WRITE 2 THE HEART
Stories that are aimed "Write 2 the Heart"
December 2, 2003
Cheryl Speir, Editor, moderator@write2theheart.com
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Sometimes we give thanks for more than then the blessings we
receive. Ginger gives thanks for all her blessings, and for the
miracle that was worked in her life.
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Thanksgiving for the Impossible
By Ginger Boda
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The word "Thanksgiving" brings to mind visions of tables
decorated with festive fall colors, and family gatherings filled with
love, laughter, picture taking, and reminiscing about by gone days.
Sometimes, there is a new baby in our midst, a new love that has
blossomed, a new job started, a new home to celebrate, or a
milestone reached. Sometimes, memories are shared of struggles
fought, or the loss of a loved one. Each November seems to mark
another year that has shaped our lives in some distinct way. I
remember back to such a "time of shaping," and an unforgettable
Thanksgiving Day.
It began in September of 1978. After an easy pregnancy, but
difficult forceps delivery, our son was born. I was eager to be a
mom and quite thankful for this little life in my arms. My husband,
Mark, and I had planned on natural childbirth, including soft music
and lights in the delivery room, warm water for the baby after
delivery, and immediate bonding with breast-feeding; but major
problems disrupted our plans. Our son was presenting himself face
up. In those days, a mother-to-be had to hope the infant would turn
over on his own while she lay there hooked up to monitors. In all
the chaos of the emergency, the lights went on, and the basin of
water was pushed aside. As the music stopped, my husband was
kicked out of the room.
The doctor hastily administered a spinal injection, and then
proceeded to pull Jason into the world. When Jason was placed in
my arms, I noticed the scratches on his forehead. I thought that he
was a tough little guy, having survived the squeezing of those metal
prongs. Two months passed as Mark and I relished the experience
of parenting. Thanksgiving was fast approaching, and we looked
forward to our first holiday with our firstborn child.
As I breast-fed Jason on November 20, I began to develop a
headache, so I put Jason down for a nap. Within hours, I was in
extreme pain and found it difficult to bend my neck. By the time
Mark came home from work, I was in dire straits. When my fever
reached 105º, Mark decided to take me to the ER. Some friends
agreed to care for Jason, and reluctantly, I kissed his sleepy little
face goodbye and promised him I'd be home in no time.
As Mark and I traveled to the hospital, every bump in the road sent
pain radiating throughout my back. Once in the emergency room, I
explained to the doctor that I was lactating. I requested something
as natural as possible for the pain, so I could return to my nursing
baby. The doctor didn't say much. After examining me, he left the
room to speak to Mark, privately. In my delirium, I could pick out
words like, "contagious," "specialists," and "life threatening,"
Mark's voice sounded anxious, as he responded with questions.
Returning to my side, the doctor announced that I would not be
going home. He said I that I must be admitted to isolation, as I had
contracted spinal meningitis. "Menewhat?" I retorted, weakly.
"How?"
"Well, we don't know how, and we don't know if it's bacterial or
viral, so we have to take precautions," the doctor responded. "We
will administer antibiotics immediately."
As I was reeling from the pain, my maternal instincts wouldn't
allow me to be separated from my baby. "Who was going to care
for Mark and Jason?" I asked the doctor. I told him that I MUST
get home, but it was useless to argue as my fever was rising.
Visitors to my isolation room were instructed to don gowns and
masks. Friends called to encourage me; but I was so "high," I never
remembered our conversations. Each time the drugs wore off, I
requested a breast pump to keep my milk flowing, for my return
home to my baby. Since Mark had to work, family members
pitched in to help care for Jason. He was slowly getting
accustomed to a bottle, but he cried a lot.
The spinal taps were extremely painful, but necessary as the doctors
tracked my progress. Once the doctors determined that the disease
was viral, the antibiotics were discontinued. They told me that my
body had to fight the illness on its own now, since antibiotics are
ineffective against a virus.
When Thanksgiving Day finally arrived, my family gathered at the
home of my in-laws. As they shared the prepared meal of turkey
with all the trimmings, I lay in my hospital bed. I could feel the
meningitis eat away at my substance. As the disease attacked my
brain's left side, muscles in my right leg began to spasm and
atrophy. I prayed repeatedly for healing and hope. I yearned to be
with my family and hold my sweet baby boy.
Suddenly, I noticed something outside my hospital window. I
focused more intently, and tears formed in my eyes. Outside the
pane of glass, my husband, his sister, and his Mom were holding up
my baby for me to see. My two-month old son peered through the
glass that separated us, and our eyes locked. Determination and
faith rose in my heart. Thankfulness grew as I smiled back at my
child. I knew I would return home soon!
