But what about that other common belief: that the day of our death is pre-determined and therefore it is pointless to pray for people when they are sick? Well, I don't agree with that either. The Bible does tell us that none of us has the power to prevent the day of our death (Eccl 8:8) but it also tells us to lay hands on sick people and pray for them to be healed. (James 5: 16)
Last night, I was reading an Old Testament story (Isaiah 38) that suggests it might sometimes be possible for people to ask for an extension and to live beyond their "time." At the beginning of this account, King Hezekiah is "at the point of death" and God's message to him is, "Put your house in order because you are going to die; you will not recover." And yet, in response to Hezekiah's tears and heartfelt prayer, God heals him and adds fifteen more years to his life. God says to him, "I have heard your prayer and seen your tears."
Because of the way my Dad became ill - because the life threatening sepsis was a complication possibly due to human error - I have fought hard in prayer for him not to die in circumstances that snatch him away "before his time," or that could be attributed to someone's "fault." It's been amazing to see how God has spoken words of scripture and has preserved Dad's life, even in the face of some bizarre setbacks and some very close brushes with death. So last night, when I read Hezekiah's story, I prayed, "Lord, you have also seen our tears and heard our prayers. If this is not yet Dad's "time;" if his continuing to live would not mean even more pain and suffering, please would you add some more years to his life - perhaps so that he can be around for his 60th wedding anniversary."
It was midnight, but I was still praying and writing in my journal when the telephone rang and it was the nurse from the hospital to tell us that Dad was "at the point of death" - he was bleeding heavily and doctors didn't think he could survive much longer. So how do you pray in such a situation? Was this Dad's "time"... or was it time to pray in faith and to trust in a word from the Lord? When we arrived at the hospital, I continued to reflect on the story about the woman who was bleeding (see here) for twelve years and the way that Jesus had instantly stopped the bleeding and healed its cause. I began to feel faith growing in my heart and I had a sense that I was supposed to ask God to touch Dad and to stop the bleeding.
In the meantime, though, because doctors were expecting Dad to die at any moment, they began reducing his care: they didn't put him back on the ventilator overnight as they usually do, and they didn't give him his usual overnight feed through the nasogastric tube. They were basically just waiting for him to die. "Lord," I prayed, "If this is Dad's "time," the kindest thing for all of us would be for him to slip away quietly in his sleep. But if you are planning to save his life and demonstrate that you are wonderfully and undeniably God, please would you do it very clearly and unambiguously; please would you touch his body at the source of the bleeding so that it stops before morning and there is a very clear turnaround." Even as I prayed, I felt a sense of confidence that the bleeding was going to stop.
Around 6 am, we headed home, exhausted after yet another sleepless night. I phoned the hospital several times during the morning, but didn't manage to get through, so when we arrived to see Dad this afternoon my first question to his nurse was, "Has the bleeding stopped?"
"Yes," she said, "It suddenly stopped early in the morning."
Just as the cardiac episodes a couple of weeks ago caused doctors to withdraw Dad's dialysis support, this bleeding episode last night caused them to withdraw his ventilator support. Ironically, the result of this is that Dad's kidneys are now working fine on their own, and that's two days now that he's been breathing on his own without help from the ventilator. When we went in to see him this afternoon, he looked brighter than we've seen him in several weeks. It was such a pleasure to see him looking peaceful and cheerful for his birthday in hospital - even if he did announce to us, "The doctors say that I'm going to die; I'm not going to make it."
Unfortunately, this is true. Even though doctors keep telling us that they are amazed at his miraculous progress, they are also holding on staunchly to their role of helping family members prepare for the worst. Most of our conversations with doctors are characterised by doom and gloom: they tell us quite candidly, and have told Dad too, that he will never get back the strength he had before coming into hospital, and they think there is only the tiniest possibility that he can improve enough to ever get out of hospital. Today, on his birthday of all days, they told him quite bluntly that they will not give him any treatment should he have any further major setbacks: they won't do further surgery or put him back on any life support machines again. They're surprised to see him making some progress at the moment, but they don't really believe that it is possible for him to sustain it.
