chapter 6
We Meet Another World
As men and women devoted to science, they had no explanation for how this could have occurred inside their hospital.
As December approached, so many incredible things had happened since the accident that we sensed that, other than Alex’s complete recovery, the biggest events were behind us. There had already been more than enough cause for praise. After all, Alex was alive, and we felt that we were being held firmly in the loving hands of God. We had experienced love and spiritual support, not to mention material support, in a manner we had not thought possible. God’s fountain of supply seemed never ending.
Hillbilly had said he sensed the Spirit of God moving in a powerful way. We were soon to be plunged deeply into a world I had known only superficially.
Science Is Confounded
Alex’s first surgery came during the month of the accident. A hole needed to be cut in his throat—a stoma—so that a ventilator could be attached and the tubes could be removed from his throat. This operation is called a tracheotomy. The surgeons would also make a small hole for a stomach tube, through which he could receive fluids and medication, as he had no ability to swallow.
How I longed to see Alex without all those monitors, machines, tubes, and wires! When the medical staff began unhooking him for the surgery, however, I became increasingly anxious. Alex needed all that stuff to survive. Could I trust that they really knew what they were doing? Silly question, I know, but in the moment, all of this was quite unnerving. As a parent looking on with absolutely no power to protect, to expedite the situation, or to keep my child safe, the feeling of helplessness was unavoidable.
Even so, from the first day of the crisis, we took every opportunity to hug Alex, speak comforting words to him, and generally treat him as if he fully understood everything. We decided from the beginning to treat him the same as our other children. We spoke to Alex as if his eyes were open and he were listening, nodding, and smiling—just not offering replies. We encouraged him. We told him that God was with him. Our words were truer and more wonderful than we could possibly have guessed.
The surgery went well, according to the doctors who filled us in later. Alex now had two new holes in his body. The medical experts had never thought he would make it far enough to have these procedures. We believed the surgery was simply one more positive step in getting our son back.
As Alex’s condition stabilized a bit, the doctors began exploring next steps. They had told us early on that they eventually planned to fuse the vertebrae in Alex’s neck. Without surgical intervention, they said, his neck would never be stable.
By the end of November, they were considering an interim step: attaching a “halo” brace to Alex’s head that would hold his neck in place. They scheduled an MRI of Alex’s neck for November 30; later that same day, they told us, they might attach the halo. This brace, a metal ring that secures to the skull with pins, would keep his head and neck immobile and could aid in healing the area of greatest injury.
For the doctors, these options were exciting possibilities. For Beth and me they both seemed like steps in the wrong direction. We were holding out for the big victory. We were praying for full healing.
The doctors continued their deliberations, unaware of our struggles. After examining the results of Alex’s MRI, they decided to scrap the halo plan. Yet they continued to consider the vertebrae fusion.
The downside to the surgery was that Alex would never regain full movement in his neck—and what would that mean when he was fully healed? This issue didn’t concern the medical staff. We weren’t really certain what to do, so we talked it over, prayed, and decided to give the surgeons the green light. A date was set, and the army of prayer warriors again assumed their fighting stance—on their knees.
And then we received stunning news. By the end of December, the doctors concluded the vertebrae had healed well without intervention, or rather without medical intervention. “We’re not sure what happened,” the neurosurgeon told me, “but we don’t need to do the surgery.”
I was ecstatic! “That’s okay, Doctor,” I told him. “We understand; in fact, we know what happened. There is a Physician who has been healing people since the beginning of time, and Alex is one of His patients.”
The word went out to Alex’s Army. They rejoiced. But they were not surprised.
We were confident that God had intervened in time and space, responding to the prayers of the saints. Sometime later we discovered other intriguing events that occurred around the same time.
Not long after the surgery was scheduled and then canceled, we heard from Sue, who wanted to tell us about her own experience with Alex. The story she related constituted another miracle in our remarkable experience—and preceded still another miracle.
Visitors in the Night
We’d seen people doing the work of angels—calling 911, climbing into the car to pray with Alex, riding in the helicopter, even showing up to serve God by working on our home. But Sue’s report indicated we were moving into a new arena—one I had no direct experience with.
