On October 16, 2005, Mary Farmer shared her wonderful story of how she was healed from multiple sclerosis (MS).  Below is the complete story, as written by Mary.

Background:

In 1958, driving a sport car with the top down, in the heat of a Fresno summer, I arrived for a doctor’s appointment.  His waiting room opened directly to the outside, with a step up to enter.  I stepped up and fell flat on my face.  Although I was young, 22, strong and athletic, I was unable to right myself.  There was no pain; my arms and legs just wouldn’t respond.  My doctor carried me into his office, laid me on his sofa and said he would be a few minutes.  I heard him, in the office next door, speaking with a colleague, suggesting my symptoms could be M/S-which meant absolutely nothing to me.  He returned to me, who, in the meantime, probably thanks to his air conditioned office and the fan aimed in my direction, had completely recovered.  It was as if it had never happened.  With pregnancy confirmed, it was written off as somehow connected to that diagnosis.  But it wasn’t.

Nothing more happened until a few years later, when, while celebrating my birthday by dancing up a storm, I once again became overheated.  Suddenly, I became very weak, my legs buckled under me and I was unable to see all of anything.  The band and other people there were somewhat halved.  My husband took me outside, where, being Washington state, it was very cold.  I began to shake and convulse, but also began to recover quickly.  We assumed the shaking was caused by going from very warm to very cold.  Not feeling great, but fully recovered from all symptoms, we returned to the party.

The after effects of this experience were enough to send me to my doctor who sent me to a neurologist/neurosurgeon.  In those days, the only tests for M/S were a spinal tap and a hot bath to see if they could stimulate an episode.  These tests were suspicious enough to send me to a lab in Seattle for an E.E.G.  The E.E.G. showed “significient abnormalities” so back to the neurologist for a diagnosis of “severe neurological deficiencies”, and prescriptions for Dilantin, an anti-seizure medication and phenobarbitol.  The neurologist also told me not to tell anyone because anything concerning problems with the brain were scary and suspicious to many people.  He was so right!  I told my best friend and she asked me if they had caught the dog!  She assumed I had been bitten and “gone mad”.  Years later, I learned the diagnosis, the treatment and the advice were right on track for the time.

From the age of 25 to 35, I stayed on the drugs, with questionable success.  I still had problems with episodes of weakness, loss of equilibrium and vision difficulties.  Although long periods of bed rest were not easy with four small children, it was my only option.  I was terrified I would not be able to care for them, or even worse, somehow hurt them.  My children were very proud they had a mom that had “fits” and that they could take care of me.  Times of role reversal were often the order of the day.

It was now the late sixties, and wanting to return to California, we moved to Morro Bay where I had a complete remission for the two years we were there.  I hadn’t yet learned about the impact of a moderate climate on M/S, but the results were obvious.  However, after those two wonderful years, we bought a business in Fresno and returned to the valley heat.  My hot summers were spent coping with a barrage of the usual symptoms plus a few new ones added; difficulty swallowing and breathing being two of the most difficult.  And, as always, the eyes-I was often accused of being “stuck up” because I couldn’t distinguish a whole person until they were right in front of me.  I could see part of them but unless that part included a face, I was lost.  I never had pain in the summer, only in the winter’s cold.

Although, physically, I didn’t do well in Fresno, God had an amazing, wonderful plan for me there.  It is another story, but on December 5, 1969, at 11:30 at night, during the revival sweeping through the young people, Jesus saved this old girl as I accepted Jesus as my saviour. It was the beginning of a wonderful new life for my family and many friends as we learned the reality of Acts 6:31…Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shall be saved…and thy household!  And, that same night, although I didn’t yet know what it meant to be led by the Holy Spirit, but, totally confident that it was the right thing to do, I tossed all of my pills.  It didn’t eliminate my symptoms, but it was a terrific change in my life since I no longer felt groggy and nauseous all the time. During those years, I was tested for and diagnosed with epilepsy, a brain tumor and classic migraines,  all incorrect, but, once again, with the knowledge and technology available at that time, very common.  There just wasn’t that much information available on auto-immune diseases.

