Terri's Problem

After losing her balance and falling at home a couple of times, Terri took a tumble from the top of the stairs and landed on her head. The head CT showed both subdural and subarachnoid hemorrhages. She was a trauma transfer to a larger hospital for neurosurgery.

I've never met anyone who was proud of the fact that a life of drinking had destroyed their liver. It's a regret they must live with and most would give anything to do it all over again. Terri had struggled with drinking for years and the battle took a severe toll on her 46 year old body.

While Heidi acted as an IV pole, holding the bag of plasma as close to the ceiling as she could, I asked if she wanted me to get a pressure infuser, so she could do more important things. Like getting the paperwork together so we could hit the road.

I like Heidi. She gives good hugs. Even when your sarcasm is aimed at her.

We fitted the c-collar on Terri so as not to rip the IV out of her neck and rolled her onto the hard backboard. I put a blanket on it first.

As we loaded Terri into the rig, I thought about how I'm growing farther away from my comrades in how we see our patients. Just about everyone involved in her care (except Heidi) had a critical remark about how Terri lives her life.

Drunk. Loser. Psycho. Professional alcoholic.

I looked at her and saw a broken-hearted woman, desperately in need of one person who believed in her.

After getting her vitals and most of my charting done, I told her I saw a lot of people healed in the ambulance and asked if she wanted me to pray with her.

She was delighted. So I placed one hand on her forehead and she gripped the other one tightly as I commanded the bleeding to stop and released the kingdom of God into her broken and bruised body.

As I spoke to her soul about God's great love and compassion for her, tears flowed like a river. I prophesied a better day and brighter hope and healing of her memories. As I declared God's goodness and protection over her, she gripped my hand even tighter.

The yellow pigment of her skin and bruises only told part of the story.

"Thanks so much for praying for me. I know God loves me. I know He's there and I try so hard to do the right things. But I keep messing up. I want to please God. I want to be sober. And I'm scared that this might be the last time for me."

I told her it wasn't about what she had to do to please God. It was about what He had already done for her. I said God has a really bad memory concerning her mistakes. And what she might focus on isn't the mistakes she made, but the awesome love He had for her.

We arrived at the other hospital and transferred her to the bed. I gave report through the snickers, rolling eyes and giggles. Before I left the ER, I gave her a big hug and told her I thought she was awesome. I don't care what they think about Terri or the fact that she was perfectly lucid with a blood alcohol of 0.44.

I really liked her.

Was she healed? I don't know. It's becoming less important these days. I know she was touched by the love of God and that might be what she needed most.

When I stand in eternity, looking back at every moment of my life from heaven's perspective, this moment will appear once more before my eyes. I'll know all the results of our meeting down to the smallest detail.

And just as it's too late for the alcoholic to go back and change everything after their liver fails, it'll be too late for us to change our actions once we're in eternity.

All we can do is wonder.....

What if?

Cecil's Story

I received permission from Cecil to tell this story. It's with gratitude to my former patient and new friend that I'm reporting on the recent events of his life.

To say that Cecil Leadinghorse was an alcoholic is an understatement. By the data collected through the state department of social services and local hospitals, Cecil was the most troublesome alcoholic in the state of Washington.

Prior to 2008, nearly every paramedic, firefighter and emergency room nurse in two counties knew Cecil on a first name basis. His alcoholic antics were the stuff of legends. It was common for him to be transported 3 or 4 times a day. Units were routinely dispatched for "Cecil sightings". Some crews would see him staggering down the street and transport him without being dispatched to get him into emergency room early in the shift so they wouldn't have to pick him up at 3 in the morning.

EMT and Paramedic instructors took special time in their classes to teach crews how to properly transport Cecil. According to the state, his healthcare bill at the expense of taxpayers exceeded 10 million dollars by the mid 1990's.

In an effort to reign in the expense of treating homeless alcoholics in Tacoma, the two largest hospitals developed a jointly funded project called the "Sobering Center". Staffed by one employee, it has 5 rooms designated as safe places for drunks to be transported to instead of a hospital. The rooms have a mattress on the floor and bathroom facilities. Guests are watched for several hours, then released to the community. This project was developed largely to address the problems caused by Cecil's drinking.

