A Miracle of My Own

         “Miracles are just fables told in the Bible. They aren’t real, or if they did occur in ancient times, they don’t happen any more.” Comments like those swirl through modern conversations. However miracles do happen, even now.

         Over a month ago, I experienced a heart problem. I had an angina attack resulting in a trip to an emergency room. After I was stabilized, the ER doctor told me to visit my family doctor. Two days later I sat in Dr. Evans' office as he made an appointment with a cardiologist. The computerized EKG showed a “not normal” heart beat. I had to carry nitroclycerine with me at all times. In the past month, I experienced two more attacks.

         Nearly two weeks later, I listened to the specialist inform me I had to have a stress test, which was scheduled at the local hospital. I do not like needles or IVs. I never have, and I never will. So when I went in for a chemical stress test, I didn’t want one and dreaded what would happen to me more than I worried about the results. As I lay on that hard table, an IV sending dye into my system, a strange-looking contraption circled around my chest, taking video and still pictures of my heart from different angles. Over three hours in practically the same position doesn’t help arthritis. By the time I left, every spot that could hurt, did. Ouch.

         Two days later, the heart specialist announced that the stress test showed an abnormality in the lower left quadrant of my heart. A heart catheterization would be needed to find the cause. Plus I had pneumonia. What a wonderful time, well, not really. The pneumonia left me weak, fighting to breathe, and miserable. The upcoming cath hung over my head. I turned to prayer and asked for prayer from anyone and everyone who would. Friends and acquaintances who heard about my newest health problems offered their prayers.

         Finally the day arrived for the heart cath, May 20, 2004. I checked into the hospital. The torture started. I have veins that don’t cooperate with needles. The nurses dug and poked and stuck my arms, hands, and wrists. I lay in the bed and cried from the pain. I thought the procedure couldn’t be any worse than the preparation. Two hypos of medicines were inserted to avoid any side effects of the dyes that would be shot into my heart. Two technicians wheeled me to surgery while my husband went to the waiting room next door.

         The preparation took about thirty minutes while the procedure lasted less than twenty minutes. The specialist stood by my head. “Vivian, I don’t know what happened, but there is no sign of any problem with your heart. In fact your blood vessels are clean, completely clean, no plaque build up or anything.” He paused. “Your heart is in excellent shape.”

         I lay on that narrow, hard board of a table while I praised God. I knew what had happened: God had heard and answered prayers. The fact that a woman with lupus, rheumatoid arthritis, and diabetes, which all effect the heart, whose parents and grandparents on both sides suffered from heart problems, who passed her sixtieth birthday, has clean blood vessels and no heart problems is amazing in and of itself. But when a problem, which had shown clearly on a stress test, is gone, miracles do exist. I have my own miracle.