Simply an Angel

 

Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it. ~Hebrews 13:2

Forty-one years ago, when I discover I'm pregnant with my first child, neither my then husband nor I have jobs with medical insurance.  That's quite the pickle to find oneself in, isn't it?  Fortunately, we are informed that there is pre and post natal care program run by Emory University's Medical School for couples who find themselves in that situation.  The one flat (and affordable) fee we pay covers all check-ups, delivery and ensuing hospital accommodations if required.  That's an offer we can't refuse!

Of course, this program does have its drawbacks.  Each time I go for visit, I can never be sure who my resident/intern doctor will be.  I do see a few more than once, but I can tell there's a rotation happening here.  To a person, though, each professional I see is capable, caring and attentive.  There are several whom I hope I'll have in the delivery room when that time comes.

When I finally do go into labor, I know I'm possibly two to three weeks late.  Seemingly, this never waved a red flag to any of the docs.  Even if I've been warned, I could never have imagined how excruciating the pain is; it's so intense, I feel I'm blacking out between contractions.  Nurses keep coming by to check on my 'progress.'  I'm not making any.  My birth canal refuses to dilate farther than four centimeters.  I can't remember if I was crying.  All my energy is absorbed by the unrelenting agony of labor.

I can hear several voices of the resident doctors debating what they should do; some sound downright argumentative.  With no warning, I hear a woman's voice, authoritative and forceful, resounding in the room.  I'm just able to glance in her direction, and realize in that fateful moment that she is one doctor I've never laid eyes on.

"We have fifteen minutes to get this baby out!"  she barks at the others.  "Move it!  Now!!!"

And move it, they do!  Before I can take two breaths, the anesthetist says, "Are you allergic to anything?"  I can barely nod a 'no' when he jabs me with an epidural in my spine.  Thankfully, it works within the minute, and the curtain is drawn so I can't see the actual procedure.  No more searing pain, just welcomed numbness flooding my lower extremities.  Only pressure on my abdomen as they snatch my distressed baby from the brink of his death.

And mine.

I remain in the hospital for five days, not uncommon at that time for C-section patients.  Every resident who visits me during that stay is one I've seen before.  With one exception.

The 'doctor' who orchestrates the successful delivery.  Surely, I think, she should be the first in that rotation, shouldn't she?  I so want to thank her for everything she knew to do, just in the nick of time.  No other doctor refers to her or discusses my ordeal.  Even though I'm not a believer at this point in my life, I'm convicted in my heart that she must have been an angel.  This divine messenger sent from God out of the depths of His mercy and grace, propels me to actively seek Him.

I've been on that glorious journey ever since.

And if I needed any more convincing?  Her signature on the birth certificate is like a child's, who has proudly learned how to write her name in cursive.  Certainly, not like a hand corrupted by years of taking copious notes in medical school.

A simple name.  A simple script.

Simply, an angel.

Amen!