Everyday Miracles
Twenty-four years ago I kept a journal for recording thoughts and feelings, mostly about God and my relationship to God. My wife and I had been trying to have a baby for five years. I was 36 and she 34, so the biological clock was clanging.
We went through all the fertility stuff--physicals, little white cups, porno magazines and lab technicians, making love then standing on her head, making love every day, thermometers to time ovulations--everything. Turns out I had a vericoseal--essentially a vericose vein that inhibited sperm production and caused low motility. She had a bicornate uterous and fibroid cysts--all of which made our chances very slim for conceiving.
Our very Western-medicine doctor came up with the usual violent solutions--Darina, my wife had to take Danocrin a fertility medicine that could cause her to grow facial hair. If that didn't work, I was then going to have surgery on my male organs to remove the vein.
No way! When REALLY desparate, I resorted to prayer. Now, I prayed all the time, still do; but this time I was REALLY motivated. Something came over me and for some reason I knew, just knew, that Darina was not going to have to take the medicine and that I wouldn't have to have surgery. We would conceive and have a baby. I grabbed my journal and wrote that I believed that Jesus Christ would heal us enough to make it possible to conceive, that Darina would never have to take the medicine, and I would not have to have surgery; finally, that we would have the baby within a year.
Meanwhile, Darina's doctor told her to wait until after her next period to take the Danocrin because it could cause an abortion if taken at the wrong time. She waited and waited and her period never came. EPT, the Early Pregnancy Test, had just come out; so we got one, almost as a joke, added the urine, and left it upstairs on a dresser for the required 15 minutes or so. I heard Darina holler, "David, come up here! You aren't going to believe this!"
Scarcely daring to hope, I ran upstairs, and there was the little red doughnut at the bottom of the test tube that signaled, "PREGNANT!" In about nine months our son Scott was born.
I'm saving the journal, so he will know that God meant him to be born. David Orr
We went through all the fertility stuff--physicals, little white cups, porno magazines and lab technicians, making love then standing on her head, making love every day, thermometers to time ovulations--everything. Turns out I had a vericoseal--essentially a vericose vein that inhibited sperm production and caused low motility. She had a bicornate uterous and fibroid cysts--all of which made our chances very slim for conceiving.
Our very Western-medicine doctor came up with the usual violent solutions--Darina, my wife had to take Danocrin a fertility medicine that could cause her to grow facial hair. If that didn't work, I was then going to have surgery on my male organs to remove the vein.
No way! When REALLY desparate, I resorted to prayer. Now, I prayed all the time, still do; but this time I was REALLY motivated. Something came over me and for some reason I knew, just knew, that Darina was not going to have to take the medicine and that I wouldn't have to have surgery. We would conceive and have a baby. I grabbed my journal and wrote that I believed that Jesus Christ would heal us enough to make it possible to conceive, that Darina would never have to take the medicine, and I would not have to have surgery; finally, that we would have the baby within a year.
Meanwhile, Darina's doctor told her to wait until after her next period to take the Danocrin because it could cause an abortion if taken at the wrong time. She waited and waited and her period never came. EPT, the Early Pregnancy Test, had just come out; so we got one, almost as a joke, added the urine, and left it upstairs on a dresser for the required 15 minutes or so. I heard Darina holler, "David, come up here! You aren't going to believe this!"
Scarcely daring to hope, I ran upstairs, and there was the little red doughnut at the bottom of the test tube that signaled, "PREGNANT!" In about nine months our son Scott was born.
I'm saving the journal, so he will know that God meant him to be born. David Orr
posted by David Orr | 8:14 AM
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