Chapter 3.2: The Unmistakable Challenge: My Faith
Once I was home with no strength, worn out after a long flight, I called my uncle, my mother’s brother Khalo (the word for uncle from my mother’s side in Lebanese Arabic) Elias Farah and his wife, auntie Souad Massaad. I asked if they would come to visit me in an apartment we kept in Lebanon. They were in shock; they thought it was a joke; the fact that I came back to Lebanon on New Year’s Day was odd.
Fifteen minutes later, they were both standing outside my door. I sobbed when I saw them. They did not realize how sick I was and how bad I had deteriorated. I weighed forty-eight kilograms at the time. No one could understand why my health worsened again after living like a monk, a holy life for 30 days. I could not answer anyone, because I had no answers myself. My auntie Souad, a woman with a heart of gold, nursed me for eight weeks. She fed, bathed, and dressed me. She took me under her wing and not once complained about anything. She did it with pure love and expected nothing in return. My uncle was tearful every day when he saw me. These two amazing humans were a godsend; I needed them badly. I didn’t even want my mother to come close to me.
I ran from doctor to doctor in search of answers as well as from monastery to monastery to beg for a miracle. In the middle of my daily prayers, a voice yelled at me: “Gino, you must confess.” I was shocked; it never crossed my mind. I had not confessed for sins in 24 years. I always thought, why should I confess in front of any priest? Who am I to judge the men God has chosen to lead his Church? That was a big mistake; every one of us needs to confess. Do not take it as a joke to bend on your knees to mutter: “Father forgive my sins; I nearly drove over the neighbor’s cat, or I shouted at my children.” You must be sincere with your confession. We all make mistakes in life; we are only human. The relief and liberation from doing so are uplifting and filled with the peace of mind.
My confession took over one and a half hours with Father Boulos Fahed at Sainte Thérèse Church in Shailé. He invited me to enter the Church, then made me sit in front of the Holy Sacrament, where he asked me to speak. I cried from the moment I started until I finished. Father Fahed misted me with holy water, then gave me a bag of blessed coarse salt, sacred oil, and his book of prayers. He taught me how to use this book to pray. He encouraged me to go home, soak myself in a bathtub with the salt and the oil, and pray aloud with the rosary in my hand. He explained that I would burst into tears once in the bath, but once I was finished, I would start to feel better. He tapped on my head and said: “Go, my child, now you are fully cured.” My aunt burst into tears, and she was shocked. I hugged him tight and kissed him, then asked him to keep me in his prayers. Leaving Sainte Thérèse, I felt a warmth in my heart, and a sublime sense of peace overcame me.
The confession was always my weakness. This open confession was a feeder for my soul; it decluttered the secrets I kept and granted me a pardon of my sins. I felt cleansed and my heartfelt renewed. I felt there was a chance for mercy, a part of a new life. God graced me with his undying love. In the meantime, my faith felt stronger more than ever before. I was attached to God. I fought the whole way to survive; I wanted to live. I repeatedly asked Jesus and Saint Charbel to guide my Lebanese doctor to prescribe the right medication for myopathy.
One month later, my rheumatologist in Johannesburg prescribed methotrexate. I took the pills for a few weeks, then decided to flush it all down the toilet. It made me sick, and this decision was aided by the fact that I did not trust medication in general. One memorable incident was when another doctor admitted me to the hospital. The doctors seemed to play a kind of guessing game with treatment. He wanted to inject me with steroids to give me strength. I don’t know what made me run away from that hospital, in my pyjamas; I refused to poison my body with medications. All of this occurred between the two incidents.
In Lebanon, I was sent for several blood tests and was initially put on a 60mg of cortisone treatment for my myopathy. I cried, “I didn’t want to take the cortisone.” My doctor shouted at me, “Do you want to live?”
My aunt Souad made sure that I took my cortisone every day. She opened my mouth to ensure all pills were swallowed as if I were a child. In the meantime, the results of my DNA anti-bodies blood results needed at least twenty days. Despite the fact I was infirm, and I always needed assistance in any movement outside of our apartment. Yet I never stopped visiting or praying to Saint Charbel. My prayers took place at 3 a.m., the best time to pray. I was going to The Virgin Mary Saydet Harissa, Saydet al Mghara, Saint Charbel, Saint Rafqa, and Saint Estephan to pray and meditate. These holy places served as my shelter, where I felt secure and safe.
My blood results arrived on the 6th of February. I sat in the waiting room with other patients; my aunt and I were nervous about my blood test outcome. We were the last to be called to my doctor’s office. He examined me and said calmly: “Eugenie, you look a bit better, I can see you were taking the cortisone. Also, the traces of diffuse scleroderma disease are no longer in your system.” My aunt screamed, “Ya Mar Charbel,” and we both cried. My doctor stood up, came from behind his desk, hugged me tight, and said: “I didn’t cure you, Eugenie, I am helping you with your myopathy, Saint Charbel cured you. This debilitating disease does not leave the body. You are a miracle patient! Keep your faith; you inspire me.” I was speechless but very peaceful. Tears of joy ran down my cheeks; my tears were like healing water. This fantastic news overwhelmed me.
Saint Charbel was incredibly generous with me, and I will be forever grateful for the miracle he bestowed upon me. I needed a lot of patience and time to return to my former self. But if you have faith, and you genuinely believe in God, you will be cured. Jesus so loved Saint Charbel, and through Him, I was cured.
It reminded me of a quote from prominent Christian Corrie Boom, who explained: “Never be afraid to trust an unknown future to a known God.” This sentence gave me more hope every day.
It was an exhausting, punishing, and stressful, yet enlightening, a path to healing. I learned the most in my whole forty-seven years from this trial. My faith, trust, and belief in God and his saints were renewed. My sickness nearly cost me my marriage and my life. All the problems I previously encountered paled in comparison to those faced in my illness. Regardless of these challenges, I learned the importance and necessity of embracing and relying on your family, no matter what. Family comes first. I believe there are no accidents in this universe. I also realized this whole journey could be transformed by laughing and being grateful rather than upset. I discovered the importance of the mind-body connection, and the incredible capacity to heal. I explored the power of positive thinking and perseverance, as well as the healing potential of miracles.
