When I was in the eighth month of pregnancy with my second child, I was diagnosed with a critical, usually fatal, disease. The doctor was very concerned and called in a specialist. The nurses’ station was just outside my door, and I heard them tell the specialist that I would not take the medicine he was prescribing because of something to do with my religion.
The specialist came to my room and said, “Are you one of those Christian Scientists?” I replied that I was indeed; that in fact I was a third-generation Christian Scientist. He asked how I planned to save my life without proven medical help. I answered, “The way I and my family have always solved every problem—through prayer and trust in God.” He seemed frustrated and said, “I have but one thing to say to you—you are not going to live to raise this baby.” He walked out angrily.
I called the Christian Science practitioner who had been praying for me during this time. She was ready with so much comfort to calm my startled thought. My husband, who was also a Christian Scientist, was also praying, and we kept up our prayers until a healthy baby girl was born.
