You Never Walk Alone

As many of you know I have an issue with the teachings that we have a saboteur within or a small self that will always separate us from our good. I especially don’t like the ideas that our egos will always separate us from God, and our personal desires will lead us astray. These limiting ideas have been part of our baggage for so long many think they are true. And again I wonder why would we choose to believe them?

Certainly there are archetypal models that have been around since the beginning referring to evil forces at work in our lives. These scary ideas are in most of the great spiritual teachings. Some call these evil forces satan, the enemy of God, the lord of evil, and the tempter of human beings. The evil within is sometimes identified with lucifer, the leader of the fallen angels.
Other traditions have their own definitions.

Do you really believe that you have evil forces within you that will always try to separate you from God and the desires of your heart?

I don’t mind that I have what might be called limiting beliefs or limiting habit patterns. I don’t even mind having what some might characterize as a low Self Concept in some areas. I might even let others get away with grouping some of my behaviors and suggesting that they do not support me in staying on track to create the reality I desire. But I draw the line with references about my mind or my body as if they are not: “the crowning achievement of the Living God.”

I’d like to share a part of my story with you; a story about hope and believing in yourself.

I had a spinal fusion at twenty three where my spine became infected with the E.coli bacteria. That orthopedic surgeon did four more surgeries over the next year to get rid of the infection and finally as the infection continued to spread he admitted he was over his head. He referred me to the University of Washington Medical Center.
After fourteen days of tests, six doctors came into my room to tell me the infection had indeed spread and they would have to do a very major debridement to clean it out. They would open me from two inches above my belly button and go down through my pelvic area to scrape and chisel the infection out of the spine, then between my scrotum and rectum, then up to several inches above my belt line so they could again get to my spine. After that they would open my buttocks and follow my sciatic nerves where the infection has gone down my legs.

The next morning when they opened the abdomen they found my lower colon had holes where the infection had damaged the tissue and they performed a colostomy. They pulled my bowels out, cut them and sewed the two open ends to my tummy. I was sent home to heal and learn how to go to the bathroom in a plastic bag. Thirty five days later I came back for the big one. The one they said I couldn’t come out of whole.

The story starts with the end of that next stay.

Somehow, I had come through this incredible surgical procedure without any severe nerve damage. Oh, I was in a great deal of pain and had a lot of numbness (some that would stay with me for years). The doctors were even more tentative about whether my colon would ever heal enough to have my colostomy reversed.

But I had won the first round. I had demonstrated to myself that through my own personal commitment, I could make a difference in how my life went. I really wasn’t sure whether or not my change in attitude had made the difference. But as Uncle Larry had taught me, “Son, if anything good happens within twenty miles of you, take credit for it.” And that’s what I tried to do.

However, my “I Can Make A Difference” attitude was short lived. The surgeons went back in two weeks later to redo the drains. After I was back in my room and awake, Dr. Hedgewood came in and sat down beside my bed, his usually erect British posture replaced with slumping shoulders.

“We found the infection still has a good hold,” he said. “We can only hope that with the new drains and antibiotics, it won’t spread.”

My confidence crumpled, and depression set in.

After a total of thirty-seven days in the hospital and three surgical procedures, I was finally sent home to mend and learn to live with my disease.
Within a few days, severe pain returned, caused by new pockets of infection, and I was readmitted to the hospital. I hadn’t even been home a week!

When I returned, Dr. Hedgewood was gone. His time as a visiting professor was up, and he had gone back to England the previous week. I became a patient of Dr. Yelton, the head of the orthopedic department. He was a hard-nosed arrogant doctor with an attitude. Dr. Hedgewood would be sorely missed.

After more high-level meetings with the general surgery and infectious disease specialists, they decided on another course. They told me they would cut out all the skin, muscle and connective tissues down to my spine. Rather than close the wound, they would leave it open and put me in a body cast to restrict my movements so I wouldn’t be able to bend. Leaving the wound open would let the tissues granulate, or heal, from the inside out and leave no place for the infection to take hold. Also, with access to my spine, it would allow them to try some new procedures with antibiotics that might have more of an effect. I was told I’d be in the cast for about six months, which would mean I would not be able to go to school the next quarter.

When I awoke from surgery, my body was in a cast from my armpits to just above my knees. The cast had an opening in the back where the tissue had been removed; bandages were covering that area. The cast also had an opening in the front left side for the colostomy bag and one between my legs for my genitals. It was designed so that my legs were spread apart, with a foot-long brace between them to give the cast strength.

The bandages on my back were changed twice daily. On the third day after surgery, I was curious about the operation and wound. When an intern came in to change the bandages, I asked, “Could you get a couple of mirrors so I could see what it looks like?”

“That would be kind of hard with you in the cast,” he said. “And we don’t really have the right kind of mirrors around.”

I could tell the intern didn’t want me to see the surgical site, which confused me because they had always accommodated me in the past. What was the big deal? I thought. Well, I’d find out.

Taking matters into my own hands. I had a friend bring in a small wall mirror and set it on the windowsill next to my bed. He also brought me a hand-held mirror, which I hid in my nightstand. I practiced pushing myself up on my side, which was no small task while in a body cast from nipples to knees. After I got it down, I waited for my chance.

The next day during one of the two dressing changes, when the intern moved to get new bandages, I pushed myself onto my side, took the hand-held mirror from under my pillow, and looked at my reflection in the windowsill mirror. What I saw shocked me so much I almost dropped the mirror. In the cut-out space of the body cast, I saw a gaping wound, like a raw steak. There were two pieces of red, raw meat side by side, each about two inches wide and a foot long from my mid-back down to my buttocks where there was a hole big enough to put my fist in. Between these two strips of raw flesh was an almost transparent tissue covering what looked like a yellow bumpy thing.

