The first one happened in 1956. I was 12 years old, and suddenly appeared to have an “off-centered adam’s apple” on the right side of my neck. It was thyroid cancer, caused by radiation to my tonsils several years earlier. We lived in a small town, so Mom took me to a hospital in the next larger town, which was still quite small. The quaint little hospital was housed in a Victorian mansion, where a pediatrician and a surgeon performed the operation to remove half of my thyroid. My mom knew a man who had a disabled arm from the same kind of surgery. So she asked a neurologist friend to observe the surgery and to “keep her eye on that special nerve that controls the use of the arm”. When I came out of surgery I could move my arm just as I always could, and I had no idea that it was not supposed to be possible. There was no fanfare, no rejoicing by the doctors or anyone else, it just was.

Then a few months later when a tumor appeared on the left side, all my mom’s friends told her to leave behind those “small town, hick doctors” and take me to a fancy hospital in San Francisco. They even created an “Angel fund” to let the whole community contribute so that my mom could afford to take me there. The doctors were very high status, and recognized as some of the best in the world. My surgeon was from Chile, and could speak 17 languages. So when my mom asked him to be especially careful of that special nerve, she was devastated by his reply. He said very matter-of-factly that it was not possible to save that nerve, end of subject. Mom knew she had no choice but to accept his answer, but she cried inside because she knew what it meant for her little girl. Sure enough, after the surgery I had a partially disabled arm. It showed my mom what a miracle the other surgery had been.

There is even more to this miracle, so tune in tomorrow for the “rest of the story”.