Fate, God or Coincidence?
It was one of those occurrences that seem all the more peculiar with the passage of time and reflection. My wife and I were headed home on a Sunday evening with our two year old son fast asleep in the back seat. We had spent a wonderful day at a backyard barbeque with friends, a day of fun in the sun that had left us all exhausted. I could think of nothing better than a hot shower and eight hours of sleep.
Our route home took us within a couple of miles of the Bloomington General Hospital.
“Why don’t we stop by and see your mother,” I asked through a yawn.
Even now I have no explanation why I would have suggested this, especially given our state of mind. My mother-in-law had been working part-time as an RN for the hospital for the past six years. We had never visited her on a shift— it simply wasn’t something we considered. I’m not even sure it was acceptable. Moreover, we had been getting together in some form or fashion nearly every week of our four year marriage. There was no feeling of need or obligation to visit the hospital that day.
When we look back, the memory of how we went from suggestion to visitation is hazy at best. We found ourselves behind the closed doors of the west wing elevator when an unexpected calm came over me. I typically can not stand the hospitals; the smells; the gloom; the death—not my cup of tea. But this day was different somehow. I was overcome with a feeling of unfamiliar expectancy.
We spotted my mother-in-law almost instantly as the elevator doors opened. As usual, she offered us only a passing smile before focusing all of her attention on her beloved grandson.
Now here’s where a simple occurrence becomes extraordinary. The elevator doors open behind us and out walks Dr. Dina Davis. A brief background is necessary here;
I married my wife well-knowing that we may never be able to have children of our own. We heard cutting words like barren and infertile from medical professionals. Some gave us a remote chance still others quickly moved the conversation to adoption. My deep love for my wife out-weighed all other issues at hand. We married and never looked back—then came Dr. Davis.
My wife told me of new methods and medicines that a certain Dr. Davis was advocating. They were groundbreaking methods that were receiving the standard scoff from the medical community. And now she wanted to try them on my wife. By now I knew the pain that hope could bring. I consented nonetheless.
Needless to say; her methods worked. Two more times in fact.
So here we are over 2 years later and I’m harboring my own personal guilt. I had never met the woman responsible for my son. That’s right, pretty pathetic. I mentioned my desire to do so to my wife on numerous occasions but never took the time. A hectic work schedule, travel, etc., you know the usual excuses. Dr. Davis had performed her magic and slipped into the background. She didn’t deliver our son, she merely made it possible. And I never took the effort to meet her.
So here I am face to face with Dr. Davis. I’m noticeably embarrassed but she washes away all awkwardness with a warm smile and a full embrace. We talk for a full fifteen minutes. She’s a delightful and impressive woman—full of energy and infectious optimism. She strokes my son’s face with a sparkle in her eye. She’s the kind of person that makes an immediate impact. The kind that you know instantly you will never forget.
Her presence here this day is as peculiar as this story’s outcome. Dr. Davis seldom came to this hospital and certainly never on a Sunday. She was here to pay a personal visit to a friend on the third floor. We were on the fifth. She had pushed the wrong floor number.
Through a twist of fate I had met the miracle woman. Not that big of a deal, right? Read on.
Dr. Davis died of a heart attack the following morning. She was only 55. Up until the moment of her death there had been no telltale sign of heart concerns.
A sad but true story.
Fate, God or Coincidence?
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