11 minute read
The bubble bursts
from Embodied Spring 2022
by embodiedmag
The bubble bursts
by Mike Mangione
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Mike is a professional musician who has toured the world both as a solo artist and with his bands Mike Mangione & the Union and Mike Mangione & the Kin. He’s been sharing the gift of his music at the Theology of the Body Institute courses and events since 2008. He is the director of events and international partnerships for the Institute and a contributor to the recently released “God Is Beauty: A Retreat on the Gospel and Art” (TOBI Press). Mike and his wife, Stacy, live in Wisconsin with their three children.
On Oct. 4 of last year I tested positive for Covid-19. The nurse’s exact words were, “You are overwhelmingly positive,” and I was instructed to head home, isolate myself from my family and rest.
On the night of Oct. 6, I awoke with a fever, increased heart rate and shortness of breath. My pulse oximeter display was hovering between 88–90 percent, so I headed to the emergency room. I received IV fluids and was given a chest x-ray, which revealed I had developed pneumonia. Later that morning the doctor prescribed some meds and sent me on my way.
My oxygen dipped again early in the morning two days later, this time into the mid 80s, and I returned to the hospital. For three days I was confined to an emergency room bed, hooked up to multiple machines and given supplemental oxygen. One unforgettable machine sounded an alarm every time my oxygen saturation dipped below 90 percent. It beeped day and night, an incessant reminder that I was not well. Every breath I exhaled felt like it could go on for miles, and it sounded like Rice Krispies were crackling in my lungs.
I was getting worse rapidly, and I knew it. When the staff asked about my power of attorney and wishes regarding resuscitation, it was the end to any wishful thinking. I was not in a good place.
On Oct. 10 a bed opened up at another hospital 30 minutes away. An ICU bed was far better equipped for my situation than an ER bed, so I agreed to the transfer.
UNCHARTED TERRITORY
My new doctor informed me of the severity of my situation straightaway: I was receiving the maximum amount of oxygen possible before needing to be intubated. One tiny slip backwards and I would be placed in a medically induced coma with a breathing tube inserted down my throat. He also added that just the day before he had lost a 29-year-old male patient to Covid.
The plan was to treat my disease with an antiviral for five days, a steroid and some vitamins in an effort to stop my decline and increase lung functionality. The staff was upfront about the moderate success they had seen with this approach and gave absolutely no guarantees. I asked every medical authority in my presence as many questions as I could in an effort to understand my situation. Every single one offered their reasoned opinion, but all qualified it the same way: “But with Covid, we just don’t know.”
It’s hard to express the anxiety I felt. Besides the difficulties of the illness itself, I couldn’t get clear answers to what indeed were life-and-death decisions. I was lost in a fog of uncertainty, and worse, I was alone. With visitors banned, I had to resort to video calls to communicate with my wife and kids. I felt helpless.
SPIRITUAL CONSOLATION
A dear friend of mine had dropped off a bag with multiple items, one of which was a cross containing the relics of St. Teresa of Avila. I decided to get serious about calling upon the saints for help. My starting line-up: St. Teresa Of Avila, St. Francis, St. Cecelia (patron of musicians), St. Maximilian Kolbe, St. John Paul II, my grandfather who had been a physician and my father who had just passed away five months prior.
Prayer has always been a part of my adult life, but to be honest, I’d never felt like I was good at it. I would struggle with the proper disposition necessary for successful prayer and felt that when I didn’t feel a personal connection to God it was the result of something I was doing wrong. God had always seemed distant and “out there,” and I felt if ever I wanted to close the gap between us then it required action from my end. Despite all of my efforts, it felt as if a bubble remained between us that I couldn’t break. But now was the time for serious commitment. I forged ahead, knowing that at the very least it would calm my nerves and help maintain some level of peace.
Right away I felt at ease and knew I needed to somehow stay in this spiritual place. Eventually, I was able to envision my intercessory team in the room with me. I could see the room filled with these holy people praying over me. I saw my grandfather off in the corner anxiously pacing back and forth and my father next to me quietly observing like I had done months ago in his time of passing. It was comforting to feel this presence, and I chose to remain in this place of peace and solitude.
AN INCREDIBLE VISIT
In one particular moment in prayer I became aware of St. John Paul II staring at me. He had a look that I have never seen in any video or photo of him. This was a stern, concerned look directed right into my eyes. Though he appeared serious, I could sense absolute love in his presence. I also felt a hand pinning me against a wooden chair despite being in a hospital bed. Like the pope’s eyes, the hand on my chest emitted both authority and love. Because of this, I felt at ease observing the face staring me in the eyes. Then I became aware that this face radiated the presence of St. John Paul II and Christ combined.
