My son was five years old when he got hit in the eye with a rock. Another young boy about two years older than him was trying to hurt him. After we arrived at the emergency room the doctor that examined him called the Eye Ear Throat Hospital about what he found and they told him to send my son to them immediately. They offered ambulance service, but I didn’t want to separate from the use of my vehicle, and didn’t think they’d even drive faster than me. The doctor told me to stay on the expressway to avoid stop signs and red lights, although I ran them all and amazingly going way faster than speed limit, when I saw the police sitting there, they wouldn’t follow me or try and stop me. When we arrived at the hospital three surgeons immediately examined my sons eye, each one of them individually examined my son.
One of the doctors came to me with a book that showed a very large picture of the human eye in separate descriptive layers, which made it easier to understand as he explained. My son’s cornea had been torn, it was open. There was a wrinkle in his iris, like being moved over exposing the lens, this was done by the impact from the rock, which the doctor said they’d fix by straightening it out before they sew up the cornea. The heart crushing moment is when he explained that there was a massive amount of film between the iris and the lens, and it had to be drawn out by a needle, but only a little at a time, which meant he’d have to undergo at least four or five of these operations. This was necessary to prevent the pupil from being blocked of light, the film was like a cataract, the less contact the pupil had with light the lazier it would become. and then inactive. The terror that really exploded my heart and mind was that by him being only five years old, they could only give him one sedative and no anesthesia; so not the one for pain, and that would put him to sleep, but the one that would keep him numb so that his eye could not move while they operate. They did say it would ease some of the pain, but he’d be aware of everything that was happening to him. Some of the pain, and he’d really be awake, just not able to move? That went through me like a bunch of needles. There was no time to waste, no time for more questioning, because as long as the eye was open it was subject to decay.
I had to talk to Yahweh, our Father in heaven. First though I called my mom, and the mother of the afflicter. Mom said she’d go up to the church she belonged to “New Birth Baptist Church” and have them pray with her. The mother of the boy that hit my son’s eye said, she would be praying for him too. I came back to my son’s room and stood over his bed as I spoke to Yahweh from the bottom of my heart. I told God I wouldn’t be angry with him if he chose not to heal my son. I lied. I felt like I was lying, I even knew God felt me lying. But then I said, it would be a dreadful experience for him growing up with a wondering eye. How could he ever forget the tremendous trauma’s behind every operation of his healing? The doctor’s explain that in the process of healing his eye, it would most likely become slow, a wondering eye. All of this was killing me inside. There was a consistent heaviness in my heart, feeling blameful, not watching him enough, knowing that kid was out there and had made other attempts to hurt my son before. All of these thoughts and more were in my head as I spoke to Yahweh, asking for his help.
They brought in the biggest needle I’ve ever seen to give my son a shot. He cried, kicked and screamed, and pleaded for help but he had to accept it, so about three of them held him still, gave him the shot and then they took him in to prep him for surgery. Prior to only this moment, my son had been calm, quiet and seemingly brave, he showed no signs of worry. My head was spinning as I waited impatiently. Then a woman entered with her daughter, she had poked her daughter in the eye accidently with one of her long false fingernails, while reprimanding her about something she did wrong. She didn’t mean to, and I knew in my heart she didn’t. But her situation had her with a confused mind. She thought they had to take the eye out of her daughter to fix it. I tried to explain that wasn’t the procedure, and that she misunderstood. I know she could barely see my face the way the tears were falling from her eyes. When I saw another Doctor I asked him to explain to her the procedure to ease her worries. He agreed to do that and pulled her aside. When the surgery was over, it looked like my son was asleep. It was almost daylight and I needed some rest. The doctor advised me to get some rest.
While my son was still under sedation, I went home to clean myself up, I knew I’d be at the hospital all day, and I called my job to let them know I wouldn’t be in, then went back to the hospital. As I approached my sons room, the doctor stopped me as he was coming down the hallway and said, “I believe God has blessed your son with a miracle”. The other two surgeons had left the hospital, but he said all three of them checked his eye, and none of them could find the film that was previous blocked between the iris and the lens. Furthermore he said, my son read the letter and number charts and got everyone correct, even through the stitches he could read the letters and numbers correctly. He kept saying this is a miracle, a blessing for your son. It was really blowing his mind, but in my mind I was praising Yahweh, thanking him in a hidden tone of voice as I listened to the doctor. I thanked God all day, I shared the miracle with everyone, and told my mom to thank the people at her church for their prayers and to let them know their prayers were answered. When I saw that boys mom, I thanked her too. Today, some thirty-five years later, his eye still looks normal. It’s not slow and you can barely see the scar, where the stitches were. I often tell him he’s seeing with a piece of sight from God. Prayer works.