My Dad was a mechanical genius. One Sunday morning after the worship service, Pastor Curtis W. approached him seeking his mechanical prowess. They arranged an evening conflab later in the week with tools handy.
The 12 mile car ride to their house was a common bi-weekly journey. Every landmark was etched in my brain as I gazed out the window. But they didn’t seem to hold my interest that evening. My thoughts were elsewhere.
Upon arrival, Dad and Curtis retreated to the garage. Mom and the pastor’s wife wandered off to the kitchen to chat. I remained in the living room. Left to my own devices, I began wandering through the house fiddling with things on the coffee table and eventually working my way through all the knick-knacks in other rooms. I eventually returned to the living room and flopped down on the couch. “What to do next?” I sighed.
My thoughts were interrupted. I heard my name mentioned in the dialogue wafting in from the kitchen. It was my Mom’s voice. She was telling Edna, Mrs. W., a story I’d never heard. I stopped my fidgeting, leaned toward the kitchen and began eavesdropping on their conversation.
“. . . well, we really liked Dr. Gill,” she commented “so we just decided to drive up here for Mike’s medical needs. Less traffic and all, you know.”
“I can imagine!” Edna was obviously absorbed by something.
That peaked my curiosity. I squirmed a bit and wondered, “What medical needs is she talking about?”
Mom continued “So we brought him here but with the seizures increasing they didn’t give us much hope. Based on his research, Dr. Gill didn’t think he would live past age twelve!”
“Oh, my!” Edna responded. “So, was it the headaches?”
My mind raced, “Headaches? What headaches?” I recalled headaches off and on in my younger years but I didn’t remember any seizures. I wasn’t even sure what a seizure was. I’d told Dad I had a bad headache once but he turned it into an excuse to get my hair cut. He stated, “We should get that hair of yours trimmed. It might make your headaches go away.” Then, it was off to the barber shop.
I listened more intently now not wanting to miss a word.
Edna pressed Mom for more information. “What was causing the seizures? Did they say?”
“Yes, they explained it. You see, after Mike was born, the three skull portions began growing. In normal conditions they are supposed to grow toward the top of the head filling in the soft spot. But his didn’t for some reason. The sides were growing toward the top of the head faster than the back one so they began pushing it down. Basically, it was cutting into his spinal cord at the base of his skull.”
Edna seemed spellbound. Mom continued. “The pain caused him to go into spasms. He’d throw his arms above his head, then, arch his back and begin screaming. It was horrifying!” Her voice cracked. “I felt totally helpless.” She paused.
With focused concern, Edna probed, “So, did you bring him in for more testing?”
“We did.”
“And . . .?”
“They called it improper cranial sacral alignment.”
Edna wasn’t familiar with the term. Her voice grew more earnest. “And is it treatable?”
Regaining her composure Mom said, “No, not really. But let me back up. When I was carrying Mike I somehow contracted hepatitis. So the week he was due I came in for his final checkup with that complaint. They admitted me to the hospital for treatment of the hepatitis. Whether that had anything to do with his condition, I don’t know. They didn’t say. Anyway, he was born that same week. It was after he was home a few months when the convulsions started.”
“Sooo . . . he’s how old now?” The clatter of dishes, spoons and cups rattled from the kitchen as the aroma of fresh brewed coffee filled the house.
Edna interjected, “Well, that’s a blessing but what now? I mean, he’s thirteen!” She sensed there was more to the story.
“Honestly, it’s in the Lord’s hands. But, here’s what happened. That first year we’d been praying but nothing seemed to be happening. I was attending a ladies Bible study at our previous church. Near the end of one of the studies Mike had one of his seizures so I took him outside. When the study was over, one of my friends approached me. She’d never witnessed one of his seizures before so she began asking specific questions about it. I explained his condition to her and what the doctors had said.”
“Well, go on.” Edna prodded.
“She was with the Salvation Army. But what I didn’t know was that she also knew Swedish massage. She convinced me to bring him over to her house once a week to work with him. So I began the following week.”
Edna was all ears. So was I.
Mom hesitated and then spoke. “The first visit was a traumatic one. She told me to create a shopping list and then deliver Mike to her. I was to go shopping for at least an hour while she worked on him. So, I handed him off, returned to the car and rolled down the window while I reviewed my shopping list. Then I heard his screams coming from the house. The pain for him must have been terrible. I couldn’t stand it! I drove away in tears.”
Her voice faltered momentarily. Then she continued, “This went on for weeks. It must have worked. The seizures seemed to decrease. They finally disappeared. My friend told me later that while she manipulated the bones she would call out to God and sing hymns. She was the answer to our prayers! We’ve taken him in for regular checkups since then. They no longer seem to be as concerned. Dr. Gill said there isn’t anything more they can do for him. I think it’s a miracle!”
The room went silent. Obviously, Edna was as stunned as I was. My adolescent boredom had been transformed to resolve. It now seemed I had a greater purpose in life.
My mother, her prayers, her sacrifice of tears, and her Savior have become a monument in my life. Her investment has given me 50 plus years to serve and glorify Him. And I seldom get headaches. Thanks, Mom. Thanks for caring friends. And thank you, Jesus.
By Michael Alumbaugh, © May 2017
