BY: Veronica Shine
To preserve a man alive in the midst of so many chances and hostilities, is as great a miracle as to create him.
Some people are fortunate to have even one miracle in their lifetime. I am truly blessed with not one, but two.
Being a native New Yorker, I, like many others in the "Big Apple," made my career my priority. This can be exciting, not always easy, and occasionally cold and heartless. Working overtime was a regular habit to meet December deadlines. In my industry, fashion, a new line was being created and with spring market week less than a month away, I worked extra hours.
It was getting late one afternoon and the snow was starting to stick. I grabbed my coat and proceeded to my small one-bedroom apartment with work under my arm. I dropped off my handbag and paperwork at home, brushed the snow from my hair, and ran out to the Chinese take-out to get soup for dinner.
On the corner, I waited for the "don't walk" light to change, anticipating warm soup and a long evening of work.
There was very little traffic when the tiresome light finally changed. As I proceeded to the other side of the street, bright lights started racing toward me. I knew that in an instant I would be hit by a car.
A moment later I found myself getting up off the ground.
My first instinct was that the car had stopped and I slipped in the slush. What a relief! But then I realized something was amiss. My glasses were missing. So were my shoes.
Bystanders came running toward me. "Are you all right?" "I called the ambulance."
"I just slipped," I said, picking myself up off the street. "Where are my shoes and glasses?"
One witness motioned to a car parked to the side. "You were hit and your body landed on the hood of that car. Your head smashed the windshield."
I still did not believe I was involved. These people must have been mistaken. The police arrived and insisted that I go to the hospital. None of this made sense to me. Perhaps my body was in shock, but I did not feel any pain and there was no bleeding.
Someone found my mangled shoes... one block away. My glasses were located across the street, contorted like a pretzel. The implications were still not computing. I needed to get something to eat and go home and work.
But the ambulance took me to the hospital. Getting undressed, I found a few black and blue marks on my legs but nothing more. I was poked, prodded and X-rayed. I could walk, nothing was broken and I did not have a concussion. The doctors asked, "Are you sure you were hit?"
"The witnesses and police reports say I was."
As I left the hospital, I reflected that maybe I was saved from an awful fate to have a second chance. Perhaps it was a warning to learn to appreciate the precious moments given to me. I carried that experience as an informative life lesson and never forgot that message.
My life went on with a marriage and then a pregnancy. Like most couples, we were ecstatic. I watched my weight and ate right. In fact my craving turned out to be a healthy choice. I could not get enough fresh spinach.
My tentative due date was June 4th. The obstetrician said I was doing great. In January, I had a sonogram and was delighted to watch our baby bounce, kick and move about within me. The technicians informed me that we were having a boy.
The morning of February 3rd, I felt slightly queasy and noticed some blood. The doctor had seen me a few days before and everything was fine. I called him immediately and he said that this was likely a normal occurrence, but to be on the safe side, I made an appointment for that afternoon.
There the doctor discovered that I had an incompetent cervix. I had to get to the hospital immediately! I would deliver my baby seventeen weeks early. The doctor said sadly, "There is no way to save your baby; it's just too early."
When I arrived at the hospital, I was rushed into a room. My husband arrived within a few minutes and he held my hand as the doctor informed us that we could try to have a baby again in four months.
After I gave birth, our baby was quickly taken to the neonatal ward, alive, weighing 670 grams or one pound, six ounces. With translucent skin and visible organs, he could fit in the palm of my hand. Our baby boy made the neonatal ward his home until June 4th, my original due date. Then we took him home.
My husband and I witnessed his miraculous development each day for four months. He not only survived, but thrived. Today, after fifteen years, he still excels in his endeavors.
I suppose many would say the miracle of medical science saved him. But I believe God saved us both. He gave me that second chance. And I indeed appreciate the precious moments given to me.