Sue had responded to an early appeal for prayer warriors who would be willing to stay with Alex overnight. On one such evening, she quietly entered Alex’s room and settled in a chair opposite his bed. She spent the next few hours reading to Alex and praying for him. At around 3 a.m., as her head was bowed in prayer, she heard the sounds of water flowing from the faucet in Alex’s room. That seemed a little odd to her, but since there were no doors in the ICU units, she assumed that one of the nurses had come in to Alex’s room and was washing her hands. Finally, she couldn’t help herself and looked up, only to see that no one was there.
She bowed her head again, and after a few moments the sound of flowing water filled Alex’s room for a second time. She looked up—nothing. She went back to prayer. And for the third time she heard water flowing. When she looked up, she saw nothing. Though she thought it was strange, she was there for a specific purpose, so she resumed praying.
Then she was suddenly filled with the knowledge, in her spirit, that there were three angels present in the room, standing behind Alex, with their hands on his neck. She wasn’t looking—she saw nothing with her eyes—but she knew and felt their presence.
Before leaving, one of the angels told her, “There is more to do, but this is all for now.” Sue told us she was convinced that angels were ministering to and looking after Alex—especially in the middle of the night.
Beth read and reread Sue’s e-mail. We were both caught up in a sense of wonder that angels had visited our son and that our friend, who hadn’t seen them, was as confident they were there as if she had. It’s easy to discount this sort of thing, but there was more information for us to consider. Upon pondering that e-mail, Beth wondered about the timing of the events Sue reported. She pulled out the prayer/visiting schedule and began poring over the dates for people staying overnight with Alex. The information was easily available because every detail of this prayer ministry was highly organized.
When Beth found that night’s record, she called me over. “Look at this, Kevin. The record is right here. Sue was praying over Alex the evening before doctors planned on putting the halo on Alex. The angels were there the evening before that procedure was . . . canceled.” Beth looked into my eyes with a quiet, confident expression as if to say, “It’s happening.”
A surge of hope coursed through me. Oh, God, help my unbelief. You are the God of miracles.
A few days later the phone rang.
“Hello,” answered Beth.
“Hello, my name is Melissa. I’m so sorry to bother you, but I had to call you. It’s about Alex. I’ve been praying for him.”
“It’s no bother at all. We greatly appreciate everyone who is lifting him up in prayer.”
“Well, I don’t want to take you off guard, but something has happened, and I wanted to tell you about it. Is this a good time?”
“Sure. What’s on your mind?”
“I’ve had a vision . . . from God . . . about Alex and angels. I’m an artist, and I had to paint the vision. May I send it to you? I’d like you to have it.”
“Sure, we’d love to see it.”
After Sue’s experience, the idea of visions from God was less jarring than it would have been prior to this entire ordeal. We were eager to see what this woman had painted—what she was sure God had shown her.
When the package containing the painting arrived, we carefully unwrapped it. After the last piece of tissue paper was gingerly removed, we stared, awestruck at the image. Clearly depicted were three angels standing behind Alex’s bed with their hands on his neck. For the longest time, we just sat and stared, drinking in the amazing encouragement of our awesome God. God truly had sent angels to minister to Alex.
We soon got on the phone with Sue. She had never met nor spoken with the artist. Beth described the painting in detail. Sue, too, was amazed as she confirmed that the painting captured exactly what God had revealed to her during her prayer watch. We were reminded of Jesus’ words in Matthew 18:10 about little children: “For I tell you that in heaven their angels are always in the presence of my heavenly Father.”
We scanned the picture and posted it on PrayforAlex.com so that everyone could be blessed by it. More than ever, it was clear that God was involved in our situation in a remarkable way and that the result of it was that the Lord would be glorified. Our hope for the future continued to build.
We give thanks to God for Alex’s angels.
Awakening
As the holiday season ended and a new year began, Alex’s long sleep continued. His body was still with us; his spirit, unaccounted for. We held on in faith that God would bring him back to us, but there was another looming issue. The hospital medical staff was deliberating about where they would send Alex. They wanted to discharge him, but where? The conversation took on an awkward tone. Everyone other than the ICU staff seemed afraid of the ventilator and the issues surrounding it.
