Miracle Boy
Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”
The pastor had barely finished reading the verses, Philippians 4:6–7, when my phone rang. I answered, and heard the words in every parent’s worst nightmare.
“Your son has been in a terrible accident. A car hit him head on and catapulted him off his bike into the air. He has multiple lacerations and fractures and is in severe condition. He’s being airlifted to Rhode Island Hospital.”
When I told my husband, Richie, he turned pale and felt numb, but my reaction was different.
What normally would strike fear in a parent’s heart had the opposite effect on me. I felt a strong sense of God’s presence. An incredible peace washed over me.
During the service, I’d been praying for another crisis, regarding my nephew, and afterward we received a text message that he was safe. I felt elated that God had answered our prayers so quickly. When the bad news came about our son, I felt God would do the same for him. I believed it was the perfect opportunity for us to put into practice Philippians 4:9 (another verse we had just heard): “Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you.”
As we drove the three and a half hours to Rhode Island, anxious thoughts tried to assault us. My son’s landlord filled in the details, telling my husband that David had severe head trauma and had lost a lot of blood. His collarbone was sticking out from a huge wound in his neck. “They don’t think he is going to make it,” she said.
A flood of anxiety could have overtaken us, but I still felt an incredible peace. When my husband called the doctor, he informed, “David is in critical condition. Get here as soon as possible.”
God did something miraculous for us that night. He gave us a gift of faith-filled prayer and all-encompassing peace, which helped us to believe Him over the reports we were hearing. We were thankful that our pastor had prayed for us before we left, and we knew many others were praying for our son. Then we prayed in faith, knowing that God loved David more than we did and that He knew what was best for him.
“You’re a healing God!” my husband declared. We believed for a miracle.
When we arrived at the hospital at 2 a.m., we couldn’t find the right building. Finally, a nurse escorted us to the trauma center. Another nurse greeted us and searched for a place where we could sit and discuss the facts and prognosis with the doctor. As we passed one room, we noticed a circle of doctors standing around a patient in a bed with light radiating from it. I peeked in, not knowing it was David. A nurse pulled the curtains shut.
Finally, we were escorted to the consultation room. The doctor started with the positives. David was moving his fingers, he didn’t appear to have brain damage, and there was no internal bleeding.
I felt God had already answered our prayers. Everything would be okay. I asked, “So what’s the problem?”
“He received a major blow to the heart, and we’re concerned it will give out,” the doctor explained. “We’ve given him three different heart medications, but he’s not responding. His blood pressure is dangerously low, hovering around 59/24. He’s not stable enough for exploratory procedures, so the next twenty-four hours will be critical.”
When we walked into the ICU room, the consultants still circled my son’s bed. As we moved to his bedside, the doctors’ eyes fixed on us. Richie asked if we could pray.
“Lord, we trust you. You’re a healing God. You’ve raised people from the dead, and now we’re asking you to heal David. Our confidence is in you! We’re asking for a miracle.”
Since God’s Word tells us to come boldly to the throne of grace, we did just that. We wanted God to shine through this situation. We decided that we wouldn’t let the facts hinder our faith. And one by one we witnessed a series of miracles.
The next morning, David’s blood pressure had stabilized enough so they could put in a balloon pump. I felt encouraged, though later I found out this procedure was considered a last resort. They told us the pump could stay in for up to seventy-two hours to enable David’s heart to work on its own, but he only needed it for twenty-four hours!
Another small miracle. That night, the resident doctor gave us a positive report. My husband told him that many people were praying for David and for us. God’s peace surrounded us like a warm blanket, though there were still more hurdles ahead.
Our once energetic and athletic boy now lay surrounded by tubes and monitors, pale and immobile. He had been in a drug-induced coma for three days and had only briefly opened his eyes to say hi. By Wednesday, he began to talk, though he didn’t remember anything about the accident. It was the first time after the trauma that he ate any food—mashed potatoes. The following day he underwent extensive surgery on his neck and arm.
On the night of the accident, the gash near his collarbone was five inches wide and eight inches long! If paramedics who lived near the scene had not responded quickly, David would have bled to death. We were so thankful God had provided exactly what David needed, and we rejoiced. The surgery was successful.
A week after the accident, David was moved to a regular hospital room. I soon realized the staff there didn’t know much about him. Though strict orders had been given for David to stay in a neck brace, the doctor on that floor ordered it off because David pulled at it. Then they wanted to insert a feeding tube, even after he had begun to eat on his own. My heart took a nose-dive when I saw how they mishandled situations and called him “unresponsive.” I felt that all the gains David made would be lost if we didn’t do something. Once again, we turned to God and the power of prayer.
After these events, we went back to the trauma ICU and explained that we weren’t happy with his current care. The following day, they moved David into a step-down unit. I felt that God had, once again, answered our prayers. Many people had been alerted in our church and around the country and were still praying for him. By then, even the doctors had started calling him the miracle boy. They originally hadn’t expected him to make it through the first night.
Though the facts appeared depressing from the start, God kept giving me hope and comfort. He surrounded me with His awesome peace even when the nurse gave us a disheartening report: David would need three months of rehabilitation and up to a year of around-the-clock in-house care. She read a litany of things David would no longer be able to do, such as feed or clothe himself. At first, I felt confused, but I continued to pray God’s Word.
The resident doctor gave us a very different account. He said David should be back to normal within three to four weeks instead of months. My heart soared.
I remember when David was given permission to get out of his hospital bed and sit in a chair. I remember how excited he was. Instead of just sitting up, he hopped over the rail with his heart monitor and catheter trailing behind. He nearly knocked over all the machinery. It was an exasperating, yet exhilarating, sight.
Soon he was receiving a ton of visitors. David loved it and couldn’t stop talking. He discussed in detail how to put together a complicated bicycle. Every day after that, he gained more and more intellectual and physical ability. God was miraculously answering our prayers, minute by minute.
On the day of David’s release, all the doctors were happy to see their miracle boy walk out the door without a wheelchair. The same nurse who had given us the hopeless news early on, discharged him with tears in her eyes, saying, “I’ve never seen someone who needed an aortic balloon pump walk out of the hospital.”
I didn’t really understand the full extent of that miracle until we visited David’s home, Block Island, a week after his release. People recounted the serious accident, all the blood he lost, and the thirty-second response of the neighbors who just happened to be paramedics. I knew it wasn’t just coincidence. It was God’s provision for David. Throughout this whole ordeal, God spoke to me over and over again about the power of faith, of believing His Word over the facts.
Eight years have passed since his accident, and David is doing well—no rehab for him for the rest of his life! He now has a son, a good job, and a winning smile. He’s heard over and over again that he’s a miracle boy, and I’m praying he’ll realize just how much his life is a living, breathing testimony to God’s healing power.