Miracles in the ER Read Online Free PDF

problems over the next couple of years. Drug overdoses, chest pain from snorting cocaine, two or three DUIs involving injuries to other drivers. And there were stab wounds on at least two occasions, though no more gunshots. Everyone in the ER knew him, as did everyone on the police force. He was bad news.
    Sometimes, when I hadn’t seen him for a couple of months, and when Ida was in the ER and could talk, I would ask her about her grandson. She never failed to smile at the mention of his name, and to begin nodding her head.
    “Not so good just yet, Dr. Lesslie. But the Lord is going to change that young man. I pray for that every morning and every night. It’s going to happen—just hasn’t happened yet.”
    Then one day there was a chance, a real opportunity for Chauncey to turn things around. He was involved in a minor burglary and was sentenced to eight months in jail. He would be away from his friends and his drugs and would be offered counseling for his substance abuse. Ida was hopeful this would be the turning point.
    When he was released, he told her he had seen the light and was going to mend his ways. No more drugs, no more alcohol. He was even going to stop smoking and get a job.
    That lasted four days. He was soon right back where he had been.
    “It’s just so hard to turn away from that kind of life,” Ida had told me. “Just so hard. But I’m prayin’.”
    He was paying a steep price for his chosen lifestyle, not only with the heartache he caused his family and Ida, but also in his own body. One morning I picked up the clipboard for room 2 and saw his name, and thenhis complaint—“sick.” I pulled the curtain aside and was shocked by what I saw. He had lost twenty or thirty pounds and was jaundiced—a deep orange color. His IV drug use had given him hepatitis B and the virus had nearly destroyed his liver. Chauncey was “sick” this time, and he nearly died. Just before he was released from the hospital, I visited him upstairs on one of the medical floors.
    “This is it, Doc. I’m done with drugs, and with alcohol. I don’t want to go out like this. Done. I swear I am.”
    His grandmother was sitting in the corner of the room, looking over at her Chauncey and smiling. Hope springs eternal, but I was afraid I knew better.

    We didn’t see Chauncey Taylor in the ER for a long time and didn’t hear a word about him. Months passed, and Ida came in a couple of times, her heart continuing to weaken, each visit worse than the last.
    Finally it happened. EMS called in a cardiac arrest—it was Ida. She had managed to get to her phone and dial 9-1-1 and had then collapsed onto the living room floor as she hung up the receiver. We tried everything, and worked with her for almost an hour, but she was gone.
    The paramedics and respiratory therapist left the cardiac room, and Lori and I were alone with her. We stood in silence beside the stretcher, gazing down at this remarkable woman. She was finally at peace—no more shortness of breath, no more near brushes with death.
    The door opened and closed behind us, but we didn’t look up. Slow, deliberate footsteps made their way to the stretcher. Sure and steady hands grabbed the rail opposite us, and we looked up into the face of Chauncey Taylor.
    He smiled at us, then reached out and gently caressed the top of his grandmother’s head.
    I studied the man, first noticing the clothes he was wearing. Neat, clean—something unusual for Chauncey. And then I looked at his face. He had gained some weight, and his color was good. He looked healthy.
    “I didn’t make it in time,” he whispered, his voice low, reverent.
    “It all happened so fast,” Lori told him. “She wouldn’t have known you were here.”
    He gazed at his grandmother and then his eyes found mine. “She knows.” He was still whispering, and slowly nodded his head. “She knows.”
    “She was a great woman,” I told him. “We’ll miss her.”
    “She saved my life, Doc. It’s