Finally, the doctors began talking about sending Alex to the rehabilitation unit. Beth and I couldn’t make sense of that idea—how do you rehabilitate a child in a coma? We soon discovered the answer: you don’t. You “rehab” the parents. This was going to be all about training us, so that we could eventually take Alex home.
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Here is a letter I wrote to Alex on January 6, 2005:
Alex,
I’ve prayed for you so often, and for so many things.
I asked God for His healing hands, and I touched your entire body.
I asked God to make every cell in your body totally healthy.
I prayed for the hurts in your brain stem and spinal cord to get better; I prayed for you to regain lost functions.
I asked God to allow you to come forth, as Lazarus did. I urged Him to restore in you the awareness necessary to become a rehab patient, rather than a neurosurgery patient on the rehab unit.
They don’t think you can do it, Alex. I guess they don’t know our God as well as we do; perhaps they haven’t seen what He will do when we trust His promises. The doctors speak of ventilators, but I asked God that the day would never come when a ventilator would enter our house; it wouldn’t be necessary, because you’d be breathing freely and independently when you came home.
Alex, I’m praying harder than I ever have. I’m believing bold possibilities that, in the past, I might never have dared to believe.
I prayed Ephesians 3:20 for you:
Now all glory to God, who is able, through his mighty power at work within us, to accomplish infinitely more than we might ask or think.
I saw you in the words of Psalm 91:1-5:
Those who live in the shelter of the Most High
will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
This I declare about the LORD:
He alone is my refuge, my place of safety;
he is my God, and I trust him.
For he will rescue you from every trap
and protect you from deadly disease.
He will cover you with his feathers.
He will shelter you with his wings.
His faithful promises are your armor and protection.
Do not be afraid of the terrors of the night.
Alex, I will not be dishonest and claim I’ve had no sad moments. I’m missing terribly the fun we had together. But I feel so very blessed to be your daddy here on earth. You exceed every expectation I’d ever had for a son.
I pray for Satan’s defeat every day. I pray that God Himself breathes new life into you, and when I see you, I bend down and try to breathe my breath into your nostrils and mouth. I see how you don’t like me doing that!
My son, I promise to love you and to care for you, no matter what the future holds, as long as you and I are both alive. I am in you and you are in me; that will never change.
I pray that God will align my will with His, and I will praise Him for whatever He may do. I praise Him and worship Him each day as we watch the miracle named Alexander.
I love you more today than yesterday.
Daddy
Kevin Malarkey
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We began to learn how to feed Alex, give him medication, clean him, and monitor the equipment and everything else necessary to get our son through each day. The “final exam” was for each of us to handle all of Alex’s care for a twenty-four-hour period, including pulling an all-nighter. Someone mishandled the paperwork, so I actually got to do that drill twice. I didn’t mind.
Alex finally left the ICU for a new room in the rehab unit. The plan, as we learned in our first meeting, was to keep him there for about one month. After all, he wasn’t a true rehab patient, so he couldn’t benefit from the services there. Beth and I had a month to become skilled at caring for all of Alex’s needs, after which he would be discharged from the hospital.
But I had different plans.
I looked around and saw all the exercise equipment and the trained therapists. I could visualize Alex benefiting from the whole environment. As I told our followers on PrayforAlex.com, I wanted Alex to wake up and take advantage of all that was there for him in rehab. He wouldn’t need to be fully conscious, just sufficiently aware to meet the threshold requirements of response.
This was a true crisis moment. The doctors had no further expectations for Alex’s recovery, but we did—and we wanted to keep him in that place that would most help him on the long road to recovery. The hospital had done its duty, we had done all that we could do, and now it was time for Alex to show up. It was up to Alex—which meant, of course, that it was up to God.
I prayed, Lord, wake Alex up! Touch his brain stem today and send him back to us, because this is his chance to begin getting better. This is the place to get the tools he needs.
I really believed, too. I felt in my spirit that a change was coming very soon. Already Alex was beginning ever so slightly to track activity in the room with his eyes. His condition was stable, and his meds were manageable. He seemed to be sleeping better in the rehab unit, and we believed he was on the verge of being ready to “power heal.”
