Chapter Twenty-Three
A House Condemned
Then the LORD said to him, “Who had made man’s mouth? Who makes him mute, or deaf, or seeing, or blind? Is it not I, the LORD?” Exodus 4:11
Anne kept a firm grip on her Taurus Judge, trying to remain calm. Her heart was beating out of her chest. She feared for her life—and even more for the lives of her sons. After she had gotten Noah and Aaron into the master bedroom, they helped her move the bed. Once it was tight against the door, the two obeyed her hand motions to crawl under the bed.
Anne braced herself in a small space between the bed and the wall. The bedroom door was right in front of her. She had the phone to her ear—the 911 operator had told her not to shoot. Desperate to keep herself, and her boys, safe, Anne whispered to the operator, “The guy on the other side of the door is jiggling the doorknob, wanting in. I’ll shoot if I have to. No one is going to hurt my boys.”
The doorknob jiggled again.
“Open the damn door!” the intruder yelled.
Anne could hear footsteps up and down the hall in front of her bedroom. The doorknob jiggled, louder this time. She cringed as she heard the intruder swearing, demanding she open the door. Cracking noises sounded as the wood gave way to the pushing from the hallway side.
The sound of sirens. Finally! Anne could hear the intruder running away. She kept the Taurus in her hand. The next voice she heard belonged to the sheriff, identifying himself.
“It’s Sheriff Hillsdale. You can put the gun down now, ma’am.”
Anne gave a sigh of relief as she laid the pistol down and began shaking. Her boys had heard the sheriff, and came out from under the bed, seeking comfort. Anne sat down and pulled them close, thankful none of them had been hurt.
In a few minutes, the three pulled the bed away from the door. The sheriff told them the intruder had gotten away. Once downstairs, Anne stared in disbelief at the broken glass—she had considered the European lock and tilt doors part of the charm of the house. She was certain she knew who had broken in—it was someone who knew Mike was deployed to Djibouti. When he heard the name Anne provided, the sheriff said “Me and my deputies will check this out.”
After the sheriff left, a couple neighbors came by. They knew Mike wasn’t home, and they were concerned for his family. They suggested until repairs were made, it would be best for Anne and the boys to stay in a hotel. She agreed.
“It was long past midnight before I got us settled into a hotel room. I offered a prayer of thanks that nothing worse had happened. The break-in left me feeling violated. Until that night, I had never felt the need to lock doors—the beautiful setting surrounding our house was one of peace and safety.
“But not now. Not anymore.”
The hotel room was cool. Anne shivered. She was tired. She was cold. She felt violated and more vulnerable than she had in a long time. I wish Mike were home, she thought. She glanced at Noah and Aaron. They had been so scared—the look of fear in their eyes would stay with her for a long time. Now they were sleeping, their little chests rising and falling ever so slightly under the covers
“When I got into bed, I couldn’t sleep. When I closed my eyes I again heard the labored breathing of the man on the other side of my bedroom door, yelling for me to open it.”
A week and a half later, the man Anne suspected of breaking into the house was seen in the neighborhood. Deputies questioned him, but he had an air-tight alibi about being in another state the night of the break-in. The woman who shared his home also vouched for him. And even though police determined the man had an assault record in another state, there was nothing they could do.
Once repairs had been made, Anne did her best to put the break-in behind her. She resumed her hectic routine, including house-keeping. Maybe she shouldn’t have tried to keep up with the dust, but she couldn’t abide having a home that didn’t meet her standards.
“Somewhere, deep inside, I knew I was way too involved, way too busy. I was so spun up I couldn’t stop. Too many people depended on me. My boys needed me, and the women at church needed me. Mike needed me when he was home and when he was deployed.”
God Grows Anne’s Faith
“Homeschooling continued taking way too much of my time and energy. And it was taking Noah and Aaron long days to get through lesson plans. I kept thinking there had to be a different way for me to teach, a different way for me to present material so that Aaron, especially, would remember. No matter what I did, nothing seemed to work. Each day my frustration grew. I found myself envying those parents who were continuing to spend a couple hours a day at most homeschooling their kids, while I was putting in overtime hours trying to accomplish the same thing.
“Some mornings, before my boys were awake and after I’d spent time in the Word and in prayer, I’d warm up leftovers from the evening before. Mike and the boys couldn’t understand my eating something other than traditional breakfast food, but food from a day or two earlier always tasted good. While I ate, I’d look at my lesson plans for the day. Is there a different way I can teach this material to make it easier for my boys? I’d ask myself. On those occasions when I did come up with something, it didn’t seem to work any better than what I’d already planned.
