March 1, 1858

Catherine Latapie was 38 years old and suffering from Ulnar Paralysis, a paralyzed arm with crab-like deformations of her hand.  She dipped her arm in the tiny spring that Bernadette Soubirous had uncovered at the direction of “Aquéro,” the lady who appeared to Bernadette in the Grotto that we now call Our Lady of Lourdes.  Bernadette was 14.

Catherine Latapie instantly regained full movement of her arm.  Hers was the first miracle of Lourdes, the first of 67 certified by the Lourdes Medical Bureau and recognized by the Catholic Church.

My grandmother’s name was Mabel Latapie, the daughter of Pierre Latapie who came to the United States from the County of Gers, France–a little over 100 kilometers from Lourdes.

My dad revealed this to me in a phone conversation not long after I’d returned home from a Confirmation Retreat I’d led at St. Clare’s.  I had told him about the Sacrament of Healing that took place during the Sunday morning Mass of Inscription, when an awful lot of people came forward and put their hands on my shoulders while the priest administered the sacrament.  Dad and I had been discussing miracles, about which we have some slight differences.  That’s when he said, “Don’t forget, you have Lourdes in your blood.”

I was darned surprised and went to the computer while we were on the phone.  Dad had thought Catherine Latapie was the second miracle at Lourdes.  I found many references to the miracle online–but as the first, not second miracle to take place.

It certainly gives me pause.

My echocardiogram on Monday went just fine.  I asked for happy juice so couldn’t tell you much about the procedure itself.  After 8 other catheterizations since February, I’ve actually gotten to know a lot of the “Cath Lab” staff–maybe not a great sign, but comforting nonetheless.  I do not know the results of the test, other than I have returned once more to pre-adolescence and have a couple band-aids in the nether regions.  I will find out December 11 what the conclusion of all this testing produces.

Over the retreat I found my heartrate bumping up into the 120’s, and then to 138 on Sunday morning.  Chest pains and pressure hit me just after the sermon so I discreetly popped a nitro and returned to normal within a few minutes.  It would have been terribly bad form to go down right after such a wonderful celebration of the Sacrament of Healing.  Irony is not cute in church.

Had I known about the Lourdes connection during mass I don’t know what might have changed for me.  It’s not that I don’t believe in miracles.  I just don’t believe that one should pray for their own–it seems sort of selfish when prayer ought to be for another…

On the other hand, 148 years ago one of my relatives dipped her paralyzed arm in a muddy new spring at Lourdes on the testimony of a 14 year-old teenager, and was healed.  Maybe I need to revisit this theology of mine.

Miracle or not, my heart is still sliding downhill.  Hills and stairs are my enemy.  So is drying my hair sometimes in the morning.  But the physical limitations aren’t so terribly bad.  It’s the body-memory of getting defibrillated, the fear of dropping dead that suddenly overwhelms a normally joyful and optimistic nature.  It is knowing that my prognosis for long-term survival sucks.

So I definitely want a new heart.  What’s keeping me off the list?  Mostly my V02 testing level.  That is exercise oxygen consumption.  I did very well on the test.  After doing more research, though, evidently V02 levels can be an incorrect indicator for successful prognosis.   Especially for someone with superior aerobic conditioning and motivation, the test inaccurately predicts prognosis.

Looking at the current criteria for transplant, it sure seems like I’m darn close.  I’m going armed with a lot more information for my Dec 11 appointment.  We shall see.   For now, I just need to get the darned Christmas Tree decorated!

Now get back to work!