Beth and I tried to keep seeing the forest and not just the trees. That is, we knew that the big picture was all about God’s doing something that couldn’t be explained by human means. We were ready to care for our boy in a permanent coma if it came to that, but we didn’t believe this was how the story would end. So we asked all our friends and the outstanding Alex’s Army to join us in petitioning the Lord. We pleaded with Him to intervene once more in our son’s medical condition. Our long-term goal was to have Alex at home with us, where he belonged. A date was set, and we called on our army of prayer warriors once again.
There was a certain amount of skepticism floating around concerning this strategy. Some felt that caring for him at home would never work. One nurse, for example, told us, “I can take care of him in a hospital like this one, but I don’t think I could handle it in a house.” She and others believed that a nursing home was the answer. Nursing homes are viable solutions for others—but we wanted our son to be in his own bed, under our roof. We couldn’t imagine any other outcome.
We knew things would be difficult, and we believed we were ready for that reality.
Breakthrough
One morning the phone rang, and that cheerful voice I knew so well greeted me.
“Kevin!” It was my dad.
“Hey, Dad, what’s up?”
“Kevin, he’s on his way back! He’s on his way back!”
“What do you mean?”
“I went to see Alex this morning, and he followed my wedding ring with his eyes—he was tracking!”
My heart beat wildly, and I wasted no time in getting to the hospital. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard hopeful observations about Alex—people tended to see, or think they saw, facial expressions. Some were certain he had moved a hand or a toe. There are times when we’re so eager, we see what we want to see.
But these words were coming from my dad, Dr. William Malarkey, distinguished physician. He knew what to look for, and he didn’t deal in manufactured hope. He had never once made such a declaration. His excitement got me excited.
I still think of January 8 as the day my son emerged from his coma, but it wasn’t that cut-and-dried. He didn’t wake up suddenly, as if from a nap. He’d been gone for nearly two months. He had disappeared from us in an instant, but his return to the Alex we knew would take much longer, given the damage to his spine and his head. The doctors were very skeptical about any future abilities he might have, or even his ability to think. But from this day onward, our Alex began his long journey home. It was as if the light of his mind was being turned on with a slow dimmer switch. Every day brought Alex another step back into our world.
I was ready to celebrate when the hospital agreed to admit Alex to rehab. My prayer had been answered, and it didn’t matter how unlikely it might have seemed to others—God had come through. Now Alex could begin to work with the rehab assistants, and that would make all the difference. I felt that I knew how much strength and determination was inside Alex, and again I was certain that rehab was going to be a smashing success. The rehab doctors were now in charge, but we considered the Great Physician to be the one with the ultimate prognosis.
Alex’s Army rejoiced with us as we shared all these new developments with our community at PrayforAlex.com. And the Army kept praying.
Slaphappy
Even with the thrilling signs that Alex was coming back, he was still in a thick fog. Some days it seemed he was charging ahead; other days made us feel we had lost ground. We tried absolutely everything we could think of to shine our light through that fog and guide him home. Everyone who came into the room had his or her own little act to spark Alex’s awareness. People told jokes, made funny faces, made body noises (real and simulated), and even lightly tickled a body that we were assured had no feeling.
Where are you, Alex? We prayed, we spoke positively, and we truly believed . . . most of the time. When my moments of doubt emerged, I carefully hid them. No one could really measure the impact of the severe damage to his brain and spinal cord. Mental, physical, and emotional functioning might be intact—medically speaking—or it might be destroyed forever. We simply couldn’t know.
When I thought about that, fear gripped me. It wasn’t about paralysis or his breathing on a ventilator. I could handle any of that. What terrified me was the idea of never getting my son back. I had moments when I would have paid any conceivable price just to talk to my Alex. So I kept up my one-sided conversations, just as if we were having the talks we’d always had. Everyone else made funny faces, performed silly dances, and tried any wild strategy to pull him out of the mist. At this point, nothing looked unusual in that room—people had tried everything but standing on their heads.
Maybe brothers close in age are the ones who know best how to make each other laugh. It was Aaron who finally made it happen.
