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Faith Helped Me Face Brain Surgery

“YOU have a tumor behind your left eye.” These words, spoken by Dr. Stewart, a neurologist, made me feel as if I were in the middle of a bad dream. His next words turned the dream into a nightmare: “I need to contact your family so that we can get you into a hospital immediately.”

I was in shock. It couldn’t be true. I felt fine! How could a healthy 22-​year-​old girl develop a brain tumor? My mind rebelled at the doctor’s words that threw me off the course I had set for myself in life. I am one of Jehovah’s Witnesses, and just the previous morning, I had received a phone call inviting me to work at the Watchtower Society’s headquarters in Brooklyn for three months. It was what I had hoped and prayed for. When I had left the house that morning to see the ophthalmologist, I felt I was on top of the world.

Now, 29 hours later, that feeling was blasted from my mind. There was no doubt about the tumor. I had spent 50 minutes enclosed in an MRI (Magnetic Resonance Imagery) machine, like a torpedo inside a firing chamber, waiting to be launched. I tend to be claustrophobic, and the longer I was inside, the more panicky I felt. I prayed for calmness, hummed Kingdom songs, and repeated Bible texts. I relaxed. Soon I was on my way back to the neurologist’s office with the film. It revealed a tumor the size of a large orange, and he dropped the bombshell​—I was to enter the hospital immediately. He left the room to call my parents.

My Decision Is Nonnegotiable

“Your parents are on the way down,” he said when he returned. “You didn’t tell me you are one of Jehovah’s Witnesses. We’re going to have to talk. The surgery will certainly require blood transfusions.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said. “The decision has already been made. No blood.”

“Well, we can talk about that when your parents get here.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head, “it’s nonnegotiable.”

When my parents arrived, they confirmed my position on blood. The neurologist accepted the decision and said he had a surgeon in mind who would probably honor my decision. So it was that we met the neurosurgeon, Dr. H. Dale Richardson.

We met him in his office on Thursday evening, September 29, 1988, this man who would become such an important and respected part of our lives for the next several months. He had talked with Dr. Stewart and knew of our position on blood.

“We will be cutting into a very vascular area,” he said. “The tumor has surrounded the sagittal sinus (a major blood vessel of the brain), to what extent we won’t know until we’re in there.”

“Even if it comes to a crisis,” I said, “and I understand that it might, I still don’t want you to use blood.” My mother and my father confirmed that my position was their position. We saw his eyes fill with tears, and later we learned that he has two sons and a daughter of his own.

“I may not agree with your beliefs,” he said, “but I will honor your request. Without blood, we have a 70-​percent chance of success. You must understand that we may not get all of the tumor the first time. It is not uncommon with a tumor of this size to have to do it in two or three operations.”

Getting Ready for Surgery

I checked into the hospital Sunday, October 2. Monday and Tuesday were occupied with two preoperative procedures, first to discover and then to reduce the blood supply feeding the tumor. All day Tuesday friends called me on the phone, and that evening several of them visited me. All knew what was to happen the next day, but the mood was upbeat and happy.

I went right to sleep that night but woke up around midnight and began to worry. That was no good. I played cassette tapes of several Watchtower magazine articles. At 5:30 in the morning, the nurse came in and was surprised to find me calm and confident. Two close friends arrived shortly after, with Dad right behind them. “No mushy stuff,” I said, as they were kissing me good-​bye.

Downstairs they began preparing me for surgery, inserting needles, shaving my head. As I lay there, I prayed to Jehovah: “Thank you for helping me prove to Satan that he doesn’t always win. I know I’ll wake up, whether it will be today or in your new world. Please, just let it be soon.” As they wheeled me into the operating room, I saw Dr. Richardson examining my film.

“Good morning, Bethel,” he said. “How did you sleep?”

“All right,” I replied, “but I’m more concerned about how you slept.”

Then Dr. Ronald Pace, the anesthesiologist, put a mask over my face and told me to breathe deeply and count backward. My waiting was over.

Postsurgery Recovery

The next thing I knew, I was very cold. I struggled to come out from the drug-​induced fog. It was 10:10 p.m. Wednesday, some 15 hours later. Dad was in the intensive care unit, reassuring me. I was concerned as to whether all my mental faculties were intact. “Test me, Dad,” I said, and started reeling off sums: “Two and two is four, four and four is eight, . . . ” When I got up to 512, he said, “Whoa! You’re going too fast for me!” My mom hugged me as best she could, and my brother, Jonathan, brought me up-​to-​date on the baseball play-offs.

Dr. Richardson reported that he got 80 percent of the tumor. He looked drained​—no wonder, after 13 1/2 hours of such exacting demands on his expertise! I later learned that he said to my father: “We almost lost her. When we got to the sagittal sinus, she was bleeding profusely. We were fortunate to get it stopped.” At any rate, he would have to go in again, maybe more than once. “Some meningioma [the type of tumor I had] patients have to have surgery every three to five years,” he said. “It may be that we will never be able to excise all of it.”

This news devastated me! I saw my hopes of a life of full-​time Christian service blown to bits. I started crying, on the verge of hysteria. Dad put his arms around Mom and me and began praying. It was as though a cloak of complete calm was draped over me. “The peace of God that excels all thought” took over. (Philippians 4:7) I’d read of others who felt this peace of God come over them and wondered how it really felt. Now I knew. I would not want to go through that night again, but what I learned from the experience is something I’ll always cherish.