When the doctor turned back and saw me, he just shook his head.

“What’s that yellow thing?” I asked.

“That’s your spine, Terry. Lay down.”

When I lay back down, I was horrified. I felt like I was going to vomit. I broke out in a cold sweat. First they had mutilated my front with the two ends of my colon sewn onto my stomach, and now they had destroyed my back! How was I going to function with no meat, no tissue, no muscle over my spinal column?

“What in God’s name have they done to me?” I cried.

“I thought they explained it all before the surgery,” he said.

“You’ve got to be kidding! I didn’t hear them say they were going to destroy my back!”

“I know it looks bad, but it will heal,” he offered. “It’s a good plan.”

“Yeah, right,” I quipped.

After the intern left, I lay there seething. Every time I envisioned my ruined back, I became more enraged until my body was shaking. These were supposed to be great surgeons, but now I felt like they were a bunch of butchers, and I was the side of beef they were butchering.

Some would say that the outrage and horror I felt was just a transfer of some inner anger about myself or some other bullshit like that. But unless one has seen his or her body being taken apart one piece at a time, explanations like that are just book-learned knowledge. And knowledge alone doesn’t come close to feeling the visceral rage and horror of the experience itself.

I had felt lost before, knowing there was nothing I could do. Now I also felt like I was being destroyed physically. I lay there in a body cast unable to care for myself, with a plastic bag attached to my abdomen for my solid waste and a tube up my penis so I could urinate. And slowly my anger turned to despair.

Beaten down, I slipped completely into the belief that there was no way to be whole again. They had cut out and tossed away the muscles in my back. What would be next?

I went to sleep that night in a black depression. Around midnight, I awoke. My bowels were about to move, but the plastic bag to catch my body waste had come loose. I grabbed a small towel for wiping up spills and shoved it into the hole in the cast. Pressing it hard against the opening of my bowels with both hands, I held back my own body waste.

I got it in time, but if I let go with either hand, the waste would pour out into the cast. The door to my private room was closed, and the nurse call button was pinned up by my head where I couldn’t reach it unless I let go of the towel. I tried to get it with my mouth, but the body cast wouldn’t let me move that far. I was completely at the mercy of my diseased body, and there was nothing I could do about it.

For almost forty-five minutes, I called for help; my screams were getting louder and hoarser. Where the hell were they? I kept calling until I was beside myself with outrage and despair. My arms were getting tired holding the towel, and I hurt all over. Finally, the door opened and two night-shift nurses rushed in.

“Where were you . . . where were you?”

“Oh, Terry, we’re sorry! We were at one end of the hall working with a lady in trouble. We didn’t hear you.”

"The bag’s come off and I couldn’t reach the call button.” Suddenly, emotions flooding me, I began sobbing and couldn’t stop. I had gone over the edge, and there was no way back. All of my talk about fighting was lost. I didn’t want to be here anymore. It was too much. The terrible things that were being done to my body and the prospects of living with what was going to be left were no longer tolerable. I wanted to die.

“Terry, it’s going to be okay,” one nurse said, trying to calm me.

She put her hands on the towel so I could release mine, while the other nurse found the bag. They got it back on me without letting too much of the waste leak out. But it didn’t matter to me anymore. It was over. I had given up and I knew it.

An excerpt from: “The Hell I Can’t” by Terry McBride

I know that some of you are hurting and some have real fear for your future.

Some of you have lost your retirement; some of you have lost jobs or your homes or your health. And perhaps most tragically some of you have lost hope.
Life seems to be just one struggle after another - add to this the belief that you can’t trust yourself and there is something evil about you (your monkey mind, the saboteur within, your small self or your ego) and these old habits of thought can lock you into believing that suffering is the pathway to some greater good. And the lie that you need to accept the things you cannot change, hides the truth that life is about joy and abundance.

Two weeks ago I spoke at the Orange County Center for Spiritual Living in Mission Viejo, Ca.
If you are ever in that area stop and visit with Reverends Sandy and Kirk Moore. They have a magnificent center, and you will love the people who attend. Before I spoke, their guest singer James Higgins sang in his glorious voice, “You Never Walk Alone”. I was in tears both services, it was a transformational time.

I can’t begin to tell you how many nights I listened to that song on my little tape recorder as I wept into my pillow while they did things to my body that you’re not supposed to do.
I had surgeries on my back and abdomen dealing with the infection for eleven years. The surgeries mentioned above were the sixth, seventh, eighth and ninth. I had a total of twenty seven.

To create the reality you desire you must start from the position that you are not your “stuff”. You are not your past or your history; you are not your beliefs. You are not what’s going on in your now.
You are the crowning achievement of the Living God. And you have the right and the ability to create what you want. Yes it may take time and effort on your part to really figure out how to take charge of your creative mind. There may be pitfalls and challenges along the way.

I know what it is like to be sick; I know what it’s like to be surrounded by disease and terrified of the future. And I know with my mind and my heart, there is a power for good in the universe that we can learn to use to make our dreams come true.

Hear the lyrics, feel them:
“When you walk through a storm hold your head up high, and don’t be afraid of the dark. At the end of the storm there’s a golden sky and the sweet silver song of a lark. Walk on through the wind, walk on through the rain, though your dreams be tossed and blown. Walk on, walk on with hope in your heart and you’ll never walk alone. You never walk alone”

Believe in yourself, believe in your dreams and have courage. You are more powerful than you ever imagined and you are not alone.

I send you Love, Joy and Power!!!

Terry McBride