Beverley

Last year, my husband Paul developed some strangely persistent mouth ulcers. He made several fruitless trips to his GP and dentist about them over the period of a month or two. At the last GP appointment, he was referred back to the dentist, and this time Paul saw a different dentist to usual. This woman thought there was cause for concern and referred Paul to University College Hospital (UCH) – and at the same time the GP, taking the problem seriously at last, organised blood tests.

That was a Wednesday. By Friday, Paul had become very weak. He was unable to even push the lawnmower; it was totally unlike him. We both felt that something was very wrong, and we went to a hospital maxillofacial unit. We arrived at 9am, but everyone seemed to need help more urgently than Paul – he had still not been seen by 12. Finally, at 1pm, a junior doctor looked at Paul and agreed that this was serious. He was sent off for blood tests and then a biopsy, to remove one of the ulcers from his mouth for more tests.

I used the time to go to a phone box and make some calls. I phoned Paul’s work to explain where he was, and was told that the GP had urgently tried to contact Paul there – something to do with the results of his blood tests. The GP had also actually gone to our home. I was extremely anxious by now. I called my friend Fiona from church, and that point I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. I told her that it really looked like Paul might have mouth cancer.

‘I was praying for Paul a few days ago, and God spoke to me,’ Fiona said. ‘He gave me these verses from Psalm 66:

For you, O God, tested us; you refined us like silver. You brought us into prison and laid burdens on our backs. You let men ride over our heads; we went through fire and water, but you brought us to a place of abundance (verses 10-12).

Whatever you go through, remember that God says he will restore you.’

I hung up still feeling very frightened, but comforted by Fiona’s words at the same time. We went home and in the night Paul got worse. They had cut out a lot of tissue from the roof of his mouth to do the biopsy, and the wound would not stop bleeding. He woke in the morning covered in bruises. When I saw that, I felt a horrible certainty that Paul had leukaemia. As it happened we knew someone on the street who had had leukaemia, so I was able to phone her and get some advice. When I described Paul’s symptoms she recognised them at once. She also had advice about hospitals.

‘You should try to get him into UCH,’ she said. ‘They’re the best in the world for leukaemia.’

Hospital
Paul was due back in hospital for an out patients appointment on Monday, but by Saturday evening he had even more bruises, was still bleeding, and was getting weaker. I didn’t feel that I could look after him at home anymore. I phoned our local hospital to explain that he needed to come in. They said they would phone back, but six hours later we hadn’t heard anything - so I drove Paul there anyway.

Paul was admitted to a mixed, general ward. The next day we were told that he was neutropenic, meaning that he had no immunity to any infection at all. He had just spent the night on a general ward. He was moved to a single room, but the hospital did not fill me with confidence. I wished he could have a bed in UCH.

It was an unpleasant day. The consultant saw us and his manner was very grave. He asked about what family Paul had and was talking about bone marrow donors. It felt as if Paul only had hours to live. After bone marrow tests, he was given the diagnosis of Acute Myloid Leukaemia. This was very bad news. It is a form of leukaemia which is notoriously difficult to treat; the prognosis for Paul did not bear thinking about.

‘Good news,’ said the consultant. ‘He’s got a bed at Barnet General.’

‘I was really hoping he could go to UCH,’ I said.

‘You won’t get a place there,’ I was told. ‘They’re in the process of moving their wards into their new building.’

‘Well, can you try?’ I asked.

‘It’s very unlikely,’ said the consultant, but he did call them. There was one bed available, and they were able to give it to Paul. It was things like that that reminded me that God was looking after us, however desperate the situation seemed to be.

My friend Fiona came to visit us at the hospital. I told her the bad news about Paul’s diagnosis.

‘Well,’ she said briskly, ‘we’ll just have to ask God for a different diagnosis.’ Then she prayed exactly that, as well as for his complete healing.

Going to UCH was like swapping a bed and breakfast for a five star hotel. Paul was the very first patient in their brand new unit. The staff sat us down and gave us a cup of tea. They were completely familiar with his symptoms. It was a massive relief to know that Paul was in the right place to get the best treatment possible.

The next day, after a bone marrow test, Paul was given a new diagnosis. It was Acute Myloid Promyelocytic Leukaemia (AMPL). The consultant told Paul he was very lucky to have this form of leukaemia – it responds much more to chemotherapy and was generally more treatable. Everything seemed more hopeful. I think more than anything else in the course of Paul’s illness, this direct answer to prayer showed me beyond any reasonable doubt that God was with us. I was anxious and scared, but every step of this traumatic journey, and in every decision we had to make, I could sense God’s hand on us.

Complications
In June the first round of chemotherapy started. Afterwards, our consultant Professor Goldstone told us it was fortunate that Paul survived the treatment. Chemo drastically weakens the immune system; it is common for patients to succumb to a fatal infection afterwards. Paul still had an open wound in the roof of his mouth, leaving him extremely vulnerable to infection. The biopsy should never have been done; it was a mistake that could have cost Paul his life. They had removed a sizeable part of the roof of his mouth. It was not just the fact that this was a dangerous target for infection; when I consider that a leukaemia patient should not shave with a razor in case a small cut causes him to bleed to death, it seems incredible that Paul survived.

By October he was having his fourth round of treatment. During this round he became critically ill. He contracted septicaemia and his temperature rocketed up to 105 degrees. He was in a terrible state, having fits; he had to be given the most powerful antibiotics to get his temperature under control, which took 24 hours. As if this was not enough, a week later he came down with E. coli and his temperature went back up to 105 again. The consultant told me that there was nothing they could do, as Paul had been given every medication possible.

It looked desperate, but even then, in fact especially at those frightening times, I actually felt calm. I felt as if I was standing back, looking at the situation from the outside. I knew that whatever happened, God had said he would restore Paul, and I believed him.

Paul told me later that he really thought he was going to die. Every breath was exhausting; he had to concentrate on continuing to breathe. I phoned Fiona, and she got in touch with people at church who had a gift for prayer. These intercessors took up the fight, and they felt there was something more than a medical problem going on; it was as if he was under attack spiritually. They kept on praying. A few hours later, Paul quite suddenly began to recover.

Healing
This was the start of Paul’s return to health. His recovery continued steadily and in November he was discharged. Since then he has slowly regained his strength.

He had bone marrow tests in January and May, and both found no trace of leukaemia cells. It’s amazing to think that when he was first tested, he had hardly any bone marrow left. The doctors all say that Paul was incredibly fortunate. To have survived septicaemia and E.coli within two weeks of each other, in his weakened state, was nothing short of a miracle.

Paul and I seem to have learnt the same lesson from this harrowing experience: that in the end, the only person you can truly rely on and draw comfort from is God. He is our only source of strength. People, including doctors, are only human; they can make mistakes and let you down. Even I was unable to reach or help Paul in his most desperate state, but God comforted him and eventually brought him healing.

Having said that, my friend Fiona’s faith bolstered mine; she was so persistent in prayer, and so assured of God and what he had said, that I was able to feel the same way. I believe that her prayers and steadfast faith, along with many others’, are a large part of the reason that Paul is alive today. God did exactly what he had told us through Fiona – he brought us through a time of testing, refinement and ‘fire and water’ - but we are now in a ‘place of abundance’, with Paul’s health restored to the point that he can return to work. No-one has yet had a relapse of this disease after two years, so in another year’s time, we can be confident that he has been fully healed.

Read the next story for Fiona’s perspective on praying for Paul…