Everyday Miracles

A Body of Miracles

As a young mother I had a sense there was something different about my newborn son. My own experience of teaching skating to disabled children made this inner sense even more real. It soon became clear Bradley was born with a congenital spine deformity. X-rays revealed that every vertebrae in his spine was malformed, one lung was underdeveloped and the ribs on one side were misshapen and crossed over one another.

And so began many years of visits to doctors and specialists, brace fittings and a strange new vocabulary. From the age of three months he was encased in a brace made of leather and steel in an attempt to keep his spine from shifting. Later he was fitted with plastic braces that went from under his chin to over his hips. He was never out of these braces except to have a bath and my heart would break as I saw the permanent bruising on his shoulder blades, hips and neck. I longed to hold him without having this awkward barrier between us, to just hold him and feel his warmth and snuggle together as mother and son.

The years passed and we dealt with the teasing and hurtful comments at school and in the community. As a result he developed his own sense of humour. He loved to wait until a teacher was about to bend over and then he would quickly pull on one of the Velcro straps that held his brace together. Invariably this would result in the teacher straightening up quickly to see what she had torn. The sparkle in his eyes and his broad smile gave him away every time.

In spite of the efforts to keep the spine in check, it twisted as Bradley grew and bent to one side until it was crushing his heart and lung. Finally, at the age of twelve, we were advised to seek medical help in Minneapolis, Minn. After many consultations and tearful discussions we prepared for surgery.

We arrived in Minneapolis as strangers facing an uncertain future. We did not know that we were now in miracle territory. When we came into the airport terminal, an elderly couple met us and called us by name. They offered us their home, fed us and took us to the hospital. They came to the hospital and sat and prayed all day as the first surgery was completed. After 10 hours of surgery, Bradley was placed on a respirator in the intensive care unit. We did not know if he would survive the night. Doctors had entered his chest and removed one rib and a vertebrae in preparation for a second surgery.

As the week went by, I met many people from this couple's church. They encouraged me, stood at Bradley's bedside and quietly prayed for him. The men of this church not only prayed but demonstrated sacrificial love by rolling up their sleeves and donating blood to replace the blood Brad had lost.

During the second surgery, the team of surgeons removed eight ribs and used them to rebuild his spine, placing two stainless steel rods down either side of his spinal cord. They removed 90 per cent of his shoulder blade and they were able to straighten his spine from a 110-degree curvature to 34 degrees. This made room for his heart and lung to grow. He grew several inches on the operating table. We again waited for his recovery, always aware that he was one breath away from heaven.

During the next month of recuperation visitors came from home at just the right moment to encourage and strengthen. How many times I thought I would break down when suddenly there was a visit or a phone call. The Minneapolis church provided different homes for us to stay in during that summer. Ladies brought cookies, so many that I was going up and down the halls giving them away.

One Sunday school class came to visit and each child had memorized a joke to cheer Bradley up and said a bible verse to comfort him. Following that, one young boy came to visit Brad every day. He gave up his whole summer to be a companion to Brad.

The final home we were in was the home of a missionary doctor who spotted a sliver in Bradley's hand that had become infected. He contacted the surgeon and together they were able to treat the hand. The infection could have spread to the newly grafted bone. Another miracle.

Back home friends had harvested my country garden and put fruit and vegetables in my freezer. As the bills mounted, friends sent in donations and it seemed to be miracle after miracle as our different needs were met. I was humbled and grateful. Another dear friend who was a nurse came and helped with Brad's initial care.

We had no idea what was going on inside Bradley's body. Brad was recovering in a hospital bed at home now and we were required to fly back to Minneapolis for a check up. We were quite unprepared for what happened next.

The doctor put the latest X-rays up. On the screen were outlines of eight new ribs perfectly formed! The Doctor was so amazed he had to turn around and feel Brad's ribs to make sure they were not just shadows on the X-ray. With the wisdom of a twelve-year-old boy, Brad piped up, "Those ribs there, they're made of prayers."

Who could have known that one summer a mother and son would be sent to a large city as total strangers and return home with deep friendships and a brand new set of ribs.

P.S. Brad has grown into a fine young man, way beyond his life expectancy. He is an example of courage and faith and still has his quirky sense of humour. He married a wonderful young woman a year ago and now lives in California.
— Mary McGraw Fox,
Winnipeg, Manitoba

The Power of Positive Thinking

In August of 1994, I was discharged from hospital after major abdominal surgery. I was re-admitted to emergency a few days later. Parts of my body were getting increasingly numb. For two weeks I went through a barrage of tests. A friend who is a nurse visited me every day . He later related to me that at one point there was great concern that I might not recover.

I was discharged in a wheelchair, too weak to even brush my own hair. Yet I was determined not to be "sick." Every morning I crawled out of bed to simulate a normal routine. I would sit looking out my window watching several eagles soaring in the updrafts. I read books by resting on my stomach on the sofa with the book on the floor because I was too weak to hold paperbacks. I quit watching the news because of the negative stories. I stopped having the newspaper delivered for the same reason.

Each day I thanked God for my life. Several times each day between periods of sleep I practised positive imagery, positive thinking, relaxation breathing and chanted that with every breath I took my cells would rejuvenate. After six months I received notice that the loan of my wheelchair from the Red Cross was at an end. Instead of re-renting it, I had my friend return it. I was bound and determined to be able to get around without it. In 1997 an MRI proved that the diagnosis was indeed multiple sclerosis.

Today I am well enough to drive and am involved in volunteer work. I am unable to return to my career as an operating nurse but am pleased that my belief in God and the miracle of belief in healing has occurred.
—Bev