Johann Quisumbing

By JQuisumbing

I am an incomplete QUADRIPLEGIC and incredible JOY reigns in my life.

One day, I was approached by a lady because she wanted to pray over me because my being in a wheelchair (in her way of thinking) was a sign of divine punishment, cursed.  I gently corrected her mainly because if she used this approach to another person with a disability, she may get an earful and both parties would be discouraged. Of course, her intention was for a miraculous healing which was commendable but I joyfully refused her request. Does that sound strange? 

From a worldly point of view, my attitude does sound odd. I mean, who in their right mind, would not want to be healed of being handicapped for six decades? Who would not want to suddenly shed their inescapable bond to a wheelchair for healthy working legs? It does not make sense, unless…

Ah! In my story, there is an UNLESS and I will get to that in a while. Let us get back to the lady that approached me. Biblically speaking, she was not far from the truth. My condition was again the by-product of the first sin, the consequence of which God cursed the inner workings of creation. 

Against its will, all creation was subjected to God’s curse… (Romans 8:20 NLT)

^{To get a clearer picture of how and why this happened, I encourage you to read Genesis 1-3.}

Back in 1957, I was actually born normal. But then when I turned one, on my first birthday exactly, I contracted polio. I grew up physically limited.

Even as a handicap, I was still very active and adventurous. I played sports when I was young from American football, soccer, volleyball, racket ball, and fencing. I was also quite a good dancer, according to some anyway. There was even a time when I traipsed the trails of the high Sierras with a 70 pound backpack on my back. Those were the good ol’ days.

Of course, I truly thought that my life could not get any worse. Then, the time of my deterioration came upon me so much so that when I reached my 50s, I was dependent on an electric scooter (used by Seniors). Not long after, unexpected weaknesses rolled in like the waves on the beach. It started with me losing my balance more often and my legs would collapse with no warning. Then, one day as I was eating lunch, my left arm felt so weak that I could not lift the food up to my mouth. For a year or so, I lapped my food like a dog burying its snout in its food bowl. Doctors thought that I was experiencing post-polio syndrome. It was a deteriorating muscular condition that been ailing many polio victims in their old age. Of course, I have long knew about post-polio and prepared for it. But I was not prepared for what happened next.

By the time 2015 came around, the loss of mobility was, so to speak, the final straw that broke the camel’s back. (Excuse the pun.) It was the third week of September. I had just left home and was on my way to the movies on my electric wheelchair. I was about two blocks from my apartment building driving on a busy one way street. (I had no choice but to drive my power chair on the street because of no sidewalk access.) I was about to turn right onto a driveway (my usual shortcut to the mall), when my right hand could not push the joystick control to the right. I had to lean my weight on the arm to make the turn. Safely away from traffic, I stopped to assess the problem. For some reason, I had no strength to push the joystick to the right. Keep in mind that I only need to move it a fraction of an inch, but when I tried my upper arm quivered. Fortunately, I still had the function to pull the joystick to the left. I would have gone on but prudence told me to return home. I don’t mind telling you that it was a struggle in itself since I could only go forward and make left turns. What should have been 5 minutes, took me almost half an hour to get home. By then, my entire right arm was uncontrollably shaking. That was the last time I got to drive that wheelchair and the last time I went outdoors on my own. 

My life went from limited mobility to being full time bedridden. In my heart, I surrendered to the idea that my continuing deterioration was my reality until the Lord took me home. 

Then, the pain came. It emanated from my waist down. The only way I could describe it was that thousands of fire ants were burrowing under my skin chewing and burning their way downward. And it came in excruciating waves. Most of my life, I had a high threshold for pain, but this pain was new to me and beyond bearable. The only relief I got was when my wife would transfer me onto a stiff commode chair. No other chair would work. Imagine that every night, I sat on a chair that had a hole in it and it would be propped against a corner. Thank goodness that my derriere had a cushioned commode seat to sit on and my head would rest on a cushion against the wall. It was not exactly comfortable but the pain was minimal. Unfortunately, prolonged sitting was causing blood circulation problems. So, when I was returned to the bed, the pain returned with a vengeance. Throughout those long nights, my poor tired out wife had to transfer me back and forth 2-3 times. For about two weeks, I had slept in that precarious sitting position until one day the pain throbbed so much that I was in tears. My wife had to call for an ambulance to take me to the hospital. It was early Thursday morning, the second week of October. The feeling all around was a desperate dismay.

Like any soap opera, I’ll pause the story here with this sign… 

TO BE CONTINUED

Please look for my next posting which will have GOOD NEWS. I promise.

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