Aaron came up with his own idea about how to spark Alex’s attention. Aaron put his face near Alex’s and then gave his own face a hard smack! Aaron then repeatedly smacked his own face. Something about Aaron’s monkey business got through, and after a few more slaps, a genuine smile broke out across Alex’s face. I’d never seen anything so beautiful, even if it took Aaron slapping himself to bring it on. Aaron kept slapping his cheeks, and Alex’s smile kept growing. This was no muscular reflex—it was a grin. Everyone present could see it, and the whole room let out a spontaneous victory cheer. Aaron was very pleased with his success and redoubled his efforts, slapping himself even more vigorously. I then stepped in and prevented Aaron from doing further damage to his handsome face. He’d done a great job, and it was time to give his facial tissue a break!
From this point onward, Alex never completely vanished back into the fog. He had an awareness of the room and the people in it, and he clearly knew when we were talking to him.
I wrote a poem at the time to express the power of God we felt was at work in Alex:
Alex cannot walk
Jesus walked on water
Alex cannot talk
God spoke the universe into existence
Alex cannot breathe
The Holy Spirit is the breath of life
Therefore . . .
I will not look to the world
But to the WORD
I will not look to my son
But to my FATHER
I will not see with my eyes
But with my HEART
I will not fall victim
To the prison of circumstance
I will worship my God
And abide in his hope
Let it be . . .
Going to Work
Now the rehab therapists had something to work with, and they began interacting with Alex in various ways.
“Alex,” the speech therapist asked, “can you tell me how old you are?”
We all watched with great anticipation, but I had an extra level of intensity waiting for his reply. By this point, my one obsession was to ask Alex to forgive me for what I had done. The moment I desired more than any other was within reach. But then smiles began to fade as we looked from Alex to the therapist. Alex only stared ahead.
“Alex,” continued the therapist, “do you know how old you are? What is your age?”
Alex didn’t respond. The more the therapist questioned him, the more a confused expression etched its way across his brow. My eyes darted between Alex and the therapist. What could all this mean? Discreetly we were summoned out of the room, and the therapist offered her thoughts.
“We want to be careful about broad pronouncements in cases like these, but we also want to be realistic about where we are. The reality of this situation may be not only that Alex didn’t respond—that he didn’t know the answer to the question—but that he can’t respond.”
Can’t respond? my mind screamed in fear. No! Up to this point, there was never a doubt in my mind that Alex would come back and be our Alex. I had never anticipated the idea, even for a moment, that Alex might have severe brain damage. Of course Alex would come back and we could have that one conversation I had agonized over a thousand times—the one question I so desperately longed to ask: “Alex, would you please forgive me?”
For the first time, I came face-to-face with the prospect that I might never have the chance to receive his forgiveness—that Alex might have slipped away from us forever. Reeling from this new possibility, my body sank back into the chair, visibly defeated. But the chair could not stop my mind’s cascading into a black abyss—my lowest point since this nightmare began.
It was this day, of all that followed the accident, that I gave in to my deepest fears. I embraced the apparent failure of the moment and allowed it to define the future. In so doing, I allowed myself to become devastated. With this latest report from the therapist, everything had taken on a darkened hue. I cried as much that day as I had on the day of the accident. Alex couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe on his own, couldn’t speak, and couldn’t swallow. If he couldn’t think and understand, then in what sense was he really Alex?
Where had my faith gone? Why did I embrace doubt after so many victories? I guess I am a lot like Peter when Jesus told him to get out of the boat and walk on water, confident in Jesus one moment and focused on the waves—and sinking—the next. But even though I was giving the Giant Despair a temporary free pass in my mind, no one was giving up, including me.
The therapists were wonderful, soldiering on despite these setbacks. The speech therapist was particularly tenacious and gave me a lot of encouragement. Not too long after the negative news, she helped Alex develop three facial movements that gave us true hope. He could move the corner of his mouth on the right side of his face. We were able to establish with him that this expression meant the word yes. Puckered lips, we agreed with Alex, meant the word no. Alex’s all-time favorite expression, however, was rolling his eyes, which took on a variety of meanings, depending on context. For example:
I don’t know.
Your questions are bugging me.
My dad is a nut job.
And just about anything else from the massive realm of possibilities between yes and no.
Mirror Motivation
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Alex continues to become more aware. Each of the therapists is noting his daily progression. He drew a picture of an umbrella today (with help), and he is moving his eyes to “yes” and “no” cards as a foundation for his communication skills. Beth is learning to cath him, clean his G-tube, and work on the vent. My training begins Thursday a.m. at 9:00. . . .
