A Treasury of Miracles for Women (6 page)
Jeffrey stood nearby, gazing down at the stone walkway. “Lola, look at this,” he said finally. “I can't believe it.”
He pointed to the walkway where Bonnie was standing. There were drips of water and small pools that had col lected underneath her. But everywhere else the walkway was completely dry. There were no footprints or drips or trails of water leading from any point around the pond to the spot where Bonnie now stood.
“The sidewalk is dry.”
Lola glanced about and her eyes narrowed as she stud ied the walkway that circled the pond. Her husband was right. “Do you think the sun dried it up?” she asked.
Jeffrey shook his head quickly. “No. It's too cold back here. The sun sets toward the west, out in front of the house. It's been shady back here for more than an hour. And Bonnie just got out of the water a moment ago.”
They left Bonnie in the caring hands of her grandmother and studied the circumference of the pond more closely. “Look,” Jeffrey said, pointing to the pond's wide, rounded edges. “There's no way she could have grabbed that side and climbed out by herself.”
Lola saw that the pond's cement sides sloped up from the bottom, making it impossible for a child Bonnie's size to reach the side, let alone grasp it in her small hand. In stantly, Jeffrey and Lola caught each other's glance.
“Remember what the doctor said when Bonnie didn't get hurt by that curtain rod?” Jeffrey asked, his voice nearly a whisper.
Lola nodded.
“Well, I think it's true. Whatever just happened here today was some kind of miracle. God is looking out for our little Bonnie.”
Throughout the evening, the Randalls tried to get their daughter to discuss the incident with them.
“What happened, honey?” Jeffrey would ask, getting down on his knees and staring straight into Bonnie's light green eyes. “Tell Mommy and Daddy how you fell into the pond and how you got out.”
But each time the incident was discussed, Bonnie would cry fiercely. Eventually, the couple decided to drop it. They agreed that Bonnie must have suffered a near drowning and together they thanked God for his protection, asking him to continue to watch over their little girl.
Years passed and Bonnie grew. She had no memory of the fishpond incident but she maintained a desperate fear of water. Eventually she married and moved onto the U.S.Army base where her husband was stationed. During that time she decided there was something she had to do. She contacted the chaplain on the base and told him about her fears.
“I know I could live my whole life hating the water and just do my best to avoid it,” she said. “But I don't like let ting this thing get the better of me. I don't want to be afraid anymore. Can you help me?”
The chaplain settled into his chair and gazed thought fully at the young woman seated across from him.
“When did you first become afraid?” he asked.
“I was a little girl, I guess. I don't really remember.”
The chaplain nodded. “Did you ever have an accident involving water?”
Bonnie thought back. Then she remembered. “Yes! Actually, I don't know if it was an accident or what it was. I was nearly three years old and I couldn't swim and my par ents say I fell into my grandparents' fishpond. I don't re member any of the details.”
A knowing look came across the chaplain's face. “Bon nie,” he said, “I believe if we could help you remember what happened back when you were a little girl, we could understand the problem you have with water.”
Over a series of counseling appointments, the chaplain helped Bonnie drift back through her memory to the day when she had been two-and-a-half and had visited her grandparents' house that Easter Sunday.
Eventually, she was able to describe the scene.
“I was in the backyard,” she said, her eyes glazed over from concentration. “I can see it. There was a big fishpond in the middle of the yard and I walked toward it. Inside were the biggest goldfish I'd ever seen. I wasn't supposed to touch them. Mom and Dad both told me not to touch them. But I wanted so badly to see how they felt, to pet them just once.
“So I leaned over and then all of a sudden I fell into the water.”
Bonnie screamed and covered her eyes, the memory vividly real.
“It's okay, Bonnie,” the chaplain said calmly. “What happened next?”
“I couldn't get out; I was thrashing about and swallowing water. My head was submerged and no one could hear my screams. I was drowning.”
Suddenly Bonnie gasped. “That's what happened! I re member everything now.”
The chaplain leaned forward in his chair. “Go on, Bon nie. What happened then?”
