by Allen Hackworth
Wow. What a month. We are at midterm, the end of an eight-week period. For five of the eight weeks, I have had the hardest health struggle of my married life. My problem started because of a motorcycle ride, 130 miles, taken with five other friends. Four of the friends took children, and the group of ten headed for the mountains of Island Park. In the group was Jerry, my brother, and his son, Mark. The day was clear; everything looked beautiful. I enjoyed the ride immensely; however, as the sun lowered in the west, the mountain air became chilled.
All of the other bikers had windshields, but my bike had none. Consequently, I felt the wind chill more than anyone in the group. By the time I reached St. Anthony and stopped at my parent’s home, I felt cold and uncomfortable. But I did not think much about it. Yet after I started from St. Anthony to Rexburg in the dark, I bitterly felt the cold. My body began to shake painfully, and a few miles out of St. Anthony, I knew I was in trouble. Yet I had little choice but to keep going. I suffered greatly in the next fifteen miles. Perhaps foolishly, yet desperately, I pushed my speed up to 85 miles per hour, wanting to get home to a steaming tub of hot water.
The next day, I was seriously ill. And for the next five weeks, I fought a death struggle with pneumonia. Now I am almost better, and I know I will live. I thankful and happy. Many prayers were said by my family members, and I’m most thankful for that. I felt their love. But I am also thankful for antibiotics. They too saved my life.
A particularly hard challenge was keeping my classes going during this period. Although I missed a few classes, I taught many day when I was living in hell. The illness humbled me, and it drew me closer to God. So in that sense, some good came from the experience.