“Jesus was holding my hand.”

Molly had an endoscopy procedure a few days ago, a view of her stomach with a camera. The procedure went smoothly, and they found out some important information.

Days later, I’m still thinking about Molly’s words before and after the surgery.

On the gurney, prepped for surgery, IV in place, they told Molly they would be taking her Covid-mask off and putting an oxygen mask on her, and they were ready to wheel her in to the surgery room. She looked at me and said, “I’m glad Aunt Sheila doesn’t have to go thru this.”

I called my sister-in-law Sheila over the weekend, planning to tell her this story just for its entertainment value. But Sheila said, “She’s right! With my claustrophobia I would be fighting them the whole way, and a procedure like that would be torture for me.” Somehow Molly knew and thought of Sheila.

After the procedure, as Molly was waking up, the nurse and I were in the recovery room with her. She opened her eyes, still half asleep, and said, “Jesus was holding my hand in there”. Molly knows things and sees things.

I am grateful.