But something else happened on June 2,1984. As I was whisked into the prepared operating room, the doctors readied for surgery. Suddenly, mouths dropped. Hospital staff gaped in shock after discovering the bleeding in my brain had ceased, quite astonishingly, on its own. The pressure within my skull had dissipated. Poof. Gone. There was no need for a craniotomy. “Miracle” was used by the doctor when he broke the news to my parents.
It’s interesting, though; I actually remember one of the moments in the OR – I believe it was actually that gaping moment when the doctors discovered the miracle. I felt God quietly nudge me for the first time. Flashes of white rushed all around me as I laid on the gurney. Peach-colored spheres popped into my view occasionally, mouths moving. I didn’t feel pain in those moments. The stark white lights were bright. Flurries of activity carried on around me, but I don’t recall any sounds. It was quiet in my world, but there was movement in my heart, somewhere deep within. And as quickly as my eyes had opened, I retreated back into the shelter of unconsciousness.
The next time I awoke, I was tucked into a small bed in a plain hospital room, surrounded by my parents. I didn’t understand their emotions at the time, but I realize now how relieved, and perhaps still a little scared, they must have been. Their fervent prayers had been answered how they’d hoped.
A severe concussion, a black eye, a contusion on the top of my right hand and another on my shoulder served as war wounds from the accident. They were also the first visible evidence God has used to try to keep me off two wheels.
Many commented on how “lucky” I was, and perhaps that was true, but I felt something much more powerful that day. There was a current, a palpable connectivity in those fleeting seconds I was awake in the operating room. Something far greater seemed to say, “this is not the end of your story.”
The journey continues tomorrow.
Missed Part I? You can find it here.