No voice spoke, but I was being asked,
To which I responded, “Yes!”
And there I sat, allowing myself to be still to the presence in the room. I didn’t receive any resolution, revelation or insight as to how this crisis would end. I only felt God’s closeness and, and with it, peace. I realized the bubble between us had burst, and from that point forward I felt like I was chest-to-chest with Jesus and was able to slip into prayer with very little effort.
SURRENDER
Despite these graces my condition remained critical. Each day I would receive my meds and hope the staff would walk into the room proclaiming, “You’re better! You can go home now.” But my numbers weren’t budging. With no major improvements, I knew at any moment my condition could take a turn for the worse.
Despite these fears and uncertainties, the feeling remained that God was present and in control. At first I struggled with his command to “do nothing.” How could I sit here and do nothing when my life was on the line?! My whole life I had been a fighter, clawing for the next step forward to success.
But here there were no illuminated steps toward success. I had only one option: to surrender everything over to him out of obedience. Better than at any other time in my life, I turned all of my desire for control and action towards a prayerful disposition of active receptivity … and stayed there. I maintained interior peace by leaving one foot in the pools of prayer at all times. I felt buoyant in those waters and needed to remain.
On Oct. 14, with very little respiratory progress so far, I received my last dose of antiviral medication. I feared it would have no effect and my condition would slip backwards. The next day, with no more doses remaining, I turned again to God. Since it was Oct. 15, the feast day of St. Teresa of Avila, I prayed with her relics in hand. I picked up the crucifix, placed it under my medical gown directly on my chest and asked for healing. I wept as I faithfully asked God to help the medicine take effect.
The next day my doctor walked in holding his hand out flat in front of him with a slight bend in the tips of his fingers. I asked, “What is that?” He replied, “I think maybe, just maybe, you might be coming close to a corner … maybe. Just keep doing what you are doing and I will see you tomorrow.” Without getting too hopeful, I said a prayer of thanksgiving and continued to ask for graces and healing. The next day he walked in again, this time with a definite curve in his fingers. I asked, “Have I done it? Have I turned a corner?” He said, “Yes, I believe so. Again, keep doing what you are doing, but it is looking good.” This time, with tears in my eyes, I prayed a dense prayer of thanksgiving. Not long after, my nurse came in and said I was leaving the ICU and moving upstairs to another room.
I was in the hospital for five more days, praying and completing my lung exercises with a fervor I had never experienced. On the last morning I was sitting in my bed deep in morning prayer when my nurse walked in and told me I would be going home that day. I couldn’t believe it and remained skeptical until she came in with discharge papers for me to sign.
She read through them with me… “You suffered from bi-lateral Covid pneumonia resulting in acute respiratory failure.” I replied, “Acute respiratory failure? What’s that?” She looked at me with the wisdom of a 30-year nursing veteran and said, “You are very lucky. You almost died, honey!”
My wife arrived and at 3:30 p.m. I was wheeled out of Room 3307 on Oct. 22. It was the feast day of St. John Paul II.
REVELATION
A few months later I was in a study group and a reflection question asked me to describe my relationship with God the Father. I started thinking, “Well, you know… God the Father is distant so we need to actively try to engage him if we want communion.” Immediately I felt God interject and say,
With that tiny twist of focus, the picture became crystal clear for me and I understood so much at once. Let me start by saying I love my father deeply and he loved me. Like many father-son relationships, we often struggled for common ground and our communication suffered because of it. He was comfortable with silence and any desire to close the gap required an effort on my part. As a result I developed an ingrained belief that connection with the father was obtained only through my action.
This misconception wreaked havoc in my prayer life. God is constantly engaging us at every moment of the day! He just desires that we turn our eyes and hearts to see his presence and influence in all things. I had been projecting a distance when in fact He had been there the whole time, waiting for my reception.
If theology of the body has taught me anything it is that God wants to be united with us. Despite being part of a mission proclaiming this truth for the past 15 years, I struggled to bring this truth to myself. There is a major difference between understanding this in our heads and knowing this in our hearts. God’s desire to be united with us made sense to me, but up until this experience, I had never needed it to. I was one who needed to be deafened by the noise of fear and tragedy before I could hear my Father’s voice asking: “Do you need me?” My prayer is that when that day comes for you, you close the gap with a resounding “Yes!”
Connect with Mike at mikemangione.com; Instagram/mangionemusic; Spotify: spoti.fi/3gZO0wX. Learn more about the “God Is Beauty” book at www.godisbeautybook.com.