“Incorporating ideas from other parents didn’t work, because those ideas were for students for whom learning came easily. I was on my own—on my own, and tired and frustrated that I couldn’t help my boys make better progress.”
Anne blamed herself for not being a better teacher. As a result of her extreme exasperation with the homeschool endeavor, she relied more and more on God to get her through each day. She realized her faith had grown due to her boys’ disabilities.
“One day, God caused me to recall the story of Moses, when He wanted to send him to Pharaoh to help bring the Israelites out of Egypt. Moses was afraid, because he knew his speaking skills were lacking. It wasn’t until Moses realized God had a purpose for him that he was agreeable to God’s plan.
“I began to understand that because his speaking abilities weren’t the best, Moses was forced to rely on God.
“And then it hit me—because my boys had disabilities, God was forcing me to be more dependent on Him. It was God who had created Noah and Aaron just the way they were. Who was I to question Him and His purposes?
“It was God’s business, not mine, if He chose to make Noah dyslexic; it was God’s business, not mine, if He chose to make Aaron have seizures, multiple learning challenges, and memory problems. The more I pondered these things, the more I realized God owns what He does. The same God who had made Moses slow of speech was the God who owned making Noah and Aaron just the way He did, for His purposes.
“I also came to understand God had called me for a special purpose. And in order for me to fulfill the purpose to which He had called me, I would need to be totally dependent on my Creator.
“Those were profound realizations.”
Feeling totally dependent on God, Anne didn’t know to what extent she and Mike would be tested. She kept up a frantic pace of activities, praying herself out of bed in the morning, and praying herself to sleep at night. Along with prayer, she drew strength from reading Scripture.
“I couldn’t understand how people with no faith in God managed during difficult times.”
Mike Returns Home
Mike’s deployment to Djibouti lasted seven months. He came home to an exhausted wife and quickly realized her grueling schedule was the culprit.
“After he’d been home for a few days, Mike offered to help teach our boys. He didn’t know the hours it was taking me each week, but I welcomed his desire.
“Mike chose to work with Aaron first. I saw the look of disbelief on my husband’s face when he realized our youngest didn’t remember something he’d just been told. He tried again—Aaron still couldn’t remember.
“That’s when Mike threw a pencil in the air—it hit the wall behind Aaron. My husband got up from the table, looked at me, and said, “’Anne, I can’t do this. I don’t know how you do it.’” I saw the same look of exasperation on Mike’s face that I knew was so often on my own. That was the last time I’d have his help with homeschooling.”
During waking hours, Anne coped with her frustrations as best she knew how. At times she would escape from the house for a bit and get in a little yard work, take a short hike, or tend a flower bed.
Revealing Pictures
Anne kept feeling worse. The frustration with schooling was one thing; now the fatigue and related symptoms were causing her to also be frustrated with her health. She blamed her self-imposed pace.
A month after Mike returned from Djibouti, her mom came to visit. Anne arranged for family pictures.
“When I saw those pictures, I was shocked at how swollen my face looked. And I noticed my hands were swollen too. Why did that have to happen the day we had photos taken?
“The swelling would occur intermittently, as would varying degrees of fatigue, an occasional cough, and sometimes a headache. Some of the symptoms would last for an hour or two, others for a day or more. Then, I’d have several days where I felt good.
“Three days after my mom left for home, the swelling in my hands was so extreme I couldn’t avoid making a doctor’s appointment. That day, the swelling in my face was minimal, but it was evident.
“My doctor quickly reviewed my medical chart, asked a few questions about my symptoms and how I’d been feeling, and sent me on my way with a prescription for steroids.
Sensing my frustration, he told me the steroids would bring almost immediate relief, and to be sure to follow the instructions for tapering off as I felt better. He was right. I felt better almost immediately. Thankful to feel better, I closely followed the directions for tapering my dosage.”
“I remember one morning in particular, when Mike came downstairs for breakfast. The look on his face puzzled me.
“I thought you were feeling better,” he said.
“Well, yes dear, I am. Why would you make such a comment?” I asked.
“Have you looked in the mirror?” he questioned. “Your face is swollen and there’s a bit of redness. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Well, I thought so, until you just made those comments,” I said, wishing I’d kept the annoyance out of my voice. “I didn’t take time for makeup this morning because I wanted to spend extra time on breakfast for you and the boys.”
I thought that last comment would make Mike happy. Instead, he suggested I again see my doctor.
“Really Mike, why should I? I said, trying to stay calm. “We both know things are just going to keep happening the same—I feel lousy, I take steroids, I feel better, I feel lousy, I take steroids, and then I feel better. We’ve both seen the pattern.”
