But Only Say the Word

Ben had surgery in August to correct the deformity in his right leg that had developed from weak muscles not holding his bones in place. He'd needed the surgery for years, but we'd put it off since he wasn't complaining. Eventually all medical opinions agreed that it had become necessary to correct the leg in order to maintain ambulation in the long term.  Of course, it meant losing ambulation in the short term since he lacks the strength and vestibular balance to use crutches. Plus there was the pain of surgery and therapy vs the pain of skeletal misalignment. Risk vs reward rears its head.

The surgery involved cutting the tibia to realign the foot and knee, held in place with a plate and screws. Then realigning the big toe and fusing bones in the foot to create an arch and cutting and lengthening the Achilles tendon (again). Three months post op all was healing nicely with the exception of the tibia fracture. The bones were expected to have healed, closing the fracture created by the cut, but they had not. At all. The orthopedic surgeon decided to give it another month and if it didn't improve we'd need to intervene which would likely involve a bone graft, or surgery number 20. The surgery would reset Ben's recuperation and prevent him from fulfilling his dream of returning to part time second semester schooling.

This called for prayer reinforcements. A former teacher of Ben's offered to let us borrow a relic of one of her favorite saints, St Vincent Pallotti. I'd never heard of him, but I'm a strong believer of people crossing paths for a purpose and know that saints sometimes choose their causes. I gladly accepted the generous gesture. She'd made me a packet of information about his life and I was moved when I realized I'd walked right past his church, San Salvatore in Rome where his incorrupt body lies.

I found a novena to pray the nine nights before Ben's follow up appointment and each night, Jason and I held the relic in our entwined hands and prayed fervently for "Ben's bones to heal, avoiding surgery." The novena mentioned praying with a heart of thanksgiving as if our request were already granted. This was a small stretch for my, "Thy will be done," mantra of humility I typically adopt, but I prayed with confidence. Friends and family joined in. And though greatly relieved, I wasn't terribly surprised when after his x-ray one month later, Ben's doctor delivered the good news that the bones were healing and no intervention would be needed. Glorious gray had appeared where there had once been a solid black space between bones. Thank you God, and thanks for the assistance, St. Vincent. And thank you to all the other voices that helped lift ours. Miracle gets thrown around a lot, and I totally believe they happen. I don't know if this one would pass Vatican muster, but it swells our hearts and buoys our spirits and shows us a glimpse of heaven on earth. I also believe that if we hadn't asked, it could have easily gone the other way. Prayers are not always answered. I have confidence that there is a purpose in those denials as well.

The experience did make me wonder why I've never just asked for Ben's complete healing? Why have I never done a novena with the request for altered DNA? We have prayed for many small victories, but with the exception of my first demand to, "bring him back" when his newborn heart stopped, I've never again been emboldened to alter fate. (Wait, there was some futile bargaining for the life of a pet cat when I was a kid).

I do know I could not ask for Ben (and I, if shooting for the moon) not to have this muscle disease with the same confidence I asked for bone growth. But I don't know why, exactly. Part of me must know it is pivotal to our journey. Suffering is necessary and can be sanctifying, which is hard to understand, but I know it to be true. I wonder if I'd feel differently if I lived when Jesus walked the earth. Would we cut a hole in the roof and lower Ben down, grab at Jesus' cloak with faith, wash in the water with obedience? If so, what would we be seeking? Or would we stand with the majority in the square, skeptical of the blasphemous rabble rouser, egging his torture?

If I had to choose only one kind of healing, physical or spiritual, I'd choose spiritual. I'd rather be whole in spirit than body. That sounds like a classic prince/pauper, throw back the fish, chew the lion's net free fairy tale moral, and I can't speak for Ben, but healing is not just about cancer cells and heart rhythms. Wounds let in the light, scars prove our fortitude, suffering fuels empathy and creativity, add in some hope and optimism, and an ember is sparked. For by His wounds, we've been healed.