We believe now that Alex can handle whoever wants to come to his room, so feel free to visit. Let’s just try not to have too many people in the room at the same time so that he is not overwhelmed. Please remember that children are allowed to visit.
We heard from our pastor that electricity is back on and that the leak on our roof seems reasonably well maintained. I will go out to the house late tonight to make sure everything is ready for our family’s return. Beth has some concerns about the stability of the roof. Please pray for wise decision making and safety for our family as we try to return home.
Leaving Alex’s room is very difficult when he is awake now because he clearly understands that we are leaving him. . . . Alex, Beth, and I all cried tonight as we tried to learn to help Alex feel peaceful about his situation. What a blessing it is though that he is taking in, processing, and feeling again.
Thank you, God, for Your miraculous healing in our son.
PrayforAlex.com post by Kevin Malarkey on January 12, 2005
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The growth of Alex’s hair was keeping pace with the length of his hospital stay, so a friend of ours came down to give him a haircut. Out of this most simple procedure, we learned something new about Alex. As the barber was working away, we suddenly realized that Alex had caught sight of himself in the mirror. This was the first time he’d seen himself since coming back to consciousness. Upon catching his image in the mirror, Alex immediately began attempting to make his facial muscles do what his mind wanted.
Alex stared intently into the mirror, doing battle with the recalcitrant muscles, his face twitching and eyes burning with determination. I watched quietly, but in my heart I was on the sidelines of this immense struggle jumping up and down, screaming at the top of my lungs, Go Alex! Go Alex!
This was the Alex I knew, the fighter, the child showing the initiative to take the tools he had and perfect his use of them. He was fighting for all he was worth with everything he had. He wasn’t just lying there, giving up because of the obstacles he faced. He was being proactive, refusing to give in. I may have been quietly holding a mirror while sitting on the edge of his bed, but inside I was high-fiving everyone in the stadium: Did you see that play? That’s my son Alex. He’s a winner!
For two hours I held the mirror while Alex practiced all his moves—moving the corner of his mouth, puckering his lips, and rolling his eyes.
I sat watching, in awe of his determination, beaming with pride. There could be no mistake about it now. Alex, the one and only Alex we loved, was in there fighting to get out. Every doctor knows how imperative the will to fight is. Lose that, and it’s all over. Several times we had asked ourselves if Alex possessed that vital drive. Now we had our answer, and it filled us with renewed energy to keep our minds and hearts in the game.
Before this moment, I hadn’t realized how low my spirits had become. But no sooner did I watch my young warrior doing battle than the fight came back into me, too. In that incredible moment, my son became my hero and my inspiration. I was and am his father and mentor, but in that instant our relationship changed forever. It was then that I had the first inkling that Alex had a lot to teach me about courage, determination, and keeping up the fighting spirit.
Week by week Alex’s command of his facial muscles grew. One of the early exercises was for him to blow into a straw. The therapist would attach the straw to a device that would move a small ball about twelve inches up a tube, toppling it to the ground. To help motivate Alex to keep at it, we put a little medicine cup of water on the top of the device and then asked for “volunteers” to put their heads near enough so that when Alex blew hard enough to topple the cup, the volunteer would be splashed with water. Watching that happen was all the encouragement Alex needed; soon he was blowing that straw for all he was worth.
Alex didn’t remain satisfied with his progress for very long. He wasn’t content to limit his ability to communicate to facial expressions. Now that this battle was won, the battle to push actual words out of his mouth was just beginning. People who sustain severe brain injuries must often learn to speak all over again. Alex was up for the challenge.
Starting from somewhere in his throat, each sound would make the torturous journey over his tongue and out his mouth. In the beginning, they were mostly earnest, garbled noises. He would work the sounds from throat and mouth the best he could, and we would spend the next five or ten minutes trying to decipher their meaning. Alex would then give the signal for no until we got it right. We were like linguists establishing the basis for communication in an unknown tongue. It was like mining for precious gems, and we rejoiced over every single word.
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Alex continues to work hard in his therapy. The speech therapist is working on strengthening the muscles in his face, getting Alex to communicate with his eyes using cards and objects. . . . Alex continues to push out sounds, but they are difficult to understand. He was able to increase his volume a bit when asked to by the speech therapist. In all honesty, all three of us in the room thought that the word Alex was trying to say was Jesus.
