For the month of December, you will see more posts than usual in your email. This month I wanted to celebrate Christ’s birth by getting some friends to share a story or posts this month.

I have six guest posts for the month of December. I hope you enjoy their stories as much as I did.

Whitney Ward’s story is touching and supernatural. Do you believe you have met an angel? Read her story!

My eyes opened in shock as the tube in my nose gave my body the oxygen it so desperately lacked. I immediately noticed the eight doctors and nurses crammed into my tiny hospital room. “What’s my hemoglobin?” I asked in a hoarse whisper.

My mother leaned close and caressed my brow. “You remember a few years ago when your hemoglobin was 4.8, and you were really sick? Well, it’s kind of like that now.”

Nightmare in the ICU

I suffered from rare autoimmune and immune diseases, so battling a low hemoglobin blood count was a hurdle I jumped over many times. A normal hemoglobin range is between 11 to 14. It’s the part of the blood that carries the oxygen throughout the body and to the brain, so when it’s low the body isn’t getting the oxygen it needs to function and in extreme cases, the mind can’t remain lucid.

Even in my sickly state, I saw the hopelessness in the medical professionals’ eyes. I was aware of their nervous glances.

I understood for the past two hours I was locked inside my body, unable to speak, incapable of doing anything but stare.

The deafening silence of the doctors and nurses gave me the real answer: This was nothing like the time when my hemoglobin dropped to 4.8 — it was worse.

“Do you know your name?” the ICU attending compassionately asked to see if I remembered my identity.

I shook my head, “It’s Whitney.”

“Where are you?” The doctor wanted to see if I was in touch with reality.

“I’m on the Hemoc floor.”

“What day is it?” Was my sense of time still intact?

“It’s Tuesday night.”

I answered the questions correctly, but the test I just aced didn’t change the nightmare we were all living: My hemoglobin had dropped to 2.8 and I was fighting for my life.

The ICU staff rushed me to their unit. On the way, the specialists prepared my parents for what lay ahead. I would have to receive several units of blood, the IV treatment I took every six months, and an antibiotic. I had never taken this antibiotic before and it commonly causes an allergic reaction where a person’s whole body turns red.

They warned my parents it was imperative I didn’t experience any reactions to the treatments they were administering because my body could take no more trauma.

This news devastated my parents because they were painfully aware I had always had an allergic reaction during blood transfusions and to my IV treatment—so how would I survive?

The Angel in the Waiting Room

The staff directed my father and mother to the waiting room while they took me to a room to be hooked up to machines. The only other person in the waiting room was a man sitting at a computer. This was unusual because the ICU was maxed to capacity with patients. My parents were very familiar with waiting rooms, so they knew there should have been more family members holding vigil for their loved ones.

Sitting down, they took advantage of a nearly empty waiting room and began calling family and friends, asking them to touch Heaven on my behalf.

As my mother talked to one of her dear friends and shared the heartbreaking details, she began sobbing. My father took the phone from her to finish explaining the dire situation.

Suddenly, the man got up from the computer and walked across the room to my mother.

“What’s the child’s name?” he asked compassionately.

My mother stared into the clearest and bluest eyes she had ever seen. “It’s Whitney.”

“Okay, I’ll put her on The Prayer Chain.” Then he turned around, walked out of the waiting room, and my parents never saw him again.

He didn’t say I’ll put her on my church’s prayer chain or I’ll let my pastor know—he said The Prayer Chain.

The next night, the ICU waiting room was completely full.

Living Life to the Fullest

My parents are convinced the man was an angel sent from God. For the first time in my life, right after he left, I did not have a single reaction to my treatment, transfusions, nor did my body turn red from the new antibiotic. My body did a complete 180, and I  got better quicker than any of my doctors thought medically possible.

They admitted me into the hospital on Monday, December 19th, 2011, and I got to come home on Saturday, December 24th, 2011 — The best Christmas gift ever.

Two weeks later, I went back to college to finish my degree, and in May 2012; I graduated with a Bachelor’s in creative writing.

Looking back at that Christmas seven-ten years ago, I marvel at the timing and pieces God intricately sewed together during that week so I could remain on this earth. #WhitneyWard #ThisSideofHeaven #AnAngelinWaiting #ChristmasMiracle

Looking back at that Christmas seven-ten years ago, I marvel at the timing and pieces God intricately sewed together during that week so I could remain on this earth.

The best part of the story, though?

God placed His healing hand on my diseased body, and I went from fighting for my life to living life to the fullest.

I never have doubted when the miraculous turnaround happened in my body—The minute the kind man told my mother he would put my name on The Prayer Chain. Not everyone gets to attend to angels unaware, but I’m so thankful God gave my parents and me the peace and assurance we needed in our darkest hour through an angel in the waiting room.

Meet Whitney:

Whitney Ward

Whitney Ward is a public speaker and writer who seeks to encourage her audiences to overcome their circumstances. As someone who has a disability, it is her wish to give hope to others with illness so they will persevere and scale every mountain they face.

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