The Healing Power of Divine Intervention
My first experience of performing what would be deemed a miracle, came as a desperate response to a moment of incredible devastation that pushed me past all limitation, not by endlessly engaging in the limitations themselves in an attempt to process them and overcome them, but by transcending them by losing all awareness of the perception in which the limitations existed. Like shifting into another space, nested within the same situation, in which fear didn’t exist and wasn’t even a consideration. This experience was an amazing lesson not only in helping me to see my own capabilities and learn to build confidence by believing in myself, but also revealing to me the shocking reality of how people tend to show up in times when it matters the most.
What happens in those moments when we find ourselves in situations that the eye could not foresee often astounds us. I was abandoned by the people who should have been there, and helped by other that I barely knew. A true testament of giving up perceived control by simply recognizing and allowing my inner guidance as intuition that provided divine intervention, not through another but as an act of my own will surrender to a higher intelligence. I engaged in activity that I performed from a place of sheer knowing in absolute trust that almost felt peculiar to me as I was doing it. As if I was inhabited by a companion form of consciousness. One that didn’t make a big deal out of stuff, but just silently stepped in and went about its business from a removed state that seemed intimately connected.
This is just one part of amazing experiences that spanned 15 months, but open my eyes to the real potential of the human spirit when acting from a place of love, devotion, and surrender. It also served to teach me the true nature of people in moments of great necessity that went painfully unanswered.
My son was born 4lbs. 10oz., fully matured but with what I would discover through relentless pursuit, as having Hirschsprung’s disease. He was hospitalized on Thanksgiving Day and underwent emergency surgery that set into motion an amazing process of self-discovery as a demonstration of human fortitude. After six surgeries, two colostomies, and surgically implanted mainlines due to vascular breakdown of all available IV sites, he peeked out at 5 lbs. 7 oz. at a little over two months old, then began a process of deteriorating. After losing weight and dropping back down to 4lbs. 8oz. at a little over three months old, he became lethargic hard to wake up, began dehydrating due to his major organs systematically starting to shut down. They diagnosed him with failure to thrive and removed all life-support and estimating approximately 48 hours before he would die. They gave me an option of leaving him in the hospital and allowing it to happen there or to take them home in when it happened to call them and they would take care of the arrangements.
I cannot even convey the level of grief I was experiencing that had began building a few weeks prior to his diagnosis. I felt detached from reality and had trouble comprehending what was going on and struggled to perform normal tasks. The next morning as I gathered him and all his things and walked out to the car, where I had to drive us home. My husband announced to me a month into it, that he couldn’t handle it and refused to come down to the hospital. I was left on my own to figure out how to deal with it. As I got to the car my legs were trembling and started buckling. I had to sit on the asphalt and try to compose myself. My heart was pounding out of my chest, and I couldn’t catch my breath, the ground was moving and I felt disoriented as those everything was closing in on me. After a brief time of trying to create a relaxed state so that I could drive the car I finally got to my feet, and secured my son in his car seat next to me in the front seat and began driving.
I stopped at a red light and it was as if something snapped inside of me and the whole world collapsed around me. I lost all awareness of everything outside of the car and I suddenly became overwhelmed with grief and started screaming as I was crying saying, “I refuse to accept this! I refuse. I will not allow my baby to die! He wants to live. He’s going to live. I will not accept this”. I repeated this hysterically while hitting on the steering wheel and the dashboard. Then after mumbling for a bit non-sensibly, I looked down at my son in the sunlight coming through the window made his face and peer like an angel, softly undistinguished and innocently sweet. I leaned down pressing my face against his and rocking back and forth while mumbling and sobbing, and suddenly I became extremely aware of his heartbeat. As I listened to it beating it seemed to get louder and louder. Strong and pronounced. Then a kind of silence fell around me, and I felt a calm come over me and my thoughts became collected and my heart relaxed into sync with his, and I suddenly knew what I needed to do. It was a kind of knowing that felt like a trance. Something I couldn’t articulate with words but simply knew it as a feeling inside. It was a presence in me that removed all fear and possessed me with the kind of certainty that was removed from doubt.