While in the hospital, I talked to many people about my hope in God’s Kingdom and everlasting life in a paradise earth. I placed 20 of the booklet Jehovah’s Witnesses and the Question of Blood and five of the bound book You Can Live Forever in Paradise on Earth. By the time I left, I had received over 330 cards and many phone calls, plus flowers and colorful balloons. How it lifted my spirits and made me appreciate all the more our worldwide brotherhood!

I was released on October 16, 1988. What was a beautiful day to start with seemed all the lovelier now that I was back out in the sunshine and fresh air. The sky seemed bluer, the grass greener. It made me think of how beautiful the Paradise earth will be: no war, no famine, no pollution​—and no brain tumors! A cleansed earth, finally!

Funeral Services Arranged

In December, I saw Dr. Richardson again. The tumor was growing. Surgery was the only viable treatment and the sooner the better. I viewed this second surgery almost as a physical wall, a giant obstacle blocking the path I’d set for my life. I thought a lot about Psalm 119:165: “Abundant peace belongs to those loving [God’s] law, and for them there is no stumbling block.” This calmed me, and gradually, rather than being a wall, the upcoming surgery became only a hurdle. But just in case, I wrote a dear friend at the Watchtower headquarters asking him to handle funeral services for me if that became necessary. (Later I found out that Dad had made this same request of him.)

On January 31, 1989, I checked back into the hospital. In some respects it was easier, yet it seemed more crucial. Would they get the rest of the tumor out this time, or would there be more sessions in surgery later on? The doctors were so comforting.

When I was checking in, Dr. Pace, the anesthesiologist I had before, came looking for me, stayed with me for an hour while all the paperwork was done, and then carried my suitcase up to the room for me. Dr. Richardson assured me: “I will treat you like a member of my own family, the way I would want to be treated.” No cold, all-​business treatment here. I had a warm feeling of confidence as I put myself into their caring hands.

Again, the phone calls and cards came in to comfort me, and the same dear friends that had been so close and helpful through the first ordeal were here again to bolster my spirits and keep me smiling. We spent the evening talking and laughing and playing a board game.

My Life Is Now Back on Course

The next morning the nurse was in early to give me an injection. It was very potent, and it seemed like no time before I was in the recovery room again. The surgery did not take as long​—ten hours this time—​and the greeting I and my family got on my awakening was a most exhilarating tonic. A smiling Dr. Richardson told us that he had been able to remove all of the tumor, and we could expect complete recovery. Later, as he changed my dressing, he made me laugh by saying: “Bethel, we’ll have to stop meeting like this.” How grateful we felt to Jehovah and to the excellent doctors!

I placed more books and booklets about God’s Kingdom with many that I talked to. One of the books, You Can Live Forever in Paradise on Earth, I presented to Dr. Richardson. I wrote on the flyleaf:

“There are very few occasions when we have the necessity of thanking someone for saving our life. While you are no doubt often on the receiving end of such gratitude, I wanted to be sure you knew how very much all that you have done for us has meant to my family and me. While I realize your reading time is quite limited, if you have occasion to work with Jehovah’s Witnesses in the future, I hope that this book may be of benefit to you in understanding why I believe the way I do. With much love and many thanks, Bethel Leibensperger.”

I was released eight days after the second surgery and went to the Kingdom Hall that night. Two months later I started driving my car. I have resumed my full-​time ministry as one of Jehovah’s Witnesses. I was even able to attend the historic conventions of Jehovah’s Witnesses in Poland in August 1989.

My life is now back on course.

[Box on page 22]

A Mother’s Reflections

That night Bethel and her father attended a Bible study. I was too distraught; I couldn’t handle it. I folded up and took to the bed. The next morning it was worse. I could not pull myself together and began crying. My husband firmly said: “We must be strong and cheerful for Bethel’s sake.” Then he put his arms around me and said a little prayer, putting us and our future completely in Jehovah’s hands and asking for strength to get through the coming days. It was like a shot in the arm that turned me from a rag doll to a supportive mother.​—Judith Leibensperger.

[Box on page 23]

A Father’s Reflections

My daughter, Bethel, was a gift from God rather late in life. We had a kind of storybook relationship. From the time Bethel was an infant, we did everything together. We crouched in fields to study Jehovah God’s artistic flair as we looked at the wildflowers. We made snowmen. We talked of very deep things and silly things. We knelt in prayer at bedtime with her in her snuggly pajamas nestled between her mother and me. We visited the elderly and the needy together. We embraced fellow Witnesses who lived in faraway lands. In our home we entertained missionaries and the most dedicated men and women who serve God in the footsteps of Jesus Christ. We shared our one faith, and we shared our dreams of Paradise. She grew up to be a lover of people and needing to be loved by them. Our life as a family was idyllic​—until now. The ‘time and chance’ that Ecclesiastes says befalls all men befell us. In one day this enormous medical dilemma cast its dark shadow. Without warning, the specter of death​—man’s worst enemy—​loomed over us.​—Charles Leibensperger.

[Picture on page 24]

Bethel and her parents just before the second operation