This post continues the previous post on When Prayers Get Answered.

After the injections prescribed by the specialist, our little son started to sleep peacefully. No more convulsions or other scary symptoms. Peter was suddenly by my side, and feeling incredibly sorry that he had not realized the gravity of the situation. He stayed with me by our son’s bedside until the early morning. That’s when Robert was taken by ambulance over prairie winter roads to the Edmonton Hospital 300 km from the little town of Consort to be checked out by specialists. 

We could not accompany him in the ambulance. After a short rest and sleep of exhaustion, I went by Greyhound bus to the capital city I had never visited before. Peter would pick us up as soon as our son would be released from the hospital.

I slept most of the long bus ride over the dreary prairie roads. A January Chinook brought in dark clouds. Raindrops like tears were streaming down the windshield. It was already getting dark when the friendly bus driver dropped me off at a motel within walking distance of coffee shops and the huge General Hospital. 

After checking in at the hotel, I went to see our Robert. The hospital looked intimidating, like an enormous prison. When I was finally led by a friendly nurse’s aid to the pediatric ward, I could already distinguish Robert’s loud, crying voice from the wails of the other little patients. Hearing his anguished cries reassured me that he was getting stronger. I never forget the disbelief in his swollen eyes and his outstretched arms when he saw me. He almost flew over the railing of the crib into my arms. I stayed with him until later that night, when he finally fell asleep peacefully in my arms.

The nurses connected me by intercom with the head doctor, who assured me that Robert checked out fine and could go home the next day.

In the meantime, Peter got our car ready to drive to Edmonton in the morning. The car was a gift from Peter’s principal at the German Saturday school. It was a second-hand Pontiac still in good condition but too old to be traded in. Mr K. liked Peter as a colleague and friend. He felt sorry for us, just starting as new immigrants in a foreign country without poper transportation.

Peter arrived early, and finally, we had our little Robert back to drive home. In those days, seatbelts were not mandatory, and children did not need car seats. Bundled up cozily, reassured by our presence, Robert slept like an angel in my arms in the front seat . On his early morning drive to Edmonton, the roads were only wet, but a sudden drop in temperature below freezing had turned them into skating rings. Out of the city, on the highway, we would see jackknifed semi-trucks and other vehicles left and right in the ditches. It looked like in a horror movie. 

Peter stayed calm and focused. I kept my eyes on the bundle of joy sleeping in my arms. It felt like we were gliding on eagle wings over the icy highway, not slipping once. To this day, we marvel at this miraculous drive home on Eagle Wings.