I then sat up and began driving home calmly. When I got home I gathered my son went into the house and place to quilt over the rocking chair. I closed all the curtains, lit a couple of candles, got a glass of water, removed my shirt and bra took all the clothes off my son except his diaper and colostomy bag, and sat down. I laid him across my bare breasts so he could hear my heart beat, smell my skin, and be warmed by my body. I then started stroking his body with loving affection, kissing his head and the side of his face, and softly sang a lullaby as a kind of humming. Then as I began rocking I ran pictures through my mind of him at six months old, smiling and laughing, then at a year old learning to walk having his first birthday while eating his cake with his fingers, then at two years, playing in the park with the other kids on the polka-dotted pony. I saw him at his second Christmas where he was fascinated with the lights and was more intrigued with the bows and the wrapping paper than he was with the presents. I imagined him at two and three years old, healthy, and strong as I became filled with overwhelming love for him as I continued caressing him, kissing him and rocking him with sweet lullabies.
At first he was lethargic and unresponsive his body was cool and limp. After a few hours he started moving his hands and feet as if getting comfortable. After about six hours he sneezed and rubbed his nose. Then he started moving as if waking up from a nap. After about eight hours, he opened his eyes and gaze straight into mine, then smiled and started acting irritable. As he began squirming slightly trying to breast-feed I thought . . . he’s actually hungry! When I put them down to get his bottle he cried until I picked him back up. He then drank 4 ounces of a special formula, and later ate some mashed bananas. By the next day he was fully active, eating, cooing, in playing in his crib.
The hospital called me two days later because they couldn’t figure out why they hadn’t heard from me. When I told his doctor that he had made what seemed like a full recovery and was eating, drinking, and playing, he was in disbelief and wanted me to bring him in for a checkup. Upon examining him he said, “this doesn’t make any sense, this shouldn’t be possible”. He was then struck by the fact that he recovered without any side effects from what appeared as deterioration of his major organs. He then began questioning me on what I had done, how I had done it, and what on earth possessed me to do it, and when I told him, he just got a blank look on his face stared for a moment, and said “I guess a mother’s love is the ultimate healing force after all”, and shook his head.
This would instill confidence for what would come four months later on the second go around to remove part of his intestines, which after healing, they would close his colostomy, which they had originally planned it for 14 to 16 months old as he needed to be around 17 pounds to perform the operation. By the time he was seven months old he weighed 16 1/2 pounds. In four months he had gained 12 pounds. The doctor was just struck with amazement. He laughed and said, “I don’t know what you’re feeding him, but it’s certainly working!”
After a series of surgeries the second time, they remove part of his intestines, let that heal for a couple weeks and then closed his colostomy, after which time he began falling into the same pattern. They then came to me saying that he wasn’t responding to treatment and they needed to put him back on life support and implant IV lines into his chest. But this time I elected to take him out of the hospital without permission and bring him home to heal instead in the same way I had done before. Again, it worked beautifully and within hours he was awake, alert and eating. He had his first bowel movement at 8 1/2 months old.
Through this experience I learned what it means to love someone so much I was willing to die for him. My life crumbled before my eyes, and I lost everything I owned. In that moment I became very clear on what really matters and what doesn’t. I learned that we can access super-human strength when we actually need to. And I touched on the strength of my moral fiber that served to catapult me into greater and greater levels intuition, self-knowledge and confidence that comes from believing in myself and forming absolute faith based on that. I acquired the confidence to stand up against all odds, and walk fully awake into the flame without flinching or shrinking back with intimidation.
So with that experience, when I came into contact with the healing practice of Reiki and Energy Medicine several years later, I immediately saw the connection and chose to study it as a primary healing modality that actually had a name.
Dr. Linda Gadbois
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