How Prayer Kept Me Fighting

This blog post is different—it's not just my story, it's a heartfelt request for your prayers as I fight for my life.

For years, I’ve walked a painful path, not just physically but emotionally. I knew something was wrong with my body, but doctor after doctor looked at me like I was crazy. I’ve spent years with medical professionals scratching their heads, telling me I was too young to have heart problems or, worse, that "women don’t have issues like this." They dismissed my symptoms, sometimes outright laughing at me, making me feel like my pain and fear were figments of my imagination. But I knew. I knew something was wrong, and I clung to prayer, trusting that God would guide me—even when the world was telling me otherwise.

A few years ago, when Austin was deployed, I was near death. My body was shutting down, and no one could figure out why. My mom flew to Florida, risking her job, to be by my side, to help me fight. She was my voice when I couldn’t speak for myself. The doctors didn’t believe me, they didn’t believe her, and yet there she was, fighting for my life when I didn’t have the strength to do it myself. I still remember that feeling—the helplessness, the frustration of knowing something was wrong but being told I was too young, too healthy, to be taken seriously.

But I listened. I listened to my body, and more importantly, I listened to God. Through prayer, I found clarity and strength. I knew exactly what I needed. I didn’t have a medical degree, but I had faith—and sometimes, that’s more powerful than any diagnosis. I demanded to see the specialist above the specialist, and though he was unwilling, he agreed to surgery. When they opened me up, they found exactly what I had been saying all along. My intuition, my prayerful persistence, had been right.

It wasn’t the only time I’d been dismissed by a doctor. Two years ago, I had a heart attack, and even then, I was brushed off. The doctor laughed at me. “Are you sure you didn’t just clench your teeth too hard?” he asked. I was sent home before the lab results were even reviewed. But at 2 AM, I woke up and checked my lab results myself—I had a heart attack. I called another doctor on an emergency line and was rushed to another hospital. The pain of being dismissed like that—of knowing something was wrong and not being believed—is something I’ll never forget.

Then when I was diagnosed with dysautonomia and POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome). To make it even more complex, I have a rare subtype of POTS that involves syncope, meaning my heart can stop suddenly, causing me to faint. And of course, because my body loves to surprise me, I seem to always have the rarest, most random complications. Doctor after doctor has passed me off, unable or unwilling to help. There are specialists across the country who are angry about how I’ve been treated, but with Tricare, my options are limited. I’m restricted, boxed in, and it’s hard not to feel powerless.

Yesterday was one of the worst days yet. I collapsed on the floor, my body betraying me once again. My heart was stopping, and I was lying there, helpless, with my phone on FaceTime, my family 26 hours away, trying to keep me awake. They begged me to call an ambulance, but I couldn’t—because we didn’t have a sitter, and I didn’t want to affect Austin’s job. The isolation in that moment, the feeling of being so alone in your pain, is something I can’t put into words. My family, though miles away, was fighting to keep me conscious, but I was alone in that room, knowing my heart might give out again.

It’s terrifying. It’s exhausting. Physically, emotionally, spiritually—this battle has taken its toll. When your heart is stopping multiple times a month, and doctors aren’t listening, it chips away at your soul. You start to wonder if anyone believes you. You start to wonder if even you believe yourself.

But through all of this, there’s been one constant: prayer. My faith has been my anchor when everything else feels like it’s slipping away. When the doctors dismiss me, I turn to God. When I’m collapsed on the floor, my heart failing, I pray. And time after time, God has shown up. He’s reminded me to trust my body, to trust His voice. I don’t have a medical degree, but He’s been guiding me every step of the way.

Prayer is powerful. It’s what has kept me going, kept me fighting, even when I feel like I have nothing left. It’s what kept me alive when doctors didn’t believe me, when they laughed at my pain, when they told me I was crazy. It’s what gives me hope when my body feels like it’s giving up. I know God has a plan in all of this, and though I don’t always understand it, I trust Him. I trust that He’s guiding me, just as He always has.

If you’re struggling, if you’re in pain, if you feel like no one believes you—pray. Listen to your body, but more importantly, listen to God. He’s never wrong. Trust Him, and keep fighting. I am.

And as I approach my second opinion appointment on October 5th, I’m preparing for yet another battle—but this time, I’m not fighting alone. I’m asking for prayer warriors to stand with me, because I believe in the power of prayer, and I believe in the God who hears them. I’m fighting for a dual chamber pacemaker, armed with studies and family history, but most importantly, I’m fighting because of prayer and because of God.

My current doctor has dismissed me, saying I’m too young and cruelly suggesting that the pacemaker won’t make me a “super mom” or give me “miracle energy.” But here’s the thing: I never asked for that. I’m not asking to be a super mom; I’m asking to live. This rare subtype of POTS has been known to cause women like me to collapse and die suddenly, but pacemakers have shown to work. I have a family history of sudden death, and I also have a family history of a dual chamber pacemaker saving a life. I’m not a doctor, but I know in my heart—because God has guided me—that this is what I need to survive.

So I’m begging you to pray with me. Pray for wisdom for the doctors, pray for strength for me, and pray for God’s hand to be in this decision. We know there is power in prayer, especially when we come together in faith. I can’t do this alone, but with God, and with your prayers, I know we can fight this.

Please join me in prayer as I fight for my life.

With love and faith,
Eleanor