The Boy Who Came Back from Heaven: A Remarkable Account of Miracles, Angels, and Life Beyond This World (19 page)

The next morning, I thumbed through the back pages of the
Plain Dealer
to see if there was an article. Finding nothing, I folded and tossed the paper on the counter before doing a double take. There was a major story on Alex on the front page of the paper. The front page? He hadn’t even had the surgery yet! It was a well-done article, although all the references we had made to God in the interview had been removed. (The writer later apologized to me for that. The original copy the reporter supplied to the paper had the actual interview, as it took place. An editor at the paper removed the references to God. I hope he or she reads this book!)

When we were driving to the hospital later that morning, I made a wrong turn. That pushed back our arrival time by a few minutes and gave the media crowd more time to gather. When we walked through the doors into the pre-op area, we discovered that about twenty media people with elaborate lighting systems had already set up their equipment, ready to begin filming. The morning started with a round of presurgery interviews with Beth, Dr. Onders, and me. At one point I went out to the lobby to get a cup of coffee. No sooner had I entered the room than a woman said to me, “Cleveland is praying for your son.” I was taken aback, again not aware of the massive interest in my son’s surgery.

“Oh, I am sorry,” she said. “Did you know you were on all of the morning newscasts?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Well, you were. Everyone is talking about it. My church is keeping Alex in their prayers.”

Amid all the media activity and general business surrounding a major operation, I was keeping a close eye on Alex. I could see that following the preparation for surgery, he was feeling a little nervous. Dr. Onders could tell too. He’s a consummate professional who is highly attuned to his patients. Before long, Alex and Dr. Onders were talking smack about football. Alex made it clear that his Steelers were better than Dr. Onders’s Browns. Minutes later, Alex was wheeled into surgery.

Beth and I were not allowed past a certain point, but a man with a camera was. He filmed the entire surgery, while members of the media congregated in the hallway. Beth and I gave interviews during most of the ninety minutes that Alex was out of our sight. It was actually a wonderful distraction for us. Busy with endless reporters’ questions, we had little time to worry about Alex. Toward the end of the surgery, I noticed one of the reporters off by herself, praying. Beth and I made our way over to her, and the three of us were soon praying together.

Finally people began to leave the operating room, and soon after that Alex was wheeled out. He looked fine, with the exception of the electrical wire sticking out of his upper chest to which the external device would be plugged in. It felt a bit strange to see our child wired for an electrical current!

We were eager to hear from Dr. Onders and to get his perspective on the surgery.

“Everything went very well. The surgery was a success,” he began. “In fact, when I hooked up the device for a test run in the operating room, Alex took such a deep breath, he almost blew his chest out! Normally, we test the system for five minutes. With Alex, we tested for a full fifteen minutes. Everything went very well.”

We were thrilled.

Alex was rolled into the post-op area, where reporters waited in anticipation. Even before Alex had regained consciousness, various newscasters were conducting live reports for their organizations. Beth and I stood smiling next to the bed, dutifully following our instructions to stare down at Alex as the reporter talked about him.

With the cameras running, Dr. Onders walked over to Alex and said, “All during surgery, I was saying, ‘Go Browns!’”

Alex hadn’t fully regained consciousness. Even so, he was lucid enough to whisper in a faint voice, “The Steelers are in the play-offs, not the Browns.”

That’s Alex—always quick on the comeback, even if he is only half conscious!

In the swirl of media activity, we didn’t know what was next, so we were somewhat surprised when a schedule was pressed into our hands—our media appearance schedule, that is. Alex, it was explained, would need several hours to recover; in the meantime, we would be giving interviews. Isn’t that what we had agreed to do? Associated Press at 2:00, the Cleveland
Plain Dealer
at 2:30, etc. I had to ask myself, Which was more strange: that (a) the surgery to help my son breathe on his own was an outpatient procedure, or (b) we were being released from the hospital based on our media schedule?

The interviews went well, but not without at least one awkward moment. A television reporter seemed to relish the opportunity to have a direct interview with Alex.

“So, Alex, now that your ventilator can be removed at times and you can breathe with this new device, do you feel normal?”

Alex looked at her with intense eyes, a confused expression spreading over his face.

“What do you mean?” He paused for a moment then continued, “I
am
normal.”

The reporter was mortified for wandering into forbidden territory and apologized profusely. Alex spent the next few minutes making sure
she
felt better.

Another reporter with the Associated Press listened as his interview was consumed with my half-conscious son rambling on about the Pittsburgh Steelers. The reporter didn’t seem to mind. He then said something that caught me off guard. “You should write a book.”

“You really think so?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Do you have any specific advice about the process?” I asked.

“Yes. Work hard and never be discouraged. That’s it.”

Good advice for just about everything in life
, I thought. It was on this day that I made the decision to write a book about Alex and his experiences. I had thought about it before, but that AP reporter’s encouragement was the beginning of the book you now hold in your hand.

We then did one more newspaper interview and headed down to the van. Accompanying us, the reporter from this interview assured us that she would include aspects of faith in her piece because she knew it was an integral part of the story.

The big article on Alex appeared in the newspaper the following day—lots of column inches and several excellent pictures. God . . . ? No, He wasn’t mentioned.

We made our way back to the hotel, and the phone rang. It was my mother.

“Hey, Mom, good to hear from you. Everything went great. Alex is a champ.”

“Yes, I know,” she said. “Alex looks great.”

