The Test

Edmonton in deep freeze

It all began in the grip of an unforgiving Canadian winter in one of the coldest of provincial capitals, Edmonton, Alberta. Marie was in the eighth month of her fourth pregnancy eagerly awaiting another flawless delivery. At sixteen weeks her obstetrician had ordered an ultrasound which had confirmed a normally developing child but since then a few seemingly minor symptoms had arisen. Marie had noticed a decided lack of the reassuring violent kicks that normally accompanied her pregnancies and now her obstetrician had informed her that her uterus was not growing at the normal rate. This finding had prompted a request to repeat the ultrasound at this late date.

On the morning of the test Marie and I both experienced a strange foreboding in our hearts which we chose to leave unspoken as we went about the business of the day. As I silently escorted her to the door her eyes betrayed her growing concern. She slipped out of the door and began her drive past the barren fields entombed in snow and into the glaciated suburbs of town. Soon she arrived at what her doctor touted as "the best ultrasound facility in Edmonton", a city that boasted a medical school affiliated with the second largest university in Canada. After plugging in the mandatory block heater she rushed toward the warmth of the Tawa Center. Once inside she was ushered to the ultrasound suite by an amiable technician. After reclining on the table her abdomen was exposed and quickly smeared with a transparent gel. The technician applied the probe to her skin and skillfully angled and translated it through various locations. Marie, not unfamiliar with the procedure, noticed that it was taking a long time to complete. She then perceived that the technician, who had become very quiet, was trying to conceal the tears she was wiping from her eyes. The technician left the room and returned after speaking with the radiologist who was supervising that day. She moved Marie to a more sophisticated machine where he repeated some of the views. From the conversation that passed over her and the way the technician was holding her hand Marie deduced that there was something terribly wrong with the baby’s head. She assumed it involved the brain. Horrified she blurted out, "What’s wrong?". The radiologist volunteered to show her the problem on the screen but now seized with dread she decided to forego the explanation.

When I met her at the door she insisted, "There’s something terrible wrong with the baby!". Not having experienced the last few hours with her I refused to believe her. "If there had been a problem the obstetrician would have called me.", I replied. She repeated, "There’s something terrible wrong with the baby!". Seeing that she definitely meant what she said I picked up the phone and called my obstetrician. Tom was unaware of the recent events. He too was reassured by the lack of communication from the radiologist but promised to investigate. When he called back his tone had changed. "Gary. There is something wrong.", he said calmly. "I don’t wish to discuss the specifics on the phone, but I can see you in my office tomorrow at noon." Knowing that Marie was too upset to go I volunteered to attend. That night was one of anxious anticipation for both of us.

My departure the next morning was more subdued than Marie’s had been the previous day. From the car I could see Marie standing at the door as I disappeared into the distance. Snow, whipped by the wind, slithered along, concealing the road ahead. Tom welcomed me to his office and directed me to an inviting chair. I sat facing him across a large oak desk. After a few pleasantries he handed me the films from the ultrasound and the radiologist's interpretation. He then began haltingly in a soft, empathetic voice to say, "I’m sorry Gary. Your child has had an intrauterine stroke. The entire left hemisphere of the brain has been destroyed and has been replaced by a large cyst. Where there is one major malformation there are likely to be multiple malformations. We knew there had to be something wrong because there is far too little amniotic fluid. A child like this could never have a normal delivery, there would be too much fetal distress. They would have to be delivered by Cesarean section and would likely be on a ventilator in the intensive care unit for weeks. If you want to get an abortion we don’t perform them here at this Catholic facility but I can refer you to someone who will. Abortion! The thought had never crossed my mind. I was preparing for my fourth child’s joyous arrival and now someone was talking to me about an abortion at eight months of gestation! I was sure he had to be mistaken. It was probably only a small cyst. I scanned the ultrasound and read the report. Half the brain was missing! There was no mistake! It was hopeless! There wasn’t one chance in ten million of her ever being normal. We were facing mental retardation, seizure disorder, permanent paralysis and growth retardation on the right side of the body! Wheel chairs, bed sores, pneumonia, urinary tract infections, feeding tubes, catheters, special vans, constant trips to the doctor, multiple operations-- I had seen it all before. I began to squirm in the chair and glanced behind me. "There must be someone else here that he’s talking to because it can’t be me.", I thought. But it was me! I instinctively responded, "Abortion is out of the question! Neither Marie nor I would ever agree to an abortion. We’re Christians.". "Well I’m a Catholic.", Tom said. "I don’t believe in abortion either." I looked Tom straight in the eye and I heard myself say, "My God has never let me down and He’s not about to start now. I don’t know how He’s going to get me out of this but He will!". "I too believe in healing.", Tom said, "But what if He doesn’t heal your baby?". I just looked at him and there was a long awkward silence. Tom then generously offered me follow-up with an obstetrical neurologist and accompanied me to the door. As I passed through the outer office his secretary, obviously aware of the prognosis, looked at me very sympathetically and softly said, "Goodbye Doctor Hill.". Somehow, I found my way to my car and started the journey home. I thought to myself, " I did real well. I didn’t fall apart. I did pretty good for someone who had just been handed a death sentence.". Then it struck me. "What am I going to tell Marie?” When I arrived home I thought I might be able to sneak in unnoticed but Marie was right there at the door waiting for me. "What, what is it?" she asked. I looked at her, eyes full of tears and said, "I can’t tell you what it is. You won’t want to know. But it’s bad!" It was the worst moment of my life. I then ascended the curved oak staircase to the master bedroom and closed the door behind me.