If ever an alcoholic had earned the status as a legend, it was Cecil.

While transporting him from a hospital to detox two years ago, I had a God encounter of sorts. I asked God to give me some words that would forever change Cecil's life. I felt that God's sullied reputation in Tacoma could somehow be redeemed if He could get Cecil to quit drinking.

During the transport, God gave me a few things to say. When we arrived at Detox, I asked Cecil if I could share them. He said, 'sure'.

I said that people had been calling him a worthless drunk all his life and he never believed anything different. I told him that every word spoken about him being a useless drunk was a lie and he needed to stop listening to the lies. I told him God didn't make him a useless drunk. I told him that he would one day be a sober man of integrity that others would respect. I told him that people would look to him as an example of how to get free of alcohol. I basically prophesied non-stop for about ten minutes that Cecil would have a new future. He sat in stunned silence and said, 'thanks'.

A little more than 6 months later, (in March of 2009) I saw Cecil in the emergency room. He was there for a minor injury. And he was sober.

It was my turn to be stunned.

I went to the desk and asked the nurses about it. Four different nurses confirmed that he'd been clean and sober for almost 6 months.

Four months later, (July of 2009) I was talking with a Tacoma cop. I mentioned that I'd heard Cecil was clean and sober. He said, "yup, that's a fact. We see him every day at 11:45 walking down 9th street to the Urban Grace church to his AA meetings. He looks like a different man."

For over a year, I've wanted to find Cecil and ask what happened to him. In October of 2010, I spent one day following up on a few patients I transported and prayed with. While driving down Tacoma Avenue, I saw Cecil. I parked the car and got out. I talked with him for about 30 minutes. He gave me permission to tell his story and take his picture.

This is his story:

He told me of the time he lay dying while pounding on the door of the sobering center. He was desperately trying to be let in before they opened. After crashing from being drunk, he began vomiting blood. He thought it would stop, but the blood kept coming.

He tried to get the attention of the caretaker by pounding on the door, but she ignored him.

Filled with fear, he begged her again to open the door. When she did, she saw the blood and called for an ambulance. The crew took him to the closest hospital. He was rushed to the operating room they repaired his ruptured esophagus.

After coming out of the hospital it was time for a wake up call.

He thought about quitting his love affair with alcohol many times. After 23 failed attempts to get sober, he entered a treatment program. He was allowed to live in an apartment above detox.

One day he went to Tim’s convenience store to get beer. They wouldn’t sell it to him so he cursed them out and left. He went across the street and bought a six pack but as he came out of the store, the police saw him and took it away. He cursed them out.

He looked around for his drinking friends but found none. He hopped a bus to the south end of town and tried to buy beer at 38th street, but they wouldn’t sell to him either. He cursed them out and left, a bitter man.

Lonely, empty and sober, he caught the bus back to Fawcett street. He had a stash of two bottles hidden in the bushes. He pulled them out and with determination in his mind never to drink again, he dumped them on the ground. He went back to his apartment and fell asleep.

Cecil remained in treatment, went to his group meetings and hasn’t had a drink in more than 2 years. His life of addiction is finally over.

He has buss passes to get around town but he doesn’t use them much. While driving through town I see him hobbling down the sidewalk with his walker from time to time. He loves to walk.

He can be seen every day going to the Urban Grace church where his AA group meets.

He even has a car – a mid ‘90’s Pontiac that he paid cash for. But he doesn’t use it much. He prefers to walk.

Cecil knows he’s a role model of sorts. He won’t tell alcoholics “Just do what I did.” He believes we’re all different and what worked for him, may not work for them. But he knows he was one of the worst alcoholics ever and he knows that if he was able to do it, anyone can.

I can't say that Cecil has an intimate relationship with God at this point in his journey. He's still sorting things out after a lifetime of abuse, addiction and confusion. I believe he's closer than he was a few years ago.