“You’re two hundred miles away. How do you know Alex looks great?”

“Oh, the pictures of the surgery and post-op are all over the Internet. He really does look great. Maybe when you get back to the hotel, you can Google Alex and see what I’m talking about.”

Does this not say something about the times we live in? We weren’t even home from the hospital, and my parents, hundreds of miles away, had seen what went on in the operating room before I had! I did Google Alex when we arrived back at the hotel. There were more than four pages of entries. Incredible!

We intended to go home the next day but were snowed in and forced to stay another day in Cleveland. While this was a nice gift in that it gave the three of us a day to do nothing but relax, it also made the drive home a bit more hectic.

We
had
to get home in time for the kickoff of the Steelers’ first playoff game against the San Diego Chargers!

Stiffening the Spine: The Young Man Who Is Alex

Anyone who has spoken with Alex will testify that one thing Alex doesn’t lack is spine. His physical spine suffered from atrophied back muscles and was badly curved, but when it comes to the spine that really counts—strength of spirit—Alex has no lack. This boldness, coupled with what he has seen and continues to experience of the heavenly world, has molded Alex into a dynamic witness for Jesus Christ. If you meet Alex, you’re going to hear the gospel.

To help Alex sit properly in his chair and fully benefit from Dr. Onders’s “Christopher Reeve surgery,” his doctors determined that Alex would need to have steel rods attached to his spinal column. On December 1, 2009, Beth and I filled our fifteen-passenger van with medical equipment for Alex as well as Beth’s suitcase, anticipating that the two of them would stay in Cleveland for two weeks while Alex recuperated.

The night before the surgery, Alex’s spirit was light, and we all had a great time joking around and hanging out at our hotel. But as morning came and we walked through pre-op procedures, Alex grew increasingly nervous. He asked a series of questions about what the surgery would entail, and then turning to me, terror marring his face, he said, “Daddy, I am afraid I am going to die.”

I’d had that same fear all week, but of course I hadn’t breathed a hint of it to him. Now where would I find words to comfort him? I gathered myself and said, “Alex, if you do, you’ll be home, and if not, we’ll move on with life.”

It’s hardly surprising that my comment brought him no peace. As we rolled Alex down the hallway, he became agitated and slurred his words. The nurses assured us he would not remember going down the hall.

We were told surgery would take between five and eight hours. Beth chose to pass this time in the waiting room. I walked restlessly through the grounds surrounding the hospital. Beth had a pager. I had a cell phone. We were nervous. Alex’s spine was curved at an 89-degree angle, and he had to be cut open from the base of his neck down to his hips.

The surgeons gave us progress updates a few times. They finished in about four hours. At one point, Dr. Onders showed up to tell us he had just checked on Alex. Three people were sewing Alex up, he explained, and this would take about an hour. When the surgery was done, we were informed that it had been a tremendous success. Alex’s spine was now perfectly straight, and he was recovering in the ICU.

Alex was awake when we first saw him, but he was pretty out of it. Beth stayed with him in the ICU, and I returned to the hotel. I returned in the morning to make sure Beth and Alex were okay and then headed back home to be with the other three kids.

Due to complications, Alex had to spend the next three weeks in the ICU recovering from his surgery. During this time Beth stayed with him every night, rarely leaving the room. What Alex experienced physically for the next fifteen days almost defies description. Alex’s Army was praying. It was a battle of titanic proportions. At one point, Alex lost his vision. He had tremendous problems getting air, and his blood pressure repeatedly switched between extreme highs and extreme lows. Alex’s words came out as a faint whisper. Several times, he was sure his fears about dying were coming true.

As trying as this time was for Alex, we were reasonably confident that he would pull through. The medical staff worked mightily to stabilize him, even as he failed to improve for many days. At one point during this time, the team of doctors and other medical staff—about eight people—assembled around Alex’s bed to collaborate. Alex’s flaccid body was flat on the bed, he was extremely weak, and his vitals were unstable. He continued to have problems breathing. In his compromised condition, Alex had only one thing on his mind. He lifted weary eyes to look at the medical team and in his now feeble, whispering voice asked, “Do any of you have a personal relationship with God?”

“I do,” one person said. The rest of them exchanged quick glances.

Alex then began to talk about Jesus to the rest of the medical team. He never once mentioned himself or his own circumstances. He was only concerned about the other people and their relationship with God through Jesus. Because he had so little breath, Beth would lean down, listen, and then act as Alex’s interpreter. When he was finished, one of the medical people smiled and said, “Alex, you are amazing.”

Alex responded, “
God
is amazing. I’m just a kid.”

Over the next week Beth continued to give me updates as Alex talked about God with virtually every person who entered his room. One day a nurse came in when Alex was too exhausted to speak. He looked at his mother and said, “You tell her.”

When Alex finally returned home from Cleveland following a 180-mile ambulance ride, I asked, “Alex, did you tell everyone you saw about Jesus?”

Alex smiled and said, “Daddy, please. Of course I did!”

This is why, when people ask me if my faith is shaken because Alex hasn’t been fully healed, I can respond with a firm no. Certainly Alex is going to be fully healed, whether here on earth or in Heaven. How that occurs is God’s choice, yet I am totally convinced that his healing will occur in this life.

God has touched so many lives and brought so much good out of Alex’s pilgrimage that I know God is not only directing His plan, but He is also directing the timing of His plan. That’s where our confident hope rests.

And . . . It Isn’t Over Yet!