but He has already endured it all so we never suffer alone.
Though vastly insufficient, I know only to say that I am beyond grateful to God for His kindness and mercy in saving my life. I am beyond grateful to all who have prayed for and loved me through this trial. I’ll spend the rest of my days trying to live a life that shows it. I’m forever grateful! With all my heart.
Hebrews 2:14-18
Matthew 28:20