I remember waking up in the hospital in the intensive care unit. I woke only to be alarmed by all kinds of machines packed into the room and feeling something uncomfortable.  I felt large tubes sticking into my throat.  My nose was split by the tube had been inserted into it several days prior to me waking up.  Opening my eyes for the first time after several days in coma, I wondered where am I.  I remember seeing nurses and doctors moving frantically about the room.   With tears streaming uncontrollably down my face, my mind in a state of utter confusion, my body unwilling or maybe unable to move as I commanded it, the world which I once considered mine to conqueror was now conquering me.  I felt a since of dread, fright, and anxiety like a dark ominous clouds moving across the horizon.  I tried to ask a question only to realize that my lips were moving, ever so slow, but my words wouldn't come out.   I tried to beckon with my hands, only to realize my hands wouldn’t move.  I was too weak.  I tried to get someone's attention, but to no avail. 

It was then my right leg started itching.  Finally after what seemed like hours, one of the nurses came over and she saw my tears.  She said to me, "Kisha, what's wrong?"  Without hesitation, wanting to seize the opportunity to speak with someone I attempted to tell her that my right leg was itching.  But every time I open my mouth nothing would come out.  The nurse was kind enough to get me pad and pencil, but I was too weak to write.  My frustration was mounting.  Even if I had the strength to write, I couldn't remember how to write.  Some of my memory was gone!  The nurse then got me a board with letters, number, and pictures printed on it so that I could point out to her what I was trying to say.  That wasn't working either because I couldn't remember how to spell.  The simplest of task were now overwhelming.  Try as I might I couldn't tell her that my leg was itching.  My frustration was boiling over.  Finally, I managed to point down toward my right leg and then it dawned on her what I had been trying so desperately to tell her.  My leg is itching. 

The shock of my life!

The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy: I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly. (John 10:10)

 

To show you how bad the devil is, the nurse then asked me, "Which leg was itching?"  Again, I pointed to my right leg.  She replied, in what seemed as cold as the room that I found myself lying in, "Oh, you don't have a right leg!"  As if acting on cue, the enemy used those words to unleash a relentless attack to finish the job he had started.  He wanted to kill me.

That's when the real pain started.  It was as if my world suddenly came crashing violently to a horrific end.</FO