Drop The Reins
Denver, Colorado 1972
The boy's bicycle came alongside me as we raced, but too close. I had been traveling as fast as an 11-year-old could pump her bicycle pedals. I have crashed my bicycle many times in neighborhood races, jumping clear and laughing at the wreck and fun of it all, but this time was different. The impact of the the other bike into my bike sent us both tumbling onto the bordering lawn of the cement sidewalk in a heap of bikes and limbs. The boy's bike pedal had caught my bare foot.
I stood up and remember feeling there's something wrong with my left foot. I looked down and saw a gaping hole across the top of my foot and the white bone showing beneath, stark white, whiter than any white I had ever seen. I simultaneously felt a stab of pain as panic and nausea surged through me.
I screamed and began hobbling and jumping across the wide street to reach my front yard still screaming for my mother.
The doctor's office was cold and sterile and all beige. Because our family was in a religion that did not believe in administration of pain medication (not even an aspirin), I endured a four hour surgery on my foot in a natural state.
Apparently I screamed the entire time. My mother passed out several times. The doctor finally asked if he cold remove some nerves from my foot as that might help decrease the pain. He would then clean the wound and apply the required 22 stitches. I could not say whether it helped or not. All I knew was that the pain stabbed into my heart and came in waves of heat and blinding agony. The thread for the stitches pulling through my foot was the least of the pain.
The bicycle pedal from the boy's bike had been sharp metal with serrated edges for gripping shoes. It sheered the top of my left foot skin, folding it down to one side exposing the stark white bone beneath the flesh. The grass which I fell onto had just been freshly tilled with steer manure. The doctor had to be confident that the wound was clean before it was closed to avoid infection.
The flesh from the top of my foot had been shredded and there was not enough to cover the jagged opening across the foot bone. The doctor made the decision to stitch together what he thought would hold and used sterile plastic tape to bind the foot together. The hope was new skin would form and grow to cover the foot wound.
I was sent home, bandaged from toe to mid calf with the firm directions to not step on the foot or I would risk tearing out the stitches. Two weeks later I was back at the doctor's office because I had tripped over a cat toy and loosened the stitches.
My leg was then placed in a cast. I endured the incredible itching and discomfort for several weeks. The pain in my wound seemed to increase at nighttime. A dull ache and a continuous stabbing pain.
A return visit to the doctor's office had everyone immediately concerned. The nurse oblivious to the side of the foot which had the wound, cut into the cast straight into my wound with her sharp shears. I screamed, and her sheers came out bloody.
The foot was cleaned, re-bandaged, and I was sent home. Without stitches. Without a cast. Thankfully the itching was gone, but the deep heart-stabbing pain continued. I groaned through the nights which followed.
My mother faithfully washed my wound every morning and applied fresh bandages, a full foot and ankle wrap. Cheerful, making no comment about the state of my foot, she always talked about the day ahead.
Unknown to me, my parents learned from the doctor that my foot had become gangrenous. Gangrene is irreversible. The doctors had given my parents the news that in order to save my life the foot would need to be removed. The decision whether to remove at the ankle or the knee to stop the spread of the gangrene loomed.
Medical Terminology: Gangrene is a type of tissue death caused by a lack of blood supply. Symptoms may include a change in skin color to red or black, numbness, swelling, pain, skin breakdown, and coolness. The feet and hands are most commonly affected. If the gangrene is caused by an infectious agent, it may present with a fever or sepsis.
My parents told me that they had contacted the ministers from our church to bring an anointed cloth. They would have a faith healing prayer over me and ask God for healing and restoration of my foot.
I was surprised. I had not expected this. I remember being very shy and uncertain as the Pastor sat beside me on the bed, my mother and father kneeling by the bed.
He asked me, “Do you believe Jesus Christ can heal you?”
I said, “Yes.”
The Pastor knelt as well and placed the folded white cloth across my forehead. The prayer commenced.
The next morning, I was in my usual leaning back on the counter, propped up on my elbows, with my foot hanging into the sink for my mother to clean the foot wound before applying the new bandages.
She unwrapped the bandages quietly and calmly, but gave an exclamation of disbelief and began to sob heavily.
I was alarmed! “Mom, Mom? What's wrong?” I cried out.
She said, “Oh, Ginger! Your foot looks just like fresh liver!”
I think the miracle of healing may have been for the faith building of my parents more than I at that time, for I was not even aware that there was a life threatening situation.
I learned that my parents had been given a 24-hour ultimatum before I was required to go into surgery. They told me they asked for an additional 24 hours because the minister could not make it that first night. They wanted to give every opportunity for God to show His Mercy before making such a dire decision.
The doctor's report stated that through a miraculous event of healing the gangrenous condition of Ginger's foot was completely healed. The gangrene seemed to reversed itself being a medical impossibility in this circumstance. In his opinion a miracle had enacted.
When God becomes real. These are the stories to be shared.
Epilogue
Kaizen Farm, 2018
I have often wondered why God spared my left foot. I had just taken the tack from the arena fence and gotten my lesson horse ready for my riding lesson. Today, Sarah would be my instructor.
We were just conversing, as we do in every lesson, while she was trying to get me to correct the position of my left boot in the stirrup.
I decided to tell her my story. I am not a sensationalist. Sometimes I just need to tell my story to remember what faith can ask and what a Great God can do. I had to re-learn how to walk after the injury because my leg had been in a cast at an odd angle and the nerves atop my foot had been removed.
She listened and adjusted my riding boot in the stirrup and suggested trying some stretching exercises.
I told her I have never understood why God spared my foot.
She looked at me with her frank English gaze and said matter-of-factly, “He knew you needed something to fill your boot.”
I am still filled with amazement and gratitude upon every remembrance of God's divine healing.
And God Bless Sarah for the practicality of her answer.