On the 11th day of my hospital stay, another spinal tap was
performed. My right leg had diminished to half its normal size, and
pain continued, but to my doctor's surprise, I was 70% improved,
and could be released. Mark took Jason and me to my brother's
home, so his wife, Sandy, could help me with the baby. I tried to
nurse Jason, but I was no longer lactating.I had been nursing him
the day I went to the hospital, and I worried daily whether or not
Jason might contract the meningitis. Miraculously, he did not.
I will never forget the nurse who spoke to me on a follow up visit.
With pain in her voice, she told me of her husband, who had
contracted the same disease. He had not been as blessed as I was,
for he had been left paralyzed. I was speechless, but gratitude filled
my heart for God's mercy upon me. My doctor concluded that I
was extremely fortunate, yet the prognosis was that I would never
walk without a limp. I remember looking at him and saying, "I
have a little boy and am I going to run with him. I WILL
recover!" I was 24, and the doctors had given up on me, but God
had not. My faith increased daily, as Mark and I began our own
regimen of physical therapy. I could not step out of the tub without
falling or hold my baby unless I was sitting down; but I kept
hearing that old song, "ooh child, things are gonna get easier, ooh
child, things'll get brighter."
It took a year and a half of my dear husband helping me to reach the
goal God had put in my heart. I regained full use of my right leg.
Although the tests showed severe nerve damage to my thigh and
outer calf, my leg returned to the size it was prior to my illness.
The strength in my muscles magnified. By the time Jason was two,
I not only walked without a limp; but I ran as well. Soon, I was
teaching an aerobics class and even won a dance contest! Scar
tissue in my fallopian tube had caused an ectopic pregnancy shortly
after; but all in all, I felt blessed.
With a heart filled with gratitude, I will always remember that
Thanksgiving Day. The world told me I was done, but through the
eyes of a child, God told me I had won. Today, no one would ever
know that I fought such a difficult battle, one November, so long
ago. There are no signs to show the world, except my own heartfelt
words of thanksgiving for the impossible.
Ginger Boda
Rhymerbabe @ aol.com
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Ginger is an award winning author and contributor to various
online publications. Weaving faith, traditions and humor into her
stories and poetry, she strives to lift the spirit and cheer the heart.
One of her stories, The Ring of Love will be featured in the book
entitled Chicken Soup For The Bride's Soul, which will be
released in January 2004. Someof her stories arefound in the
archives of Write2theheart.Ginger lives in Southern California
with her husband and three grown children, Jason, 25; Danny, 22;
and Alisha, 19.
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Letters From Our Readers
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Great Story today. I/We have picked up on the many traditions that
my momma gave us. Thanksgiving/Christmas isn't the same
anymore BUT thanks to her AND my dad, her memory lives on. I
hope the same for my children. I know of one that has. We
ALWAYS had a bowl of chopped apple/grape/pineapple/REAL
WHIPPED CREAM/nuts salad. The salad has changed somewhat
but my Doug in Oklahoma got the bowl when Grammy left this
earth. I know that the family out there has the scrumdidlyumtiout
Pistachio Salad instead of but the tradition lives on. Thanks for the
great true story.
E
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Military Prayer Reminder
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As you read over this list of names, please take that
moment to pray for these young people and their families:
Chris Speir
Tim Speir
Alan
Thaddeaus
Howard
Todd Holland
Graham
William
Julie Sagel
Jessie
Marshal Thompson
Jason
Eric Hernandez
Kristin Danielson
Ken Prieur
Ryan
Jonathan P. Wells
Please continue to pray for our country, our leaders, and our
troops at this time.
If you have loved ones in the military, or who are being
called to go overseas, send their names (first and last
or first only) to be included in our prayer reminder.
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Cheryl's Corner
Three years ago I gave two of my sons the Star Wars Trivial Pursuit
game. Both refused to open it, they were keeping it as a collectable.
Finally Aaron broke down and opened his. He brought it over
Thanksgiving Day for everyone to play. He warned all of his
brothers that they had better make the most of their first turn,
because when it was his turn, he would win.
It didn't quite work out that way; everyone got a second turn. Tim
would start to read a question, and Aaron would answer before the
question was finished. After 15 questions, Tim pretended to be
irritated. "Ok Mr. Know-it-all, since you know everything, answer
this, what is the circumference of Princess Leia's hair?"
Aaron raised his hands to his head and started tracing imaginary
hair trying to figure out the answer. Everyone started laughing so
hard at his gullibility that Chris fell out of his chair and was literally
rolling on the floor with laughter holding his ribs.
Aaron won that night. They got up and played first thing the next
morning. To everyone's surprise, Jeremy won. Of course he had
help from the next generation of Star Wars lovers, four-year-old
Drew and five-year-old Mason.
God Bless,
Cheryl
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