My firstborn just turned 20. Right after giving birth to him, I was having the usual difficulties with recovery. Exhaustion, pain, bleeding. Except some blood kept coming. I was so angry at the nurse who answered the phone that day. "This is standard protocol," she said. I said, "I do not need to see a GI. Just give me some meds." But she must have been listening to the Holy Spirit that day.
I was 26. The GI was surprised at what he found. Pre-canerous polyps.
I really wasn't good at the every 3 year schedule. I mean, I had 3 more babies in 7 years. It was busy and hectic and happy. We had private insurance limitations. But I still managed to fit in an occassional colonoscopy. And another, and another.
Until 2015, when the GI looked at me and told me I needed to have my colon removed. "The numbers are just too high." His bedside announcement came with no warning. He knew he surprised us by the dumbfounded stares he received back.
What happened to "If you get colonoscopies every 3 years, you will never get colon cancer?"
I went into denial: I am not sick. I feel great. I don't have cancer. Maybe I won't ever. I have a wonderful life. Let's just forget this ever happened.
I have been told by doctors that it takes roughly 10 years for an adenoma to grow into cancer. I should be dead or at least really, really sick right now. But that nurse that I vilified in my thoughts and words that day 20 years ago saved my life.
I do not know why miracles happen to some people. I do know that it isn't possible for God to heal people sometimes. (Read the book, "God Can't" by Theologian Dr. Thomas Jay Oord for a deeper explanation).
For my miracle I am thankful.
