The Immigrants' Reality

Amazing

Mary looked up as a man wearing a white coat hemmed to announce

his entrance.  The doctor grimly pulled the sheet down and reported

Stephan’s injuries: “He fractured his leg in the fall. It's a simple break;

 we've set that in a cast,” he pointed out.  “That should heal fine.  It's

 the head injury that concerns us.” The doctor touched the bandages

wrapped around Stephan’s head.  “We don't know if he will recover

from that,” he continued.  “There is a large blood clot in his brain.”

“You cannot do something for it?”  Mary cried.

“It's too dangerous; we will lose him if we try surgery.”

“When will he wake up?”

“Perhaps in time.  We must wait and see,” said Dr. Jones.

Mary decided then and there that she would not lose Stephan.

She steadied her voice.  Squeezing his hand, she assured him,

“Stephan, you will be fine.  You will wake up and I will be here.  I love

you, Stephan; I need you to be well.  We all need you, the children

and our new baby soon to be born. “ 

Mary drew upon every glimmer of faith in her soul.  He had not died,

she reasoned, therefore he will live.  It may take time, but she would

see him through this.  It was her mission, and she repeated the ritual

daily, rubbing his arms, his back, kissing him, telling him about the

children’s antics, that Christine had taken her first steps.

Mary could spare but one hour each day to spend with Stephan. 

She waited until the older children came home from school, leaving

John and Anna in charge of their younger siblings, for Mary was truly

alone now.   Two years before, uncle Archie had died.  They lost aunt

Tetta a few months later.   

Weeks turned into months without a change in Stephan’s condition.  

Mary would not give in to despair, even when she received a letter:

Dear Mrs. Voloshin:

We regret to inform you that we are unable to hold Stephan

Voloshin’s position any longer.  We sincerely wish him well.

To make matters worse, the hospital was demanding payment

and the taxes on the farm were overdue.  Mary did what needed

to be done to pay their debts.  Accompanied by John, she went to

the bank with the deed to the farm.  She asked them to loan her

enough money to pay the bills and get back on their feet.  She signed

the contract: the monthly payments must be made, or the bank would

seize the farm.

Several days later, Mary was visiting Stephan when she felt him squeeze

her hand.  She called his name, shaking his arm.  He answered in Russian,

groggily but discernible, “My head; my head hurts—what happened?”

“You are in the hospital.  You had an accident at work, but you will be

fine, Stephan.  We can go home now.” 

Dr. Jones came in at that moment, astonished that Stephan had

regained consciousness.  He examined him and advised Mary that if

he continued to improve that he would be discharged in the morning.

The doctor instructed Mary, gesturing and demonstrating to be sure

she understood that Stephan was allowed to ambulate, but he must

not do heavy lifting.  He must not bend over or, Dr. Jones added with

 a pointed glance at Mary’s huge belly, engage in strenuous activity.

Mary blushed crimson and nodded.  She'd been ignoring the sporadic

contractions she had been having for hours, attributing them to false

labor pains.  It was too soon by at least one month.

Suddenly, Mary gasped and clutched her belly as a strong contraction

buckled her knees.

Dr. Jones caught her in his arms and shouted, “Nurse!  Nurse Smith,

hurry!  Bring a gurney!”

They placed the gurney next to Stephan’s bed and helped Mary onto it

 not a moment too soon.  Within minutes, Mary delivered a tiny but

 howling baby boy.  Nurse Smith wrapped him in a blanket and was

about to place him in his mother’s arms, when Mary surprised everyone

by delivering his fraternal twin sister, tiny, red-faced and screaming.  Dr.

Jones examined Mary and the babies, announcing that all were well, but

they would need to stay at the hospital overnight for observation. 

“I cannot stay here!” Mary protested.  “I must go home now; our eight

 other children are waiting for me.”

“I'm off duty soon, Mrs. Voloshin,” said Nurse Smith.  “I'll be happy

to stay with them tonight and tell them all your good news,” she smiled.

Mary grasped the kind nurse’s hand.

“What is your first name?” Mary asked.

“Grace,” Nurse Smith answered.

“We will name our baby girl ‘Grace’,“ said Mary.

“Congratulations,” said Dr. Jones, shaking Stephan’s hand.

“Thank you, doctor.  Our son will be named for you.”

“His name is ‘Michael’,” grinned Dr. Jones.

God had sent Michael, the archangel of a doctor and granted

them the Grace of a nurse to make their family whole.