I had a difficult time yesterday as I had conflicting emotions watching Alex. Everything he is doing is literally a miracle. He is much more aware, and he is trying so hard. At the same time, it is hard to believe that my brilliant little boy is struggling so hard to make a sound. I have wept on a couple of occasions as I see his pain and frustration. Strangely as it often is in life, progress leads to a more difficult and intense level of struggle.
PrayforAlex.com post by Kevin Malarkey on January 15, 2005
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As with anything worthwhile, the real work started after the fun of the new enterprise had worn off. As Alex tried to form words, we were both thrilled and frustrated. We wanted so badly to have a normal conversation with him, and he was working tirelessly to make that happen. We simply had to hang in there with him until we could figure out what it was he was trying to say. It could be frustrating for him, too, but Alex had nearly miraculous patience and determination. Even a six-year-old has complex thoughts, feelings, and reactions to share, and we wondered what was within him that might run deeper than a simple yes or no.
We all needed perseverance. In the middle of this effort, Beth came up with a brilliant idea that I, the psychotherapist of the household, could only admire. She proclaimed a rule against Alex’s trying to communicate about anything he couldn’t do. We would follow along and figure out what he was saying, but if we determined he was talking about an inability, we stopped and asked him to name three abilities. It was a page straight from my father’s philosophy, and it set the tone for the kind of positive emotional attitude that Alex already had but vitally needed to maintain.
For so many months Alex hadn’t seemed to know or care whether we were present. Now when we left the room, he would become visibly upset and had a whole arsenal of protest expressions at his disposal. We all need to be needed. Maybe that’s why I loved that Alex would become upset when we stepped out of the room. After not knowing if he would ever come back, it was comforting that when he did, he needed me.
Angels in Rehab
What a joyous development it was when Alex came out of his coma, when he came back to us—a direct answer to the prayer of thousands, a direct blessing to his dad and mom. I was still riding high from this momentous occasion about two weeks later when I went to visit him one night. Arriving in his room, I found that Margaret, a new acquaintance from a local church, was there, having signed up on the prayer schedule.
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Alex . . . demonstrated some skills that he has not mastered prior to today. He opened his mouth on command, he stuck out his tongue on command, he used his chin to press a lever and perform a task. He also demonstrated some connections between his cognitions, his emotions, and his physical movements.
The lack of the presence of most of these skills was discussed at a meeting [yesterday]. It seems that when medical staff meet and discuss what Alex cannot do, God likes to show up the next day and mix things up a bit. I have been concerned about Alex’s motivational level, and he now has shown us that he can be highly motivated (he used his chin to move a lever that moved a toy for at least ten minutes). I have watched him struggle to use muscles in the right side of his face, and he used these muscles perfectly as he had his “smiling face” on for at least five to ten minutes. He has now demonstrated a full range of emotions.
God is waking up our son more each day, and Alex is responding like a warrior (David). He has been strong and courageous like Joshua. Most of all, though, he has been blessed by a loving God. We still wait for God to breathe breath back into Alex so that he may get rid of the ventilator. I still believe that this will happen soon.
Thank you for your prayers. Please continue to pray for us that we may honor God and conform to His character.
PrayforAlex.com post by Kevin Malarkey on January 20, 2005
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Perhaps he was tired, perhaps discouraged—whatever the reason, Alex didn’t want to answer the litany of yes/no questions that had become the centerpiece of our interaction in those two weeks since he had regained consciousness. Margaret and I started talking about various aspects of the new reality, Alex conscious and interacting with us. These were such exciting times, filled with new hope.
Margaret happened to be talking when suddenly Alex’s countenance dramatically changed. His mouth opened wider than I had ever seen it, and it remained open, something that had never happened before. At first, Alex stared straight up at the ceiling of his room, but then his eyes began darting round the room. He didn’t look at Margaret or me again, which was highly unusual. When I would enter Alex’s room, his eyes were normally fixed directly on me 90 percent of the time. This night was different. For the next two hours Alex looked at me only about 20 percent of the time. Something strange was happening.
