By August of 1996, I had been studying healing for 6 years.  Most of my classes were in Healing Touch, through the American Holistic Nurses Association.  I was definitely a believer, but I did not yet have a knowing about Healing.  A phone call at 5am one muggy Sunday morning changed everything.
My Dad was being rushed to surgery for a ruptured Abdominal Aortic Aneurysm.  As a nurse, I had been taught that only 1% of these patients survived, and 1/2 of those were severely disabled.  Within 15 minutes I was in the car driving the 90 miles to the hospital, sobbing and constantly praying, “Please God, not yet. Please…”
When I arrived in the waiting room, Dad’s wife was there, and we waited for what seemed like an eternity before the surgeon appeared.  He said the surgery was touch and go.  Dad had received 16 units in addition to his own recycled blood during the lengthy surgery.  He also said one of the arteries to his kidney may have been damaged.  
When we arrived in ICU, Dad was awake and pretty alert for all he had been through.  I was elated but cautious, knowing recovery was a long road.  Gradually over the next 24 hours, Dad slipped into a coma.
For the next two weeks, I sat at his bedside for hours at a time, sobbing and doing the healing techniques I had learned.  That was all I could do.  I remembered the first rule of healing:  Don’t be attached to the outcome as each person has their own path.  The healer’s job is to be a clear conduit for Divine energy to flow, and the system of the one receiving the healing always has the option of how to use the energy.  All this is done on a Spiritual level.  In my head, I believed, and I was doing my best to trust while knowing that Dad’s chosen or necessary path might not be recovery.  I just knew that I had to be there do the work, and let go as best I could.
After a few days his kidneys began to shut down.  During dialysis, my heart sank when I saw the red sludge in his catheter bag—not a good sign.  He would wince and groan during dialysis, so I knew he was hurting.  I began to concentrate my efforts directly over his kidneys.  There were many physicians involved, and each told me he probably would not recover, and if he did, he would be on dialysis for the rest of his life.  Even his sweet, compassionate Nephrologist was beginning to give up.
As I did my healing work, all the staff had varying attitudes, from compassion to complete disdain.  About 12 days in, one young nurse said to me in a most hateful tone, “You know his kidneys are gone.  There is no way he can recover.  Why don’t you go home?”  
I released my first reactive thought then took a deep breath and replied, “I know the gravity of the situation, and I am not going anywhere.  I need to be with my dad, and what I am doing cannot hurt him but might help with his pain.”
The next afternoon, Dad was positioned on his side, and I had my hands directly over his kidneys.  Suddenly, a jolt went through me that I had never felt before.  Dad jumped, and it knocked my hands completely off his body.  I was stunned.  I didn’t know what but something had just happened.  I sat beside him and prayed for his Highest Good until the staff checked his stable vitals and I left.  
The next morning, I found Dad awake, and he recognized me!  Soon, his Nephrologist came in, his face absolutely glowing.  “His kidney function labs are normal!  It’s a miracle!”  He grabbed and swung me around as we both cried tears of joy.  After another week in ICU and another in a regular room, Dad went on to a complete recovery.
Until now, I’ve only shared this story with a few close friends and family.  I never wanted anyone to think that I thought I had healed my Dad.  I was and remain very clear that the healing was between Dad and God.  However, I realize this experience is what finally made Healing very real to me.  I “got it,” not just in my mind but in every cell of my body and through my spirit because of my Dad.