My own little miracle

 

That awful pain    

1984

Heavy set-in rain beats against the side of the grimy old plastic and metal phone booth. Water gushes in filthy streams down the sides. I shiver and try not to breathe in the stink of cigarette smoke and unwashed clothes.

 

Outside the world is grey.  Everywhere I look there’s pouring rain, gloomy skies, bodies huddling under poking umbrellas. Damp people scurry across the puddly road, horns blare irritably. Car headlights splash smudges of light through the driving rain.

 

Everything seems depressing outside – and inside.

Pain nags at my back, drags down my leg. The doctor’s words clang in my mind, over and over. I’ve just come from the appointment. He frowned as he poked and prodded my sore stomach, then called his doctor-wife to prod some more.

 

They disappeared behind a screen, then he emerged, serious-faced. His words shattered my heart. Handing me some forms, he announced, ‘You need to have these tests. I’m sorry to say, you probably have a well-advanced carcinoma.’

 

So now, armed with referrals for scary tests, I huddle in the phone booth and ring my sister. My jaw aches from holding the sobs inside me. The greyness of the world outside has seeped into my heart and mind. My back aches.

‘Please pray for me,’ I shout above the drumming rain.’ I have to get home in this pouring rain and the doctor said I probably have a well-advanced carcinoma.’

My sister sounds shocked but promises to pray.

A car speeds through a puddle near the phone booth, splashing a murky stream of water over the side of the booth. I shiver and fight tears.

But I’ve done it at last. I’ve told someone about it, hoping for help. Hoping for answers that would bring relief. I procrastinated for months – months when I was woken each morning by that heavy, nagging pain in my back and down my leg. Months of being woken in the dark. Each morning I’d look at my watch. Oh no! Only about four o’clock again. That awful pain.

 

So now I face probable cancer. Perhaps a premature death or at least major surgery.

 

The tests

That evening I am at the Holy Spirit Hospital, being told ‘Drink this’ (fleeting thoughts of Alice in Wonderland as I swallow the gluey liquid).  Then I have to lie in a thing like a mini space capsule. My head swims. I try to forget the smallness of the space, as I lie enclosed. Eyes closed, I pray.

My inner voice cries out to God. He is my God, my Lord, my healer. So … surely He will heal me?

 

   

Relief

After a painful delay in a crowded foyer, I receive a bundle of huge X-rays to take home. It is, they tell me, not a carcinoma, just a cyst. There is no need to do anything about it really, they say.

Phew! My life lies ahead of me still. It’s not cancer.

 

That terrible pain.

But the next morning I am woken again by that nagging pain.  I roll over and look at my clock. Four o’clock. Still.

Will God heal it? At least it’s not life-threatening. Am I acting like a spoilt child asking for healing?  But can I live like this?

Until God intervenes with it somehow, I’m stuck with a pain that wakes me like a vicious alarm clock a few hours before I want to get up. A pain that hurts on and off all day.

I cast my sleepy eyes heavenwards. Will God heal it? Or …?

 

That day, I kneel beside my bed and ask God to heal the cyst and the pain it causes. A gentle whisper inside me tells me to ask my pastor and one other person to anoint me with oil and pray for healing. (Currently I live with my pastor and his family.)

I go downstairs to his study. Even walking hurts a bit. One of the church elders is talking to my pastor. They ask me, ‘What’s wrong, Jeanette?’

I explain my dilemma. Then, ‘Would you be happy to anoint me with oil, both of you, and pray for healing?’

Soon I’m sitting down and they’re drawing a gentle cross in oil over my forehead as they pray, ‘Father, in Jesus’ name we ask you to heal this cyst and the pain.’

I stand up, thanking them.

Woohoo! Standing no longer hurts. Nor does walking back upstairs. The pain has gone, just like that. It’s healed!

 

‘You should see a different doctor,’ friends tell me. ‘See what he says about all this.’

So I take my X-rays to a new, reputedly Christian doctor. He frowns his way along the row of pictures of my cyst (prior to healing).

‘God healed me,’ I tell him. ‘The pain’s gone completely.’

He looks thoughtful. A bit dubious.

‘Well you’re one of the lucky ones. But I’d like you to have a scan done to see what’s really going on.’

The scan shows the cyst has shrunk from over three centimetres diameter to the size of a small pea. I am elated. God really is healing it!  At least the pain has totally gone.

The doctor nods his approval. ‘I want you to have another scan in three months.’ 

 After three pain-free months, the next scan shows a pinhead-sized cyst. It is completely disappearing.

 

Now I’m free. I wake to a yellow strip of warmth on my legs as the Brisbane sunshine touches me from between the blinds. Birds twitter and sing. My alarm clock is no longer a dragging pain but sunshine and birdsong. I stretch (painlessly) and bask in a circle of golden warmth.

The Lord is my healer! Thankyou, Father.