Once inside I was overcome with a compulsion to phone my mother and tell her how bad life had been to me. I would have done it but something rose up inside me and I grabbed myself by the ear and said, "Listen buster, you’ve been listening to the Word of faith being preached for ten years. Your child’s life depends on you believing God and you’re going to do it!". I forced myself to look up to heaven and I said, "God. You’re my refuge and my fortress. You’re my strong tower. You’re an ever present help in time of need and this is a time of need!” Then I started to worship Him as tears streamed down my face. I realized that I was in a war and that I had to concentrate one hundred per cent on seeking God’s help so I picked up the phone and I quit my job. I resolved then and there not to let any negative words ever come out of my mouth about the baby. I knew it meant not telling close relatives who wouldn’t understand what I was doing but I had to do it for my child. In fact I told no one except people that I knew, knew how to stand in faith. I then totally immersed myself, twenty-four hours a day in books, video tapes and audio tapes about faith and healing. I read the New Testament through three times in six weeks and I worshipped God for three hours every day. I collected a list of three pages of healing scriptures and I read them, out loud three times a day. First I would say the scripture as written and then I would personalize it for my child. I also picked one scripture, "With the stripes that wounded Jesus my baby was healed and made whole.", and I said it three hundred times a day for six weeks. In the middle of the night I would wake up with the doctor and the devil and the ultrasound all staring me in the face and I would grab my bible and say, "It is written!". At first it was hard to believe the Word when I had seen the ultrasound with my own eyes and I knew what it meant, but after a little while it got easier and easier to believe.

Five days after Marie went for the ultrasound I was worshipping God all alone in our bedroom, singing along to a praise and worship tape, when suddenly I found myself flat on my back. I hit the carpet hard and tried to get up but found myself cemented to the floor by a force that felt like a heavy weight crushing me from above. I looked up and saw that the ceiling had suddenly disappeared behind a thick white fog. The pressure I felt was so oppressive that I instinctively began to crawl on my back for the door. I quickly recognized that God Himself had come to my house to deliver me and I decided I needed to remain no matter how uncomfortable it made me. After laying there for about half an hour the cloud dissipated and I was able to rise and leave.

