A Christmas Miracle

         This season is truly a season of miracles. We anticipate them at this time of year so much that they are called Christmas Miracles. But never have I witnessed the power of the impossible becoming possible like I did during this very week in 2011— when I received my very own Christmas miracle.

         In August of 2011, the National Institutes of Health, (NIH), diagnosed me with malrotation of my small intestines. The malrotation had caused me to lose an excessive amount of weight and had to be corrected with surgery. But I wasn’t ready to set a surgery date and jump onto an operating table just because my doctors said the procedure had to be done.

         I was getting ready to begin my senior year of college at Asbury University and I accepted a leadership position as a chaplain for my hall. My disease had already taken so much from me so I was determined that I’d finish my college career on my terms. I came up with a plan with my professors to combine my week of final projects and final exams so I could have my surgery during the university’s official final’s week. I’d have three weeks to recover and then go back to school for the spring semester to finish my senior year and graduate. My doctors signed off on this plan and my surgery date was set for December 13^th, 2011.

         Even though my health continued to deteriorate during that semester, I would never go back and change my decision to wait to have surgery. God gave me a beautiful semester where He redeemed a painful past, old wounds began to heal, and I grew as a person. I left my fall semester of college with an “A,” average and a sense of satisfaction that I had done my best through what seemed like insurmountable odds.

         The procedure took place on a Tuesday and I came home the following Sunday— totally routine after bowel surgery. So what happened next no one saw coming.

My body went downhill devastatingly fast.

The day after I came home from surgery, my parents had to take me back to the hospital. By Tuesday night my hemoglobin had dropped to a frightening 2.8. Hemoglobin is the part of the blood that controls the oxygen throughout the body and brain, so when the hemoglobin is low, the body isn’t getting the oxygen it needs to function or to remain lucid.

My blood pressure dropped to 30 over 60 and I was in danger of having a heart attack. I was talking out of my head, I didn’t know my mother or father, and my hematologist told my parents if I survived, I’d probably need to undergo a bone marrow transplant.

I was rushed to ICU and my doctors and nurses explained to my parents I would be transfused, given my Rituximab treatment, and I would receive an antibiotic that commonly causes an allergic reaction where a person’s whole body turns red. They warned my mom and dad that it was imperative I didn’t have a single reaction to any of the medications because my life was hanging on by a thread and it could take no more.

My parents knew I had always had an allergic reaction to these medications…so how was I going to survive? 

My mom and dad were directed to the waiting room to wait while I was connected to machines. They noticed there was no one in the waiting room except for a man sitting at the computer. They thought this was strange because ICU was maxed to capacity that night.

Nevertheless, they began calling people asking them to pray. The first person my mom called was her friend Karen Pelphrey, but she broke into sobs and was unable to finish the conversation. My dad took the phone from her to give Karen the details and all of the sudden the man got up from the computer, walked across the room, and knelt down beside my mom. My mom noticed he had the clearest, bluest eyes she had ever seen.

“What’s the child’s name?” He asked.

“It’s Whitney,” my mom told him.

“Okay, I’ll put her on THE Prayer Chain.” Then he got up, walked out of the waiting room and my parents never saw him again.

He didn’t say I’ll put her on my church’s prayer chain, or I’ll let my pastor know— he said THE Prayer Chain. And the next night the ICU waiting room was completely full.

My parents are convinced the man was an angel sent from God because right after he left for the first time in my life, I had not one single reaction to my treatment or transfusions. My body miraculously did a total 180 and I began to get better much quicker than any of my doctors ever dreamed was medically possible.

I was admitted into the hospital on Monday, December 19^th, 2011 and got to come home on Saturday, December 24^th, 2011— the best Christmas gift ever. Two weeks later, I went back to college to finish my degree and in May of 2012, I graduated with a Bachelors in creative writing. 

Looking back at that dark time seven years ago, I remember what could have been. I marvel at the timing and pieces God intricately sewed together during that week so I could remain on this earth.

14 times He made the impossible possible to be exact. 

This ornament is filled with the 14 miracles
God performed on my behalf during that Christmas season

The greatest part of this story though? I went from fighting for my life to living life to the fullest because God placed His healing hand on my body. Everyone who knows me can only shake their heads in amazement and agreement to the fact that my new story, my beauty from ashes, and my MORE began in 20ll when God gave me something precious: 

A Christmas Miracle.