I Believe in Miracles

Fifteen years ago, May 25 fell on a beautiful Saturday in the middle of Memorial Day week-end.  It was a day that changed our lives forever.  For once we didn't have hay to bale or cut so the day had been designated yard clean up day.  Our daughter had just finished her freshman year in college and had spent the afternoon alternately cheering on our efforts at pruning and tidying the yard and refereeing the on going battle of who prunes too little and who too much.  As the afternoon waned we closed up the action and went inside to get dressed to go to a charity wine tasting.  After agreeing to return home to see that my father got his supper and was settled for the night, she went to town to retrieve her purse that she had left in a friend's car the night before. 

On the way to town, a distance of about 3 miles, a young man, on his way home from a church retreat, fell asleep, ran off the road, over-corrected and swung back across the road and hit our daughter's car head on.  Now miracles start to happen.  The car following her was driven by a paramedic who worked in Louisville, 60 miles away.  He had decided to go into work an hour early when a job on a steam engine came to a halt for lack of a part.  He was the first one on the wreck and immediately began to triage the accident.  The ambulance arrived but because at that time our county only had EMTs, they could do little other than try to remove her from the crushed vehicle.  Fortunately, the paramedic, Rick, had a IV kit in his car and was able to start a line on her immediately.  Fortunate, because she had a ruptured spleen and was rapidly bleeding out.  He was the one who called for the helicopter and made the decision to take her first to the local hospital and have the helicopter meet them there.  These actions saved her life, because they were able to give her blood and fluids on the way to the trauma center, which kept her alive. 

Upon reaching the trauma center she was rushed immediately into surgery.  We arrived to be met at the door by the hospital chaplain who escorted us to the surgery waiting room.  The only word we had was that she was in surgery and was still alive at that point.  So the waiting began.

You have to love small towns.  News travels fast and before we left to come to the hospital our minister and our lawyer, his brother-in-law, had arranged to drive us.  Both of these young men have proved to be supportive, understanding and comforting friends, both then and later.  As the hours passed the waiting room filled with friends to help us through the long night.  At one point I had to laugh as I looked up and there were three of Leigh Ann's ex-boyfriends, coming together to offer support.  We sat, we prayed and we waited for the next word from the operating room.  Periodically, someone would come out and try to explain her injuries and the procedures they were performing.  Thank goodness, two of the friends with us were  husband and wife veterinarians, who were able to translate the medical picture into understandable words. 

We were finally allowed to see her about 1:00 am.  The young resident led us into the surgery recovery room to a sheeted bed.  I stood staring at the swollen figure unsure of who it was.  A nurse placed an arm over my shoulder and assured us that it was, indeed, our girl.  She proved it by opening her eyes and asking her dad the question every insurance agent's kid knows, "Was it my fault?"  We informed her that it wasn't.  She then proved that she'd listened to my lessons, too, by turning to her uncle and telling him politely, "Thank you so much for coming." and she closed her eyes again.  Those words gave us such relief to know that her brain was certainly alright.

She stayed in the surgery recovery for the next 36 hours because her state was so fragile they were afraid to move her.  She suffered 17 breaks on her left side from her pelvis to her heel, including a broken tibia that had a piece of bone missing.  She also had a ruptured spleen, lacerated liver, and bruised pancreas.  Before she left the hospital 21 days later, she had had six more surgeries.  During the second one they nearly lost her again.  We began to hear the miracle word again and again.

 Once when I was leaving the parking garage I met one of the trauma doctors who had treated her during those first days.  She was now on the orthopedic floor and doing better.  He called out to me and wanted to know how my daughter was doing.  I began to thank him for the wonderful job he and his fellow doctors had done in saving her life.  He looked at me very seriously and said, "You need to go back to your daughter and tell her that she needs to be very, very good because God definitely has a plan for her.  You see, we did everything medically possible to save her and frankly, it wasn't going to be enough.  So it's apparent to me that God has saved her because he has a special plan for her life. " 

It took six years and fourteen surgeries but she recovered.  During the whole process, I never saw her cry, become angry, whine or complain.  She managed the whole situation with humor and grace.  The nurses loved her and the residents would make special visits to her room to entertain her.  She did everything she was asked and then some.  The results were remarkable healing and recovery.  I am in awe of my own child.  Her strength, fortitude, courage, faith, and sunny disposition have made me humble and proud. 

She is now a happily married mother of two (more miracles with a pelvis broken in seven places) who hurries through life with a laugh and a hug.  She is convinced that her life means something important and is sure that God is still working through her. 

I believe in miracles, don't you?