The Miracle

The year my daughter Emma entered high school, she decided to join the popular South Western Marching Band.  She made this decision for two reasons.  The first:  friends she had since the fifth grade would also be in the marching band.  The kind of friends you do everything with--sleepovers, share your hopes and dreams, hang out with outside of school, etc..  The second: the marching band took elaborate, exciting trips each year.  Trips that would make a lifetime of wonderful memories shared with best friends.

That first year, the trip would turn out to be the most exciting of all the trips she experienced in high school.  The band was going to ride to Florida on a bus, take a three day cruise to the Bahamas, and spend two full days at Universal Studios.

 The excitement and preparation for a trip that wouldn’t happen till spring began at the beginning of the school year.  The girls had their cabin mates all lined up by October and anxiously awaited April.  I scrimped and saved every penny to make the payments for such an expensive trip—knowing that to miss out on such an event (when all her friends were going) would have been detrimental to a fourteen year old girl. 

Something else happened the beginning of that school year--Emma kept getting sick.  She would have these bouts of painful nausea that would last for several days and then she'd be fine again.  As spring approached, the flu-like symptoms increased.  We made several trips to the doctors and kept getting a diagnosis of "acid reflux".  However, my gut kept telling me the diagnosis was wrong.

Week after week, I watched Emma suffer from the strange illness.  Often times, I had to run and pick her up in the middle of the night at a sleepover because she became sick again.  Each time, we would return to the doctor, hear the same diagnosis, and try a new medicine.

The Friday before Emma was to leave for her marching band trip (the following Thursday) she became very ill.  The pain was excruciating; she was doubled over the entire weekend and couldn’t get out of bed.  I kept calling the doctor’s office asking if I should take her to the hospital.  They told me I’d be wasting my time—it would pass just as it had before, “just increase the meds” the doctor insisted. 

I decided to call the priesthood from my church and have them give my daughter a blessing.  Priesthood blessings for the sick are common in my religious beliefs.

The missionaries from my church came over, lay their hands upon my daughter’s slumped over head, and blessed her that she would seek the proper medical attention needed, AND, that she would indeed go on her school trip the following Thursday.  This was Saturday night.  The possibility that Emma would be well enough to board a twenty hour bus trip in a few days, well, that seemed impossible.

The following morning (Sunday—4 days left till the trip) I took Emma to the ER—tired of listening to the doctors and knowing in my gut that they were wrong.  It only took five minutes after a blood test for the ER doctor to return and explain that Emma had pancreatitis—a life threatening illness. She had to have surgery NOW. 

I saw the look on Emma’s face right away.  I knew exactly what she was thinking:  “but mom, I’m leaving in four days for the trip of a lifetime, a trip that we worked all year to go on, please fix this!  I can’t miss it!”  It was as if we were communicating telepathically.  I anxiously explained to the doctor our situation—hoping he’d give us meds and let us wait till she returned for the surgery—but he was adamant, the surgery could not wait.

Emma was moved to a private room where we awaited the arrival of the surgeon—Dr. Horn—who was going to schedule the procedure and perform the surgery.  The nurses were all aware of the fact that Emma wanted to leave for her trip on Thursday and kept instructing me to explain to her that she would not be going.

But how could I?  How could I explain to a fourteen year old girl that she was going to miss out on a trip that was so important to her—she had waited months with anticipation; how could I explain that all her friends would be leaving in a few days and she would be left behind. 

My heart was laden with grief and so I turned to my Heavenly Father for help.  I knew He would understand how important this trip was to my daughter.  Emma had faith. She kept reminding me of the missionaries’ blessing and how they stated she would go on her trip.  But I lacked faith—I was sure that would never happen, and the nurses and doctors kept confirming it.

I prayed all day for my daughter.  I poured out my heart to the Lord, explaining how important this band trip was to Emma, how her heart would be broken if she missed out on it.  I knew that a loving Father in Heaven would understand. 

Her room was quiet most of the day—the surgeon never made it in to see us; the nurses assured me he’d be in the following morning.  I cried a lot that evening.  I would go into her bathroom, get down on my knees, and cry out to my Heavenly Father for help and comfort.  I didn’t sleep at all that night; I kneeled beside my tiny cot in her room and quietly prayed as she slept.

The surgeon did not come in till noon the following day (3 days left).  He examined Emma and informed us that he would be able to perform the surgery on Thursday (the day the bus was leaving).  He saw the look on our face and heard the sighs of anguish.  After we explained our disappointment, he seemed sympathetic to our situation; however, he went on to state emphatically that surgery any sooner than Thursday was impossible.  The hospital had a list of patients ahead of Emma who needed surgery, and, he had a long list of his own patients that were waiting to be seen at his office the next two days.  Thursday was the date. 

After he left, Emma kept insisting that she was going on the trip—she constantly reminded me of the blessing.  The nurses thought she was being silly and ridiculous to even think such a thing was possible. 

Tuesday morning arrived (2 days left) and I decided to leave the hospital for a few hours to take care of some much needed business.  I continued my prayers, but my faith was lacking.  Shortly after I left the hospital, Emma called me.  Her voice was frantic.  “Get back to the hospital Mom!”  She yelled into the other end of the phone. “They’re taking me down to surgery!”

I rushed back to the hospital in a state of confusion.  When I arrived Emma was already prepped for surgery.  Dr. Horn explained that he had cancelled all of his patient visits for that day and that the operating scheduled was moved around so they could fit Emma in.  “I can’t think of a better place to recuperate from surgery than a cruise ship,” he added with a wink.  Later, Emma told me that as the anesthesiologist was preparing her for sleep, she heard him whisper in her ear, “You’re going to the Bahamas Emma!”

Emma did go on that cruise ship.  She slept most of the twenty hours or so on the bus and rested most of the first day on the boat by the pool.  She played along with the band at every event on that trip.  One week to the day of her surgery, I proudly stood on the sidelines and watched my daughter march through Universal Studios with the South Western Marching Band.  Tears of joy streamed down my cheeks as she went by.  I knew that I was witnessing a true miracle—a tender mercy from the Lord for my daughter.

I learned a lot from that experience.  I learned to have faith when things seem impossible and when those around you keep insisting they are impossible.  I learned that my Heavenly Father understands fourteen year old girls and what is important to them.  I learned that HE knows who we are personally; he loves each of us, and wants his children to be happy.   Mostly, I learned that miracles still happen.

Emma was able to go on all the band trips through high school.  She went to Niagara Falls, Colorado, and to fun amusement parks in Ohio.  She had a great time with her best friends and made incredible memories on all of them.  However, none would be as memorable as the cruise ship she went on in the ninth grade.  After all, that one was a gift from God.

Emma marching through Universal Studios

                                 © August 3, 2012  

                                   More on Priesthood blessings: http://www.lds.org/ldsorg/v/index.jsp?autoplay=true&index=3&locale=0&sourceId=b8096fb9634a5210VgnVCM100000176f620a____&vgnextoid=bd163ca6e9aa3210VgnVCM1000003a94610aRCRD