Almost 20 years later, with our children grown, educated and gone, we sold our business and our home and began looking for a new lifestyle.  Our youngest daughter had just been hired for “THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA”, so we moved to Toronto, Canada, to be doting fans.  Toronto was important in my M/S evolution because Toronto, being the M/S capitol of the world, has a huge number of patients that make a tremenduous financial impact on their system of socialized medicine.  Consequently, M/S is a high priority resulting in more specialists, advanced research, diagnosis, technology and treatment. I profited from this interest and system by being introduced to specialists in the field and also to the advanced diagnostic success of the MRI.  However, even though the results of my tests ranged from “severe neurological impairment” to “positive” for M/S, they didn’t want to spend Canadian resources on an American, making any follow-up impossible.

Even more important than this medical breakthrough, was a book my husband found in the Toronto library.  It was written by a Scottish physician who had had M/S for ten years so he not only wrote from a medical perspective, but also from an experiencial one.  I wept all the way through it as I read symptom after symptom so similar to my own; it was like reading my journal.  The second time through, I highlighted 30 symptoms exactly like mine, which made me think, as classic as I was, why had diagnosis been so difficult?  One very important bit of information  that he confirmed was the effects of extreme temperatures on M/S, something I had always  experienced, but hadn’t understood.  Hot baths were no longer my luxury getaways.  His book, the MRI, the doctor’s input all gave a name to my health problems and helped my family and me have more understanding, but my health was still an issue.

Our Canadian stay was ended by our daughter’s cancer scare and a need for us to be with her in Denver, Colorado, which ironically, is the M/S capitol of the U.S.  Because of Canada not wanting to spend money on a non-citizen, I was unable to get any records from them so the M/S Center, in Denver, repeated my tests with somewhat similar conclusions. However, at this time, the director had embezzled a few million dollars from the center, causing mass confusion and severely reduced resources, so assistance was only offered to the most severe cases, and I wasn’t considered one of them, so I returned to the regular medical staff for support. I have requested my records from the M/S Center and will, hopefully, be successful in retrieving them.

And now, Denver climate reared its ugly head and I spent the next two years in bed.  Frequent trips to the hospital emergency room, in-home- health care workers, doctor and insurance chats and 911 calls became common.  I had more and more trouble with seizures which didn’t fit either the M/S or the seizure profile.  I was told M/S patients didn’t have seizures and “almost no-one” had Jacksonian Seizures, which are seizures that began in my big toe and raced up my body.(Like Andy Jackson’s march to Washington D.C….hence, the name).  Therefore, they were obviously “in my head” and probably the results of empty-nest syndrome, blah, blah, blah… The closest they would come to ascribing “medical” to it was the possibility that I was having a reaction to moving to an altitude of 9,000 ft, and that I needed time to adjust to this change  Not too long after this, I received a brochure in the mail from the M/S Society informing me about a support group, especially for M/S patients with seizures, being formed in my area.  “Was I interested?”  Bit by bit, as new research and information emerges, there has been vindication, not only for me and my symptoms, but for so many who have had the same confusing experiences with far more severe disability than my own.

In spite of these difficulties, God brought a wonderful help during this time.  Montel Williams, a talk show host, had suffered with odd symptom very similar to M/S for 20 years, but, even though he had had the world’s two top experts in the field testing him, they could come to no conclusions.  In fact, they had stood, one on each side of him, fighting over the “Yes”, “No” question.  He decided, whatever the diagnosis, to begin living a life with an M/S regimen, financing research, making help available free of cost to everyone with limited funds suspected of having M/S, and devoting one program a month exclusively to M/S. I’ll always believe God led him to use his clout to turn his illness into good for so many people…including me.

We now come to 2003, 45 years after my first episode.  I shuffle when I walk, I fall off of curbs, my strength is nil, and while I have not been declared “legally” blind, according to my opthamologist,  who is treating me for optical neuritis (quivering eyeballs), I fit the criteria and should be.  When I became a Christian, I was taught to read the Bible in great gulps, but as my eyes faded, I could read less and less…just when I needed it most.  One day, unable to read more than a line or two, I began to cry with discouragement and frustration, when the Lord said to me,  “When you could read large amounts of My Word, it was a good thing because it was profitable for you, but now every word you read is precious to Me…because of the cost”.  I’ve never cried over such things again and am often overwhelmed with the knowledge that my efforts are precious to Him.

