I was in the hospital recovering from surgery, which had removed my adrenal gland and the cancerous tumor that had invaded it.

Although everyone has two of these glands, one is sufficient to maintain life’s functions. It was expected that the shock of surgery might render that gland temporarily inactive. A week of a daily dose of hydrocortisone would produce the desired effect. That week passed, and the medication was being withdrawn. The remaining gland should have resumed functioning.

I thought of events that led to my surgery and how I first learned of the tumor.

I had been assured cancer was not expected. The doctor said it was extremely rare to strike that area, so rare, he called it a “one in a million chance.” The numbers may have been exaggerated, but I never expected it to be my fate, nor did I expect the news to be relayed in the manner in which it came.

The pathology report was in, and Dr. Lund was making rounds. Hearing voices in the hall, I rose to my feet and walked to the hallway. Looking out, I could see that he and his interns had just entered the room of another patient, and soon he would be here.

Nervous, afraid, but hopeful, I thought of his words, “one in a million chance.” The rarity of the number was in my favor. Someone approached my room! My heartbeat quickened, but to my disappointment, it was a woman carrying my lunch tray. I stared at the tray but had no desire to lift the cover. Waiting continued until finally he and his interns entered my room.

He looked at me, noticed the lunch tray and said, “Go ahead and eat. I’ll be back.”

“What?” I asked in astonishment, “Don’t go, come back.”

Instead of facing me, he headed for the door. The interns followed in quick pursuit. Rising to my feet, I tried to follow. I thought I might catch up, demanding an explanation. It was too late. He had already entered the room of his next patient.

I went back to my room and shoved the lunch tray out of the way as the table wheels whirled across the room hitting the wall. I waited for his return, after he had seen all his other patients.

He confirmed what I already knew. It was cancer. I was that “one in a million” person.

After he left, thoughts raced through my mind… I was overwhelmed with an intense feeling of impending death.

I was young, had small children, a husband, and parents, who would be devastated. I regretted having to leave them, but I accepted this was inevitable. Not even considering calling the nurse for help, I felt the need to make it known.

“I am going to die today.”

Responding to the shock of these words, my roommate rang for the nurse, who in turn called the doctors. Things became hazy. I felt as if I drifted in space. I heard, “Quick, she needs hydrocortisone.”

My life had become a constant series of trials, and none of it made sense. I could not understand what had happened or why I had been so sure of death. I was fearful that I was losing my mind. I had always prayed, especially throughout the ordeal of my illness. I continually appealed to God for help.

Help came from Dr. Osgood, one of Dr. Lund’s interns. In desperation, I expressed concerns about losing my mind. He was sympathetic and troubled at what I had endured. He reassured me nothing was wrong with my mind. He confirmed and explained my condition. I had suffered a severe adrenal crisis. The existing gland had not functioned as expected. I had Addison Disease. Without hydrocortisone, it would be a life threatening disease. Since then I have been on a daily regime of this medicine that must continue to sustain my life.

Months later, a test confirmed the presence of a cancerous tumor in the other gland, explaining why it had not functioned. I took chemotherapy for many years. That “one in a million chance” occurred twice — once in one gland, again in the other — but then, I became a “one in a two million chance” survivor.

Dr. Lund passed away and Dr. Osgood is my physician now. I see him twice yearly, and he confirms how amazing my survival was. He calls it a miracle. I know he is right. Then I ask, “Are there any more survivors?” For a long time the answer was no. Now a few, although small in number, have survived.

In time, I came to understand the meaning of the premonition of my death, and how it did come to save my life. It had been brought from God or through the angel He sent to guide me. In spite of the fact that I was not expected to survive this extremely rare condition, God continued to preserve my life.

Now, thirty years later, I remain in awe and thankful of His goodness.

Diane LoDuca joe_loduca@sbcglobal.net