Posts Tagged ‘hospital’

How the Money Multiplied

Monday, March 19th, 2018

how-the-money-multiplied

“Why don’t you go home?” my friend from Honduras asked when she saw my eyes drooping as I sat by her bed in the hospital room. I had been by her side for almost a week following her surgery. I decided I needed a nap, and I told her I would be back early the next day to translate the doctor’s instructions before she was released from the hospital.

As I drove away, before getting onto the freeway I saw a bum looking towards the traffic with agony. Normally I feel nothing for bums, but this time I had supernatural compassion from Jesus. I’m not sure how I knew, but I saw that the agony in his soul was real. I couldn’t stop because of the green light and the traffic, so I merged onto the on-ramp to the freeway.

“Why did You give me supernatural compassion for a bum that I couldn’t do anything about?” I asked God, praying for the man, that he would know Christ and that he would once again be a productive member of society. I prayed that God would remove his agony. Then I asked God if I could see him again, and would He tell me what I could do for him.

The next morning while I drove to the hospital, lo and behold, I saw the same bum on the side of the road. I quickly grabbed $20 out of my wallet, rolled the window down, and drew his attention. He came over and received the $20. Then I reached out my hand towards him, and he looked perplexed. He took my hand, and I felt my face shining with Jesus. I cried out, “Jesus loves you!” My heart broke as I smiled at him, and I felt power going out of my hand and into the bum, and he received the love of God coming out of me.

That one moment was frozen in time.

Suddenly he realized the light was going to change and he didn’t want to get run over, so he let go of my hand and hobbled across the street. He was covered in dirt from head to toe, and I could see that he had a lower back problem. I asked God, “Would you please count my laying on of hands for his healing?” I knew that when the power of God went out of me, it felt the same as when I lay hands for healing and deliverance, so something supernatural had already occurred. I had been fasting that day by accident because I didn’t have time to eat before realizing I would miss the doctor’s instructions if I didn’t leave immediately. I determined to go ahead and make it a real fast and dedicated it to the physical healing of the bum.

Entering the hospital room, I told my friend about the bum. The doctor came and gave instructions. The nurse told me we could pick up the medication in the hospital pharmacy. Realizing that there was no one to pay for the medication (my Honduras friend has no money), I went down to my car to get my wallet. I looked inside to see how much cash I had. I despise credit cards, so I buy groceries with cash at a store that only takes cash and has lower-priced foods.

I saw that I had two $20 bills left, and I prayed that it would be enough to pay for her medication. I clearly saw that my wallet was empty except for the two $20 bills that I squeaked in my hands to make sure there was nothing behind them. This is the clearest multiplication miracle I’ve ever seen. My money has multiplied itself before, but I always thought there might have been a rational explanation; that I had counted wrong or whatever.

When I got to the hospital pharmacy to pay for the medication, it was $35. I was overjoyed that I had enough. I opened my wallet, and suddenly there were three $20 bills!

When I got back up to my friend’s hospital room, she was drooping her head because she didn’t want me to have to pay for her medication, after all the time I had spent beside her bed for the past week. I eagerly told her that God paid for her medication by doing a miracle! I jumped up and down while I told her what happened, how the money multiplied itself, and her jaw dropped. And I still had $25 for groceries left over!

We laughed as we marveled at God in awe…

Rachel’s Surgery

Wednesday, January 14th, 2015

rachel's-surgeryI’m relieved that Rachel’s surgery is over and that we will not be needing a coffin or a wheelchair.

For those of you reading this for the first time, you can read here about how I handled the news of how serious the spinal surgery was going to be. Bone would have to be removed from her spinal column permanently to open up the spine itself and remove a lump that had been growing since birth. The lump was fused to her spinal nerves. If she didn’t get surgery now, by the time we noticed anything wrong with our daughter, it would be too late. So we made the decision to get the surgery.

Rachel has always had a strong and confident character. She’s 9 years old, and she has three older brothers. She loves cracking jokes. Before she left to the hospital on the day of the surgery, she struck a pose and said to her brothers, “Farewell, cold, cruel world! I’m off to meet my doom!”

When we arrived at the hospital, they put us in a pre-op room. Our pastor, worship leader, and another elder of our church came and chatted with us for several hours while we were waiting. I’m so grateful that they were there because it made the time pass faster, and they were able to pray with her.

pre-op

“Even if the worst happens, you will be with Jesus, and that will be wonderful!” I said to her. She answered, “But Mom, I still have to tell Kendra more about Jesus.” It was as if she was saying, “I’m not done with my work on this earth.” She regularly would teach the neighbor girl Bible stories.

They hooked her up to an IV, and even though she had been cheerfully cracking jokes while waiting for surgery, the moment they started wheeling her away, I saw sheer terror in her eyes. It was hard for me.

Then it was just a lot of waiting.

My husband’s parents arrived as well as some members of our church. We chatted in the cafeteria, waiting for the long surgery to be over. We were initially told that the surgery would last four hours, but on the day of the surgery, they said it would be three hours.

We waited.

surgery-2

Finally the surgery was over, and she was in the ICU. My dad took the picture that you see at the top of this post. I didn’t take pictures because I didn’t want to remember it. In fact, I had to look away because I didn’t want to have nightmares of her on the breathing tube.