“I was sinking and my arms and legs weren't trying to fight the water anymore. Then suddenly there was a man there above me dressed all in white. He reached into the water and put his hands under my arms. Then he lifted me up and set me down on the walkway.”
“Where did he go then?” the chaplain asked, confused by the young woman's story. Where had the man come from and why was he dressed completely in white?
Bonnie paused a moment, searching the long-ago scene that was unfolding before her eyes. “He disappeared. He just set me down and disappeared.”
Bonnie's eyes came back into focus and she stared at the chaplain. “That's impossible, isn't it, Pastor?”
“What does your father say about the event?”
“Well, he says they were in the front yard of my grand parents' house and heard me screaming. They ran to me and I was standing in the middle of the walkway, dripping wet. They never knew how I got there or how I'd fallen in.”
“Was there anything else?”
Bonnie thought a moment, then she remembered. “Yes! My parents both remember that there were no wet footprints leading from the pond to where I was standing when they found me. There was no water anywhere on the walkway except right underneath me.” Bonnie thought a moment.
“But there must have been some footprints,” she con tinued. “Otherwise how did that man in white get me from the pond to the place where he put me down? You don't think … ?”
The chaplain smiled kindly and settled back into his chair once more. “I'm not sure I can explain it fully, Bon nie, but I do know this. The Bible says God protects us with guardian angels. Your rescuer was dressed all in white and left no footprints on the walkway.
“We'll never know exactly who he was, but in my opin ion God saved your life that afternoon. And a certain guardian angel returned to heaven with wings wet from the water of a goldfish pond.”
W
hen Angie Bauer became pregnant with her fourth child, she and her husband allowed themselves to dream. They had been blessed with three healthy sons: Sean, seven; Bo, five; and Wesley, who had just had his first birthday. The boys were happy children and all had the dark eyes and dark hair of their parents.
“You know what I wish,” Ben Bauer said one evening as he and Angie rested on the living room sofa.
“What?”
Ben placed his hand on his wife's abdomen. “I wish we could have a blonde, blue-eyed little girl. Wouldn't that be something?”
Angie uttered a short laugh. She had dark hair and her husband's hair was even darker. Their boys had Ben's deep brown eyes as well. There were no blond, blue-eyed people in either of their families. “Good luck,” she grinned.
“I know, I know.” Ben pulled Angie closer. “Just dreaming, I guess.”
The first three months of Angie's pregnancy passed by normally. She was busy at home with the boys and Ben continued his work as a special education teacher in Akron, Ohio. Ben's students were mentally handicapped and each held a special place in his heart. Oftentimes he would come home and play with his sons, silently thanking God for their strong and healthy minds. On more than one occasion he had discussed his students with Angie and pondered how they would deal with such a child them selves.
“It would be so hard to see one of my own children go through what my students go through,” Ben would say. “But I know I would love that child the same as any other.”
Angie would agree and they would put the matter out of their minds.
When Angie was four months pregnant, her doctor or dered a routine ultrasound to make sure the baby was de veloping normally. After the test, Angie's doctor ushered her into his office and closed the door. He looked at the re port on his desk and cleared his throat.
“It seems we have a problem,” he said. “Something has shown up on the ultrasound and I'd like you to see a spe cialist.”
“It sounds serious.” Angie shifted uneasily in her chair and searched the doctor's face for information.
He nodded solemnly. “I won't lie to you, Angie. It is se rious. There's something developing at the base of the baby's neck and it looks like cystic hygroma, a rare condition involving fluid buildup in the lymph system.”
“What does that mean for the baby?”
He handed her the name and phone number of a spe cialist in Cleveland, forty miles north of Akron. “Get an appointment with him and see what he says about it. Then we'll go from there.”
A week later, Angie and Ben drove to Cleveland, where technicians performed another, more sophisticated ultrasound on the unborn child. The diagnosis was the same.
“She has cystic hygroma, which is a rare—”
“She?” Ben interrupted.
The doctor glanced at his notes once more. “Uh, yes. It's a girl.”
The couple remained silent but Ben squeezed Angie's hand tightly.
