by Nora Miller
I was thirty-nine years old when I found out that I was pregnant for the first time in my life. My husband and I had tried for sixteen years to have a child. We had tried every medical way to have one but to no avail; we finally accomplished it with spiritual intervention.
My mother-in-law always told my husband that when someone very close to you died, a baby would be born to replace that person. She passed away in August, 1996 and I found out I was six weeks pregnant on the weekend after Mother’s day, May 1997. That alone was a miracle. God answered my prayers and on December 31, I delivered a healthy baby boy.
Three days after, I woke up early one morning spiking a fever of 105 degrees. For a month doctors tried to figure out what was causing the fevers. They were getting no where; my health was slowly deteriorating. After two hospital stays the doctor could not determine, what was causing my problems. Finally, one of our nurses told my husband to seek a second opinion. She told my husband, “your wife is going to die if you don’t.”
We then proceed to go see another doctor and I was sent to the third hospital. A minor operation was done to view my internal organs. That Saturday night after minor surgery, the doctor told me he had a team of doctors on call for Sunday. He wanted to go back in and if he had to, he would remove my uterus. I told him I wanted to have more children. He told me ‘just pray that the surgery would be successful.’ He explained to us that I was going to die if they did not operate soon.
That night after my husband left I cried. I was in awe. I could not believe that my God would finally give me a child after sixteen years of trying and not let me raise it. After a good cry I finally told God if its your will to take me then do so but please take care of my husband and new baby. I know that night I was not alone in that room. I know He was there holding me. I didn’t see Him but I felt His presence with me. By the time I went to sleep I was calm. I decided I would leave it up to God to do what He need to do with me.
During the surgery (that was suppose to be only four hours, but lasted six hours), the main doctor came out to talk to my husband. He advised him that if I had any immediate family outside the state to call them and come to my bedside. They didn’t think I was not going to make it. The doctor said I had a lot of damage and that it would take an act of God for me to pull through this.
Finally after three days intensive care I finally woke up around three o’clock in the afternoon. My husband and my father were by my bedside with me. It took a few months for my physical recovery, but mentally, I am still recovering.
I give thanks to God for letting me live; I will never forget that night in the hospital room just before surgery. I felt God’s presence, and He was with all of us in that operating room. My son and my husband were both baptized on Easter that same year.
Right now my son is six years old and I have had him enrolled in Catholic school since he was three years old. I am very grateful to my God for giving me back my life and for my wonderful family.