My husband Alan didn’t sleep the night before the surgery. People must have been praying for me because I had a full night’s sleep, miraculously better than I’d had in the exhausting months preceding the surgery. Alan refused to go home to get some sleep because he had promised Rachel that he would be there when she woke up.

There were black circles under his eyes. He was an emotional wreck every time she became semi-conscious and tried to tear the tubes out of her face. We had to calm her down, and she obeyed everything we said. The nurse had her move one foot, then the other. Finding out she was not paralyzed was a huge relief!

I decided that I needed to stay with Alan so that he could endure the night. My mom and Alan’s mom both agreed that I should stay. So Alan and I each sat on opposite sides of Rachel’s bed, hearing the beep…beep…beep… of her heart rate and the steady, regular noise of the breathing machine.

breathing-tube

Looking across the bed to Alan’s face, I saw relief. We were both so glad that the surgery had gone well and that she could still feel her legs.

One time when Alan was alone with Rachel and she was semi-conscious, she made a motion with her hands for prayer and pointed upwards. She was asking her daddy to pray for her. She couldn’t speak because she had the breathing tube rammed down her throat.

Her stomach had to be pumped.

It was a long night. There was a room with a bed in it down the hall, and we tried to take turns sleeping, but it was difficult to do. Finally light dawned and I texted my mom to come. She said she could take a long shift, and that we should both go home and get some sleep.

Alan and I took turns for four days. I was there during the days and Alan was there during the nights. It was emotionally and physically exhausting. We had to help her turn over in her bed at first, which was easier for Alan than for me. When Rachel cried in pain at something I did to turn her over, it was hard.

The nurse asked if she wanted to listen to music, and what kind of music did she like. She said, “I like Christian music. Are you a Christian?” The nurse laughed, said yes, and that she was a little evangelist!

The breathing tube was taken out on the second day, and the catheter was taken out on the third day. That third day was the hardest for me because Rachel was in despair that her body would never work properly again, to go to the bathroom, etc. She wasn’t supposed to cry because of the pressure on the spine, so I had to continuously be cheering her up.

surgery-recuperation

She walked briefly on the third day. The first time she was so wobbly and dizzy. The second time she hardly needed any help. The third time she was walking on her own. Later in the afternoon the physical therapist had her walk down the hallway. She did well but needed pain killer afterwards. The physical therapist said she did not need any more therapy.

We were released on the fourth day. The surgery was on Thursday and we were released on Monday. She walked to the car. When she got home, she was even able to climb stairs!

I’m just so grateful to God for how well the surgery went. My sister is flying in tomorrow and will be with us for 10 days. Rachel gets her stitches out 10 days from the surgery date. She is not allowed to twist her back, run, or jump, all things that she normally does. Thank you to everyone who brought food, visited, or prayed for us!

 

“I’m Taking Your Baby Away!”

Thursday, March 29th, 2012

taking-your-baby-awayWhen my third baby was born, he was healthy and perfect. He nursed really well, better than my other babies at birth. I brought him home, but soon I noticed that he occasionally sounded like he was gasping for air. It was so minor that it was almost imperceptible. My first two babies had never done this, though, and I didn’t want to take any chances. So we decided to take the 3-day-old baby to the hospital. My husband and I regret that decision. We had no idea that hospitals can threaten to take your baby away and even create something like a hostage situation.

My baby was given lots of tests, then was hooked up to wires for the night. A mattress (more like heavy springs with a cloth over it) was thrown onto the floor for me to sleep on. I’m not sure why there wasn’t some kind of bed for a nursing mother to stay with her infant. Every time my baby gasped for breath, the monitor did not go off at all. When a nurse happened to be passing by, she looked at my baby gasping as if it was completely normal. All the tests came back that there was nothing wrong. As soon as I knew that my baby was okay, I wanted to go home, but I went ahead and stayed the night.

The next morning I was ready to leave. After all, my baby was fine. But a forceful woman doctor started interrogating me, telling me that my baby could not leave the hospital until he had gained a lot of weight. He was already 8 pounds 12 ounces, totally normal, and my milk hadn’t come in yet, but he was nursing beautifully. She forced me against my will to feed my baby formula after every breastfeeding, and she threatened me that she would not release the baby until he weighed a certain amount that she made up out of her head. When I said, “I think I’ll just take my baby and leave,” she said that she would take my baby away by force.

At this point I felt like I was held hostage. Against my will I fed my baby formula after every feeding. Because of this I started bleeding because the baby would latch on much tighter because of the bottle, plus I always fed him for as long as possible to bring in my milk faster so that this hostage situation could come to an end.

Having just given birth a few days before, I was cramping up and bleeding now from three places, lying on a bed of springs, and every time I went to the bathroom, I got on my knees and begged God for the nightmare to end. (Inside the hospital room, there were windows where every passer-by could look in, so the bathroom was the only place for privacy.) When my husband came to see me, I just sobbed and sobbed and said to please talk to the wicked witch of a doctor if she came in, because everything I said, she twisted. I felt dizzy and just wanted to go home.

I think we were held hostage four entire days before we were allowed to go home. I will NEVER go to the hospital again unless someone in my family is almost dead.

Just yesterday I read an article by Michael Farris of a similar (but worse) situation of another homeschool mom. When I read the article (click here), I was so furious I could hardly see straight. The HSLDA is taking donations for this case, so if you want to stop this kind of idiotic ripping away of our rights as parents over our own children, please support them.

Related Posts with Thumbnails