“But if I’m right,” Mike said, “it’s taking a higher dosage to get you feeling better.”
“I wanted to ignore what my husband had said, but he was right. I was needing higher doses of steroids to get relief from my symptoms.
“There was no logic to what was happening with my body. There were random parts of some days when I felt good. Then, for no obvious reason and with no change in my routine, I’d feel extreme fatigue. Or I’d get a headache, or I’d have an unexpected cough. The symptoms were totally unpredictable, and they were annoying.”
Mike and Anne continued to have conversations about her health. And each time she scheduled an appointment with her doctor, Mike accompanied her. Both sensed they would hear what they had before: take steroids when you need them, and if things change, come see me.
“We tired of the doctor’s comments, and we were aware it was taking more and more steroids to calm my erratic symptoms. When Mike noticed a rash on my face, we scheduled yet another appointment. Blood work was ordered. Earlier blood work had given us no answers—this time the results came back in a category usually indicative of lupus or caner, but with no specifics.
“We were as perplexed as my doctors. Conflicting lab reports added to the mystery. What was going on with me? This yo-yo syndrome of multiple symptoms at the most unexpected times was leaving us feeling discouraged and annoyed.
“And then it happened. After what had been two years of on and off again steroids, my body reacted to the medication. The drugs made me physically ill, with a high fever and off-the-charts headache pain. Mike and I realized things were changing. Neither of us knew what to expect.
“The next night, the impact of the steroids was so powerful I became delirious. Mike told me the next morning that during the night he had found me downstairs, and when he tried to help me up, I began swinging punches at him. He gave me just enough time to get dressed and then he drove me to the emergency room at Bremerton Naval Hospital. There, the doctors suspected meningitis. A rheumatologist was brought in to consult, and immediately he ordered a spinal tap.”
The pressure in Anne’s spine was enormous. Something was terribly wrong. She was admitted for additional tests and care. Test results did rule out lupus, which had been an earlier concern, but there were still more questions than answers. Before releasing Anne, doctors gave her the information she would need to schedule a consult with an allergist. They changed up her medications a bit to help keep symptoms at bay without extreme side effects.
“Like so many times before, I helped Mike pack for a work related trip to California. He expressed concern about being gone during the appointment with the allergist.
“Do you want me to postpone my trip?”he asked.
“No, you go. I’ll be fine,” I reassured him. It’s probably just going to be some skin tests, and we probably won’t have any immediate results.”
Although he was hesitant to leave, Mike departed for another four-day trip to California. Two days later, Anne drove herself to her first allergist appointment. She had been warned there would be long delays between each skin test, so she took her boys along, planning to take advantage of wait times to get some schooling done.
Anne felt good that day, with no facial swelling and no headache. She took an immediate liking to Lori, the nurse who was taking care of her as the tests were being prepared. They talked about their respective haircuts, and then began sharing stories about the challenges and joys of raising children. Their conversation helped Anne relax.
The first skin test was for grasses and pollen. After a thirty minute wait, Lore recorded any localized reactions, and then proceeded to administer a second skin test panel. In half an hour, she logged the same results as for the first test.
A third and final procedure would be repeated for the final skin test panel. Within a few minutes, Anne felt her face swelling, faster than it had ever swelled before. The warm flushing feeling that came over her body was most intense in her face. Her skin began to itch. Her throat felt scratchy.
“Lori, I don’t feel so good,” Anne managed to say.
When Lori turned around, she was surprised at the appearance of Anne’s face. She could hear the hoarseness in Anne’s voice. Lori wasted no time in calling for another staff member and the doctor.
“I remember starting to panic when it felt like someone was pinching my throat shut. I sensed the urgency of several staff members who were moving quickly to administer medication. I couldn’t breathe. My lungs were burning. My throat burned.”
My lungs. My throat. My boys. What’s happening? Am I dead” Where am I?
“I may have lost consciousness, I don’t know. When I woke up I was in a different room, and I saw the allergist and her staff standing beside my bed. I do remember the doctor saying to the others that I was doing better.”
It would take more than an hour for Anne to begin feeling somewhat normal. Gradually, her throat felt only minimally scratchy, her breathing was regular, and she could speak in her usual tone.
Seeing the progress Anne was making, Lori called the emergency contact phone number Anne had listed on her check-in-documents. Mike answered.
“Mike, hi, this is Lori from the allergy clinic. Anne had a bad reaction but she’s doing much better now. She should be ready to go home in a couple hours. Could you pick her up then?”
Mike was caught off guard. Anne knew he was in California. He relayed that to Lori, and said there was no way he could pick Anne up, as he wouldn’t be home until the next day.