“What I was saying is that this is a very rare condition and almost always life-threatening for the baby.”
He went on to say that the baby's lymph system was not redistributing fluids throughout her body. Instead it was gathering at the base of the skull and developing into fluid sacs that would eventually circle her neck like so many sections of an orange and choke her to death.
“Can you tell how serious her condition is compared to others you've seen?” Angie asked. Tears spilled from her eyes and slid down her cheeks.
“It's very serious. I don't usually see this much fluid buildup until the thirtieth week. I'm afraid she won't live more than a couple months at most.”
“Isn't there anything you can do? Surgery in the womb? Something?” Ben was devastated. Angie was carrying their tiny daughter and now she was being given a death sen tence before she even had a chance to live.
The doctor shook his head sadly. “No, I'm sorry. The only thing I can suggest is to terminate the pregnancy and try getting pregnant again in a few months.”
Angie's eyes grew wide. “You mean abort the baby?”
The doctor nodded. “Mrs. Bauer, your baby will die anyway. It'll be much easier if you go ahead and terminate now. This is the standard recommendation for cystic hy groma. If you carry until the fetus dies, you'll have a long, difficult labor. Fluid will have to be removed from each of the sacs around her neck before she will come through the birth canal. It would be far more traumatic to deliver a dead baby than to terminate the pregnancy now, while the fetus is so small.”
Angie sat up straighter in her chair. “Doctor, you should know something about us.” She stared into her hus band's eyes and saw his love and concern. “We won't abort this baby. If she doesn't survive the pregnancy, then we'll deal with that situation when it comes. But my little girl won't die at my hands. I won't do it.”
The doctor sighed and set his elbows on his desk. “We don't agree with terminating pregnancies, either, Mrs. Bauer. This is a Catholic hospital and it is not our policy to do abortions. However, in this situation, there is absolutely no reason to continue the pregnancy.”
“Tell me this,” Angie said. “If I continue the preg nancy, will I be in any danger?”
“No, none at all.”
“Then I want to continue it. There will be no termination.”
The doctor paused a moment, understanding the cou ple's dilemma. “You must understand that your child has a fatal condition. Continuing the pregnancy will only pro long the suffering of you and your family.”
Ben spoke up. “She has no chance of surviving? None at all?”
Again the doctor sighed. “If by some very slim chance she survived the pregnancy, your wife would have to go through a very long labor where we would be suctioning fluid from the sacs around your daughter's neck. Then as soon as she was born, if she survived the delivery, she would be rushed into surgery so the sacs could be removed and so we could operate on any other organs that might be drowning in fluid. Then, if she still survived, she would be men tally handicapped. This is a condition that often goes along with cystic hygroma in female babies.”
“Then that's the chance we'll take.” Angie stood up and smiled at the doctor through eyes glazed with tears. “Sometimes you have to trust God on these matters, Doc tor.”
They made an appointment for the following month and returned to their car. The drive home was one of the longest in their lives.
“Why us, Ben?” Angie cried. She felt defeated and ex hausted and completely brokenhearted for the tiny child she was carrying.
Ben reached over and held her hand in his. “God has a plan in all this, Angie. We need to pray and have everyone we know pray. God can heal her, honey. You know that.”
Angie nodded, but the tears continued to stream down her face. “I know. But the ultrasound doesn't lie. She has this … this thing growing on her neck and it's going to choke her to death.” She was sobbing now and she buried her head in her hands. “I feel so helpless. Her little body is trying to grow and develop and all the while she's being slowly strangled. And there's nothing we can do to help her.”
Ben's eyes filled with tears and for a while they were both silent, lost in their shared grief. Finally, when they were a few minutes from Akron, Angie took a deep breath and slowly released it.
“It's the saddest I've ever felt about anything,” she said softly. “But you're right. We need to trust God that he has a plan of some kind. At least then he will give us the strength we need to be able to handle the next five months.”
They told their boys about the baby's problem that night before bedtime.
“The baby in Mommy's tummy is a little girl,” Ben explained gently. Angie sat near them, quietly wiping the tears from her cheeks. “But she is very, very sick.”