Back to 2003:  Our daughter, Whitney, had started a company in Los Angeles and asked me if I could give her a hand: sharpening pencils, answering telephones, etc., for a few weeks.  I arrived in L.A. in October, the weather was moderate and I felt better so Whitney took me to a church she had found.  It was Christ Church, a huge historic place on the Wilshire corridor that once served l500 people, had a TV ministry and a large outreach to the community.  However, when the pastor died, the church diminished in size until it now had only about 100 frail, older people, even though the pastor faithfully preached God’s word and his wife was beautifully anointed when she sang. The presence of God was strong and wonderful and I felt like I had come home.  The church scheduled one Sunday a month for a social, one for missions, one for communion and one for healing.  The one healing service we had seen was very sweet with the pastor anointing the people who had come forward and praying for their healing.  There was an especially ill woman, named Joyce, who badly needed healing and was believing God for it.  Her suffering really touched Whitney and me and, although we had stayed in our seats, watching everything from half way back in the church, we felt the presence of God and prayed for her at the same time the pastor did. 

My testimony had always been how God had sustained me during all those demanding years. I had had four children, been the subject of studies, and had very little confirmation or encouragement from the medical community, but, since becoming a Christian, I realized how God had seen me through it all.  I truly learned about those “everlasting arms” that never let you go all of the way down.  However, on December 7, 2003, our second healing service, He had something different in mind.  As before, everyone went forward. I was disappointed to see that Joyce wasn’t there to be prayed for, but I began to pray that she would be there”next time”.  Suddenly, I felt something I can only describe as an explosion within me, and God, very emphatically, said,  “What about YOU and what about TODAY!”(It’s so easy to believe for “someone, something, someday”).  Without any thought, I jumped, (the first miracle), to my feet and told Whitney, “I’m going to be healed!”.  Without a second of hesitation, we both ran, (the second miracle), down the aisle.  The pastor told me to raise my arms and praise the Lord and I told him I couldn’t raise my arms because of M/S but I did love the Lord.  My back was to the congregation, and according to them, as he anointed me with oil, my arms slowly began to raise and I stood with them in the air for 20 minutes.  When I opened my eyes, I saw his Bible (quite small) lying on the altar, I picked it up, turned around, and with mascara streaming black streaks down my face and blouse and eyes red and burning from crying, I began to effortlessly read for the first time in 20 years.  Everyone was curious about what was going on, and the next Sunday, even though I had to return to Denver, Whitney was able to testify from the pulpit about this incredible thing God had done. The rest of the day was spent crying, praying, and telephoning my family and friends; everyone who had been so kind and helpful to me for the past 45years.  My children had never known me well, every telephone call from my family had always began, “How’s Mom?” and every occasion was limited by my ability to participate.  My unsaved grandson, who had loaded me into an ambulance more than once, wept when I told him.  He knew there was a God and that he had done an amazing thing.  The first day finally ended when Whitney had to go to bed to sleep off a headache, no doubt brought on by me enthusiastically reading all the closed captions on the TV.  What a day!

It has now been almost two years since God healed me.  There have been more amazing discoveries in this new life than I could possibly tell – I can even open a jar of pickles!  There have also been a few disappointments, especially from those who say, “God doesn’t do that anymore”.  I’m living proof that He does, and that He wants to do so much more. Those who are ill or those who pray for the sick need to know He is the same Healer today as He was when He walked in person touching,  healing and even restoring life.  This should be a Christian’s expectation, not their stumbling block.  I can never begin to praise and thank Him enough for doing this miracle, not only for me, but for my family and friends, and for everyone who hears this testimony and believes.  It is an encouragement we all need.  I am 70 years old and not in perfect health, but I don’t have M/S ..tell me, how can I thank Him?

--Mary Farmer