The next night I was again worshipping God, this time in my living room. I had finished about an hour of praise when the singing tape ended and I decided to put on a healing video. As I reached for the set I heard the words, "Don’t do that. Continue to praise me specifically for healing your baby, right now!". I proceeded to pace across the room back and forth thanking God for being the healer of my baby, right then. As I did this for about fifteen minutes I found myself becoming detached from my surroundings and having great difficulty in walking. I fell onto the couch and felt the distinct impression that I should walk to the kitchen. As I stumbled through the dining room I relived a dream I had had about six weeks earlier. In the dream a man had brought his son to me in a hospital I had never seen before. His son had a brain tumor, a scar on his head from previous surgery, and schizophrenia. I told the boy, "I am going to lay my right hand on you and when I do power from God is going to enter you and completely heal you!". When I did so in the dream the boy was instantly healed and then the hospital turned into an auditorium filled with people. I came to myself and immediately understood that I had to lay my hands on my pregnant wife at that exact moment. Upstairs, unaware of anything unusual happening below, my wife felt the need to come downstairs. As my mother-in-law climbed the stairs to get her she met Marie already coming down. At the same time, two thousand miles away, my sister-in-law awoke at one a.m. with a burden to pray for us. As my wife came before me I simply acted out my dream. I placed my right hand on her abdomen and she crumpled onto the floor. As I continued to hold my hand in place I felt a strange sensation flowing down my arm and into my wife. I can best describe it as absolute purity. The sensation was so overwhelming that I exclaimed, "God, you’re so pure! How can you have anything to do with me?". My wife now found it so hard to walk that she had to be helped up the stairs to bed. In fact, hours later when she tried to get to the bathroom she still could not walk properly. The experience of that night was followed by an immediate change in the baby. The kicks my wife was feeling became stronger and stronger. We knew our child had been healed! We didn’t just relax though. We continued to diligently seek God for the remainder of the six weeks preceding delivery. During this time we packed the contents of our three thousand square foot house into a moving van and on January first we started with our possessions two thousand miles across the trans-Canada highway in the dead of winter. To our great relief there was not one snowflake on the road during our entire trip.

We moved into our in-laws basement with three small children and continued to seek God as Marie’s due date approached. The last week was the hardest. As the delivery loomed before us we kept having thoughts that we had imagined everything and that faith and healing were just nonsense. We found it necessary to ignore these thoughts and continue what we had been doing. I said in prayer, "God. I’ve done everything I know how to do. I’m just going to have to trust the rest to you.". Early on the morning of January 16, 1992 Marie began having contractions. About noon we arrived at the hospital and Marie was found to be seven centimetres dilated. As I attended to the paper work for her admission the resident told Marie how concerned he was by her small size. We had decided not to tell the medical staff about the news we had received in Edmonton. Marie was placed on a fetal monitor to watch for fetal distress which our obstetrician had told us would be severe. With no knowledge of our situation the nurses commented on how little distress there was even relative to a normal delivery. At one o’clock Carolyn was born. The obstetrician examined her and handed her to Marie. She was completely normal in every way! It is impossible to describe the joy, relief and wonder that filled our hearts that day as we beheld the salvation of our Lord, seeing and touching the proof of His great mercy!

The next morning I arrived to take Marie and the baby home. I quickly found out that the devil was not going to give up that easily. Marie said to me, "We can’t go. The paediatrician has found something wrong with the baby.". The nurses, wishing the doctor to give us the news himself, wouldn’t tell us what the problem was so we silently awaited his arrival. When he did speak with us he did not mention any neurological abnormality but instead told us that the baby was suffering jaundice from ABO incompatibility. He was very concerned because the bilirubin level was very high, very early. We had experienced this problem with our third child. His bilirubin level had been so high that he had only narrowly escaped having to have his entire blood volume replaced in an exchange transfusion in order to prevent permanent brain damage. Normally, every pregnancy with this problem is worse. After he left I said to Marie, "Jaundice is nothing! God created a new brain! Let’s just believe God to get rid of this.". The next night the bilirubin had fallen so far that the doctor decided to turn off the lights that are used to degrade the bilirubin and see how our child would do on her own. I said to Marie, "The bilirubin will drop faster with the lights off because God is the one bringing it down.". As we stood at the nursing station the next morning awaiting the morning lab results the nurse on a phone to the lab exclaimed, "Wow! Did that bilirubin level ever drop last night.". Marie and I went to a small room on the fifth floor where she could breast feed in private while we awaited the paediatrician. When he arrived he said, "There is no way that I can explain how the bilirubin came down so quickly. It came down amazingly quickly! It is down though, so take your baby and go home." After he left we gazed out of the window at the people and the traffic, and the buildings below and I said with tears in my eyes, "God is real! He really does exist and He really does heal people and there’s a whole world full of people out there who don’t know it yet!". If you need healing our prayer is that our story will inspire you to seek God for yourself for He is faithful, merciful and kind to all who call upon His name.

Carolyn Hill is now twelve years old and attends Rhema Christian School in Peterborough, Ontario. Dr. Hill has discussed the diagnosis with another radiologist specializing in ultrasound and the prognosis with a paediatric neurosurgeon at Harvard. Both specialists confirmed the original information given to Dr. Hill by his obstetrician.