I began asking Alex a series of questions, desperately attempting to figure out what was going on. It was exhausting. I asked him every question I could think of—at least a hundred. Just when I could think of nothing else to ask, it dawned on me: we might not be alone. After all, angels had visited before, when Alex’s neck was healed.
“Alex, are there angels in the room here with us? Show me with your eyes.”
An even bigger smile broke out across Alex’s face as he looked at Margaret. When he smiled big, I knew the answer to my question was yes, but when he looked at Margaret, I was a little confused.
“Is Margaret an angel?”
Alex puckered his lips to indicate no.
“Okay, Alex, is the angel behind Margaret?”
Alex curled the corner of his mouth to say yes.
At first, Alex indicated that there were many angels in the room, but then most of them left until only three remained. To find out how many angels were present, I would offer numbers until I got a yes. Then things changed again. It seemed that Alex was trying to talk. We watched with great intensity as Alex struggled to form a word. Following an immense effort that visibly marshaled every fiber of his will, Alex said, “Mom”! Then, as if to ensure that the word wouldn’t escape, he began to say it over and over again. My heart couldn’t contain the joy of that moment of triumph. I had cried a lot up to this point, but I liked these tears much better.
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I told Kevin that had I not been there, but had just been reading the post, I probably would have doubted what had happened—not Kevin’s honesty, but just maybe he was being a little too hopeful. Please understand when you read this that I’m someone who has to have things really proved to me. I probably would have stood behind Thomas for my turn to touch Jesus’ nail-scarred hand.
I have been a Christian for thirty-two years, and I’ve never experienced what I experienced [that] night. For the first forty-five minutes Kevin was there he had Alex’s undivided attention—which I understand is usual. Once Alex began to open his mouth wide and look around, the only time he focused on his dad was when we asked questions. Everything you’ve read in the two angels’ messages happened, but I wish everyone reading this could have seen Alex’s face. He was truly radiant.
Margaret Mokry
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Wait till I tell Beth, I thought. Then Alex moved his mouth to say another word. Now he was trying to say “Dad,” but the d sound requires the tongue, an oral maneuver that was yet too difficult for him. But it was a great triumph nonetheless. Alex glowed while he talked about the angels, his yes answers indicated by huge smiles rather than moving the corner of his mouth like he normally did.
Alex saying his first word—was this why Alex’s angels came? I believe it was. Does this sound strange? If it is hard for you to read this and believe, you should try typing it. Imagine how I feel. I come from a conservative evangelical context. These events are not part of my experience or background, but I can’t deny or ignore that they took place.
I never saw an angel, but without the slightest doubt or hesitation, I am certain that I watched my child interacting with them. Margaret shares this conviction. It may sound crazy, but it did happen. I’ll leave the explanations to the theologians.
From Alex
Angels Helping Me
I trust him with all my heart. He helps me, and my heart is filled with joy. I burst out in songs of thanksgiving.
Psalm 28:7
I had seen a lot of angels in Heaven, but that was when I wasn’t in my body.
After two months I finally came out of my coma, but I couldn’t talk. I knew what I wanted to say, but I couldn’t say it. That was really hard.
I could pucker my lips to say no and curl the corner of my mouth to say yes. I could also roll my eyes, which meant “I don’t know.” But that was all.
One night about two weeks after I came out of my coma, Daddy and another friend named Margaret were with me. I was tired and didn’t feel like trying to answer questions, so Daddy and Margaret were just talking to each other.
Then something happened. I saw angels in my room. They were everywhere. That made me have a really huge smile. I never keep my mouth open for very long, but now I couldn’t shut it.
I was so happy that the angels came, but there were so many of them, I was a little scared, too. Daddy had never seen me smile like that, and he tried to figure out what I was doing.
Daddy started asking me a whole lot of questions to try to understand. It took a long time, but finally Daddy said, “Alex, do you see angels?” I smiled even bigger, and then Daddy and Margaret knew there were angels in my room.
I couldn’t stop looking at them. Then the angels started to help me.
Some of the angels put their hands on my chest and were helping me breathe. Other angels started to help me talk. I started to try to make words with my mouth and all of a sudden, I said “Mom.” When that word came out, I was very happy and said it over and over. I then tried to form the word Daddy, but I couldn’t make the word come out.
The angels could hear me talk, and they talked to me, encouraging me.