Some changes take more time than others.

And it is a journey. We take one step at a time.

Set Free

She sat in a chair crying. Her tank-top revealed two arms covered with large bruises. We were called after she came to a clinic looking for help. When she mentioned that she cut her wrist intentionally, the receptionist called 911.

She poured out her heart to us over the next half hour, relating her long battle against alcoholism and drug addiction. She then turned to prostitution. It was the only way she could get money for the things she needed. Her life had become one long nightmare of abuse, neglect, addiction and numerous attempts to kill herself. “I’ve tried to kill myself so many times I can’t count them anymore.”

As I walked through the clinic door, I felt the presence of God arrive. That meant He had a strategy. I was no longer the lead paramedic, but His partner; trying to follow the lead of the Holy Spirit. I sensed it was going to be an evangelistic assignment.

There are many models of personal evangelism used in the church; some lead a new convert in saying the sinner’s prayer, some explain the 4 spiritual laws, the ‘Romans road’ or the ‘good test’. I seldom use these approaches. They seem rigid and tend to assume a great deal about the person, which may not be true.

I see every encounter as unique. I prefer to let each relationship develop naturally, without a predetermined direction or goal, unless God has given me His strategy in advance. I let the Holy Spirit guide me in the right direction, set the pace and determine the issues.

Sometimes all I do is buy my new friend a cup of coffee and interpret a dream or give them a prophetic word. With others I might answer a few questions they have about God. Sometimes it’s a prayer for healing and a hug. I never really know where an encounter will lead.

When I’m with people who don’t have a relationship with God, I try to approach the situation with only one thing in mind; I know God loves them and want to give them one positive experience with Him. It may be the only one they ever have. I believe I owe that to everyone I meet.

As I listened to her story, I tried to gauge where she was at spiritually. In my mind I ran through a list of questions; How much did she know about God? How desperate was she for change? How did she feel about Jesus? Did she have any negative church experiences? Has God been speaking to her through dreams? Did she want to be delivered of demonic oppression?

In the ambulance, I could tell she was desperate and ready for a serious discussion about God. I told her there was only one thing that could change her life permanently. She beat me to the punch line and blurted out "It's God, isn't it?". In her spirit she knew what the solution was.

Most people in this place have serious identity problems. I spoke to her about the fact that she was created in God’s image, that she wasn’t created an addict or a prostitute and that God would restore her completely to the beautiful woman of strength and virtue she was meant to be. I hammered this topic for quite a while. I find it helpful to speak positively, lovingly and authoritatively against the negative things people believe and to declare the great things God says about them. It seems to break yokes of bondage.

Before we took her inside the hospital she said she wanted to have the new life that I'd told her about – and she wanted it now. I felt it was time to lead her in a simple prayer. This wasn't a time to remind her of her sinfulness. She knew how horrible her life had been. I didn't want to make it worse. We asked Jesus to come into her life and permanently change her in every way. We asked Him to remove her craving for drugs and alcohol and for the new, eternal life that He promised everyone who follows him.

It was a very special moment I’ll never forget. She became very peaceful and relaxed as we transferred her to the emergency room bed. She couldn’t stop thanking me for helping her. I love the way God opens doors.

Will she live free of these things in the future? I can't say. That's a limitation I live with. My influence is small, my time with a patient is short, and I seldom know what will happen years from now. I'm a sower of the seed - one who doesn't know what the harvest will look like.

Our nation is in a tight spot right now in regard to caring for people like my patient. A major problem in our society is the ineffectiveness of our mental health treatment. Most patients are in a revolving – door lifestyle that never ‘cures’ their condition. All we can offer them is medication – and if they stop taking it, they’re back through the revolving door again.

Most people with severe addictions and mental illness are unable to work and have no insurance other than what the government provides. And our government is fast running out of money.

What’s the answer?

Jesus. He's always been the answer. He is the great physician.

When Jesus heals, He doesn’t ask for an insurance card or a deductible. Prescription plans aren’t needed, only divine appointments, and the great physician is always available – He never takes vacations.