This was not a good time of our lives. Our child had been sick for 3 months with a serious illness that was not responding to the typical medications. He was referred to a specialty center in Philadelphia which was located in the Germantown Hospital.
At the intake visit, it was explained that the area around the hospital was not safe at night. All appointments ended well before night-fall. In order to emphasize the point, they shared that the hospital had dormitory-like rooms for day shift nurses to stay over after their shift ended at 7:00PM. It was not safe to be on the streets after dark.
The next visit was a day long session of medical tests. Just to be sure the car was in working order, it was inspected and oil changed the day before. I was taking no chances of car trouble. My child was in much pain and totally exhausted when we left the hospital that day. As we approached the car I cautioned him not to step on the puddle – and then I realized the puddle emanated from beneath our car. It’s slick and shiny appearance quickly made me realize it was oil. Hoping against hope, I tried to start the car. Nothing. I was stranded in the parking lot at 3:00 on a winter’s day.
Calling AAA, I was told a truck would be there in 15 minutes. Oil had leaked from the car and it needed to be towed. Sitting in the cab we were told there was a garage within a few miles of our location My heart sank as we traveled away from the highway and into the neighborhood we were warned against. Having working with kids in the criminal system, I understood the graffiti we saw more and more frequently were gang signs. Going into an alley, our driver said the entrance to the garage was at the back. There were drugs being purchased openly as we passed.
As he began the process of depositing our car near the garage doors, a person emerged from the garage. To say they looked rough was an understatement. It looked like they slept on the street last night. They were cursing at the driver. It was closing time and they didn’t want a car on the lot overnight. I would be stripped by morning. The driver’s response was to turn around and drive away, depositing our car and us there.
Asking what the (expletive) was a white woman and kid doing there, I explained the oil found under the car. The next response shocked me when I heard “ We closing. Ain’t doing your car today and you gonna die staying here tonight”. I said I’d call a taxi. I was told no taxis would come to that part of town. Cursing at me for being there they said to call a friend. I explained I was an hour and a half from home.
Sill yelling and cursing, I was asked why the f—- I brought my child to these parts. In abject terror and with tears in my eyes, I explained my child was sick and we went to the hospital to see Dr. Smith at the speciality center. Suddenly the gruff voice softened. “ You’re seeing Dr. Smith? Why?”. When I said the diagnosis, everything about this person changed. In a tender voice I was told:
“ When I was a little girl, they thought I was going to die. As a last resort I saw Dr. Smith. He saved my life.” Looking at my son she said “ If you’re one of Dr. Smith’s kids, I’m gonna take care of you like he took care of me. It will be all right”.
Turning she walked into the bay area of the garage and began cursing and berating her crew. Screaming in her gruff voice she said no one was going home that night until the car was fixed, and if they wanted to get paid it would be fixed before dark. I can still hear her say to them “ This is one of Dr. Smith’s kids. We need to get him out of here”.
She invited us into her disheveled office which held couch with springs popping from it. A cat jumped off and promptly peed on couch’s side. At this point my child looked like he would pass out; the pain, fatigue and stress had done him in. She told him to sit and rest. I was never so thankful for a beat up, peed upon old couch. It was in awe as I stood there listening as she told me the story of her illness and recovery. It was one in a million chances that stranded in this ghetto ,we would come upon someone who not only had my son’s rare disease, but who had been treated by Dr, Smith, and who recovered. Here was this gruff person reaching out to help us with the tenderness of a friend.
It turned out that the wrong size oil filter was placed in my car the day before and oil had leaked around it. A proper sized one was produced and we were out of there as the sun began to set. Our new friend gave me explicit directions as to how to get out of the area quickly.
Within a half hour of leaving I was on the turnpike home. A beautiful golden red sunset lit up the horizon. My son was safe and sleeping in the seat beside me. I was filled with a sense of God and hope and gratitude. I can only think of it as a miracle. God placed an angel in that garage when we most needed help. Thirty years have passed and I am still in awe of the experience. I can still feel the terror of the moment and the fear of being in that situation. I am still wide eyed in the impossibility of the odds, and in reverence as I remember:
Sometimes miracles do happen.
