by Lorna Carmela Avelino-Protasio, M.D.
Antonio at age 6
In 1982, my youngest son, only five months old, was admitted to the hospital with acute gastroenteritis. He could not accept milk of any kind, even the formula he was used to drinking. We tested him with special formulas to no avail. Just one drop of milk would start him vomiting accompanied by severe diarrhea and dehydration. Well-known pediatric specialists were consulted; numerous tests were run. No one could diagnose the cause of his ailment. Death hung like the sword of Damocles over his head. Any mother would give everything just to save her child. I was less of a doctor then, and more of a mother. I was distraught. Imagine me, a doctor, and I could not do anything to cure my son.
We were in the hospital for one month. Never in all that time had I heard a church bell ring. But on this particular morning, I was very downcast as I pondered the possible outcome of my son’s illness. Then, I heard a church bell ring loud and clear, as if it was telling me to directly call on God. I was a very religious person, who loved to read novenas to favorite saints, and recite rosaries as my way of communicating with God through Mary and the saints. I had never called on God directly.
I opened the window curtain, looked outside to the clear blue sky and without much ado fervently called on God. I said, “God, you are my last card. We have done all we can to save him and we failed. I offer my youngest son to you. He is yours. Be merciful and heal him. I beg you to lend me my son. You will be my God and no one else.” As a token of faith I then removed his IV fluids and requested to go home—against medical advice.
It was near lunchtime. A small bowl of rice gruel with a piece of chicken liver was served. I decided to feed him with it. He was so hungry that he finished the bowl of porridge and went to sleep. For the first time, he slept soundly throughout the night. The next day he woke up strong, smiling, and playing, as if he had never been sick. It was a miracle.
A Broken Promise
‘Promises are made to be broken’ is an overrated cliché but it is a true one. Once we have asked, we forget. And, I did forget, not intentionally, but the memory of the experience faded away. Five months went past and I went back to my old ways and I forgot what I had promised to God.
But, God does not forget.
One sunny afternoon when everything was quiet, my son’s nanny gave him a 5-centavo coin to keep him from crying. When the child lay down to take his bottle, the coin in his hand dropped straight into his mouth and he swallowed it. The nanny panicked. The child was crying and coughing hard.
Time is of the essence when the airway is obstructed. It is often the cause of instantaneous death in children. I was frantic. On the way to the hospital I remembered my promise to God. I said, “Lord, I did not honor the promise I made. I forgot. Have mercy.”
God of Second Chances
At the hospital, x-ray results were frightening. They showed the coin was lodged near the trachea (windpipe) and larynx (voice box). We were immediately sent to another hospital in another city for a possible operation to remove the coin. The three-hour drive from Roxas City to Iloilo City was very long for me. We arrived at the hospital at 9 p.m. and were directly admitted to the emergency room.
A few minutes later, a five-year-old boy was rushed into the ER. He had accidentally swallowed a 25-centavo coin. The boy was struggling for breath, frothing, and blue in he face. He had a seizure and died. The mother began to wail and fainted. The father was shouting, crying, and hugging his dead son. Seeing this happen right before my eyes was terrifying. I started to cry and hugged my son, hoping to protect him. All I could say was, “My God, my God.” I was heart broken.
I Will be With You
Hospitals are not silent places. They teem with people who come and go. A thoracic surgeon and his surgical team came to discuss the procedure and the seriousness of the operation they planned for my son. The doctor explained that a preoperative medication would be given to my son an hour prior to the surgery at 6 a.m. I cried, with tears rolling down my cheeks, at the thought of my baby son undergoing that kind of operation. The probability of survival at that age was nil. I prayed as I had never prayed before.
Probably due to exhaustion, I drifted off to sleep. Maybe I was dreaming but what happened next seemed so real to me. Around 3 a.m., an exceptionally tall guy, whose face I did not see, woke me up. He told me to massage the throat and chest of my son 3 times. I hurriedly obeyed and drifted back to sleep. I woke up when a nurse shook my shoulder and informed me it was time for the preoperative medicine. The nurse was surprised when I refused the medicine and summoned the surgeon to see me. Since we were both doctors, I told him exactly what had happened. He chuckled but obliged me when I asked for another x-ray before surgery. Maybe he thought I had gone crazy, but I was so sure it had been the Lord who had come. As I had suspected the x-ray showed no edema (excess fluid) in the airway, and the coin was nowhere to be found. The surgery was cancelled! We went home rejoicing and praising the Lord.
Things Happen for a Purpose
Dr. Lorna with her son, Antonio
After that incident, I changed inside. I began to ask God about things. I spent time reading His words in the Bible. I began to understand God’s purpose. When I had entrusted my son to Him, He knew what was to be done. To raise my son according to God’s ways, I had first to come and totally surrender myself to Him. I had to be born again.