“What happened?” Mike asked Lori.
Although Lori could hear the concern in Mike’s voice, she remained calm as he told him his wife had an anaphylactic reaction to the third skin test panel. She went on to say she and the rest of the staff were really surprised as to how serious her reaction was, as well as how quickly it had happened.
“What did she react to?” Mike queried.
“It was something in the mold panel,” Lore replied.
The full impact of Anne’s anaphylactic reaction was unclear at that moment. But that reaction would change the entire course of their lives.
A Surreal Experience
Anne’s allergist wanted to admit her to the hospital, but she adamantly refused. She was feeling better and was desperate to get back home. Her insistence won out.
When Mike got home the following day, he was relieved to find Anne feeling much better. She couldn’t remember how she and her boys had gotten home, but she was able to explain to Mike that the allergist had informed her she had a life-threatening allergy to mold. The preliminary test looked like the Aspergillus mold, but more tests would be needed.
Just then the house phone rang. Mike answered. It was Anne’s allergist, and Mike could hear the concern in her voice. She was insisting their home be tested for mold, and she told Mike to expect an industrial hygienist at the house first thing in the morning.
“When Mike told me what the hygienist had said, we were both stunned. Our house had been custom built, I was meticulous when it came to cleaning, and neither of us had seen any mold. We had never smelled any musty mold odors. We couldn’t imagine a mold problem.
“A mold problem? Not in this house. Not in our home.”
Life Turned Upside Down
As promised, an industrial hygienist was at the Schlegel home early the next morning. When he found a layer of white dust, he wasn’t satisfied, and explained to Mike that mold isn’t always visible. When the specialist popped open the door to the attic access, located directly over a closet in the master bedroom, he had his answer. Both men saw a layer of fine black dust.
“Our lives were immediately turned upside down,” said Mike. “The hygienist said he might have to condemn our house, depending on the extent of the mold. If that happened, we wouldn’t be able to live there. The house was positive for aspergillus mold. We were scared it would be condemned.
“We wouldn’t have known where to start—we were thankful the same hygienist made arrangements for a cleaning company to immediately begin mold remediation, specifying workers were to start in the attic.
“We were beyond overwhelmed. Our top priority was Anne’s health. At the same time, we didn’t know if we would be able to live in our home while the remediation process took place. We didn’t know if the mold situation could be successfully resolved. We didn’t know how severe the situation was. We thought our house might have to be torn down. We didn’t know how soon we would have answers.
“It felt like we were living someone else’s nightmare.”
“We watched,” Mike continued,” as people in white hazard suits, wearing respirators, filled bio-hazard bags with dust and debris from the attic. They filled the same type bags with wallboard and insulation. Would we need to arrange for a hotel room? When the mold experts determined the black dust hadn’t penetrated the wood, and that the surface areas of the house could be cleaned, we breathed a sigh of relief. Our house wouldn’t have to be torn down.”
The workers, all in hazard suits, tore out wallboard and insulation so the wood studs underneath could be thoroughly cleaned. Then they applied a fungicide type paint over the studs; they could do this because the mold hadn’t penetrated into the actual structure of the home. Mike and Anne thanked God when they learned testing indicated the mold was only on the surface in the attic.
Anne’s Health
At the time of Anne’s diagnosis, she had elevated IgE (Immunoglobulin E) markers, she was running a fever, and a lumbar puncture showed pseudo cerebral tumors. A CAT scan revealed the presence of small tumors in her lungs. Her allergy to mold was severe. The specialist who made the diagnosis had never personally seen a case like Anne’s.
“The impact on our lives had just begun,” Anne said. “There was nothing to prepare us for my diagnosis, let alone its severity and implications. Everything in the house that could grow mold had to be removed, replaced, or cleaned. Absolutely everything. A small portion of the house was deemed safe for us to live, but we did so with bare wood floors and no furniture. Floors in the rest of the house had been ripped out; the joists underneath would need cleaned and painted in the same manner as wall studs and ceiling beams.
“Mike continued to work with the industrial hygienist to help make arrangements for all that had to be done. Initially, we could only watch others do the work—anything that could absorb or grow mold had to go. Though we were able to live in our home, we felt like outsiders.
“In a span of less than seventy-two hours I had experienced a near fatal anaphylactic reaction, a significant amount of mold was found in our attic, our bedroom was turned into a sealed off biohazard area, and the contents of our home were being taken to the porch and driveway.
“We quickly learned mold remediation was a huge undertaking, not only physically, but financially. Our house had turned on us. It felt like we were in a never ending whirlwind. But Washington state was where we wanted to live. It was where our church home and our friends were—we loved spending time outdoors, and it was where we wanted to someday retire.
