STETHOSCOPES AND MIRACLES

It was 9PM, my call had just begun,
The call room was silent.
The stethoscope was swinging like a pendulum.
Today is pediatrics.
The room was dim.
But then
A light.
A smile came like a radiant reflection.
It was from a little girl in her sick bed,
Smiling as though pain is pleasure,
As if fate had stitched her wounds.

“Hello,” I said, masking my surprise.
I saw hope in her eyes.
“Doctor, I don’t want to die.”
I reached out to her tiny hand,
I checked her chart
Leukemia in a severe stage.

It’s leukemia, but I couldn’t smell a hint of death.
Her spirit was stronger than any drug.
I held her hand
So small and light.
I told her, “Child, we’ll fight this fight.”
“God can heal,” I softly said.
Her smile was like the sun in a hospital bed.
That night, something changed in me,
Behind every drug, I should perch God in.

I became her dedicated physician.
She taught me strength beyond the charts,
She stitched her light into my heart.
Weeks wore on while I watched her wear her pain.
She wore those excruciating pains without a stain.
She’d say, “I’m winning, can’t you see?
God is healing through you, through me.”

The day she danced across the floor,
No tubes, no cords, like never before,
I knew hope had done its part
It healed not just blood, but every heart.

And still at night, when rounds begin,
I hear her voice, like violin:
“Doctor, you gave me wings to fly,
Hope is the reason I’m still alive.”
In my hand is a stethoscope of miracle.