“Finally, the day came when we could begin helping with the remediation process. The job was daunting. Down-stuffed furniture had to go—it would grow mold. All natural fibers in the home had to go. They would grow mold. All the beautiful materials I had so carefully selected and sewn into decorative pillow covers, drapes, and other items, had to go; they too would grow mold. Any wall surfaces that couldn’t be properly remediated had to be covered with a paint product that made it non-porous, because porous surfaces would grow mold. Natural-fabric clothes had to be specially washed; we ended up putting many items in the trash.
“I had trouble holding back tears. All the love, energy, and hard work I had put into sewing and designing custom furnishings to help make our house a home, had to go. It was heartbreaking for all of us.”
The Obvious Question
Anne’s allergy to mold was extreme. Why weren’t Mike and her boys experiencing the same health problems? None of them had developed a mold allergy.
They soon learned several factors had worked together to create the ‘perfect storm’ in Anne’s body. It turned out she had a genetic predisposition to mold allergy.
Along with that, they also learned she’d unknowingly had a prolonged and saturating exposure to mold. The existing granulomas in her lungs were most likely caused from having lived in close proximity to corn fields while growing up in Indiana. Now, in Washington state, Anne had been exposed to mold outside, particularly when handling landscaping material. She couldn’t smell it, but the damp Washington environment allowed mold to not only grow, but to thrive, in mulch. She couldn’t have avoided exposure to mold; the exposure started the minute the family moved into the custom built structure.
Beams had been improperly installed in the house, reducing the effectiveness of air flow in the attic, where mold began to grow. The only ventilation for the attic space was into the master bedroom closet every time an exterior door was opened or closed
A Costly Process
Mike and Anne’s bank account quickly dwindled. Replacing furniture, remediating floor and wall surfaces, switching out decorative baskets for smooth ones, replacing jute rugs, finding another item to exchange every time they turned around it seemed, was adding up fast. The Schlegels were being forced to completely furnish their house a second time. Every surface they treated and every item they replaced, came with a price tag.
To add to the financial bleeding came the usual monthly bills—mortgage payment, car payments, utilities, and insurance payments.
“We were grateful to have health and homeowner’s insurance, certain that with proper documentation, our claims would at least be partially paid. Surely the drain on our financial resources couldn’t last forever.”
Once major remediation of the house was completed, there were still the little things. These weren’t structural, but they mattered. Books and photographs and knick-knacks had to be wiped down with a precise concentration of expensive bleach. If these items weren’t properly treated, the mold could turn and start growing in on itself, making an already bad situation worse.
“Mike would leave for work, and my good friend Cindy Lester would show up to help me. We knew precisely what to do—thanks to the advice from the hygienists who had spent so much time doing initial remediation. We used their explicit written instructions as a guideline. Cindy provided moral support as we worked. Her being there made an unbearable task bearable.”
The cleaning was tedious. Sometimes the two women found themselves in tears, recalling all they had been through. At other times, they could share a laugh and make the task at hand a little less arduous. They treasured their friendship, one brought about and blessed by God.
Correcting a Problem
After mold remediation in the attic was completed, the Schlegels contacted the company that had placed the attic ridge vents. Installers showed up the following afternoon. Upon closer inspection, they realized they hadn’t fully done their job. Due to the roof pitch, none of them had been able to see well enough to determine they needed to cut completely through the full-size beams to install the vents. Recognizing what needed to be done, and aware of Anne’s mold allergy, they quickly made the necessary corrections.
Had the vents been properly installed the first time, the house would have had proper ventilation. Repairmen were also quick to point out the existence of two small spinning vents elsewhere on the roof. They told Mike those vents should be helping to bring in outside air.
“We had reached a point where my health came first. The ridge-vent company wouldn’t reimburse us for any of the remediation costs because there wasn’t any way to know exactly what caused the mold, given that it is so common in the Pacific Northwest. We had taken all the necessary steps to make our home safe. With mold remediation complete and the ridge vents fixed, we looked forward to my health improving and life returning to a state of normalcy.”
In their nightly prayers, Mike and Anne thanked God for bringing them through the latest storm. They asked God to pave the way for insurance claims to be handled quickly, so they could get their finances back on track. Most of all, they thanked God they could now breathe free in their home.
Meanwhile, Satan was working overtime.
***
It was difficult to fathom all the Schlegels had been through. Life changing moments—forever etched into the fabric of their lives. They themselves couldn’t believe all God had brought them through. Their story was just beginning. I wondered what was next.
Scripture quotations are from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version,
copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a division of Good News Publishers.
Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter Twenty-Three