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Brought back to Life for a Purpose

by Traute Klein, AKA biogardener

The frozen Edmonton toddler came back to life in a manner similar to how I was revived 65 years ago. Will this event impact her life as powerfully as it impacted mine?

Frozen to Death

Edmonton, February 24, 2001. Saturday morning. Leyla Nordby, a 26-year-old single mother and her one-year-old toddler are sleeping in the same bed at a friend's home. Little Erika wakes up, looks around the unfamiliar surroundings, starts to roam around the house, manages to open the back door and wanders out into the -20° C (4° below F) temperature wearing nothing but a diaper and a pink T-shirt. At 2 a.m., the mother wakes up, looks for her child and, after a frantic search, notices that the backdoor is not secured. She finds her girl facedown in the backyard with her mouth frozen shut. Ambulance sirens howl. Two paramedics try to revive this frozen bundle on the kitchen table. One of them feels a faint pulse. Sirens howl again as the ambulance rushes to Children's Centre at the University of Alberta Hospital. Her body temperature reads 15° C (60° F), when normal body temperature is 37.5° C (96.8° F). Her heart has stopped beating. Her body shows signs of severe frostbite. It needs to be warmed slowly. The attending physician, Allan de Caen, gets ready to drain the blood from the body to warm it and to reintroduce it at a higher temperature. One more temperature check. Amazingly, it now reads 17° C (64° F). Even with the heart stopped, the body is still performing the life-sustaining function of regulating the temperature. The attending physician cancels the procedure, because the human body is better at warming blood than a machine.

Déjà vu

This has happened before. I was that one-year-old little girl whose life was snatched from death 65 years ago. No, I did not freeze to death, but my body also was cold and apparently lifeless when a homeopath's intervention snatched it back from the brink of death. I had received all my prescribed shots against the common infectious diseases, but instead of being protected against these diseases, I contracted them, all of them at the same time. Not only did I get sick myself, I also passed two of those diseases, scarlet fever and whooping cough, on to my mother and my two older brothers. All four of us occupied the same isolation ward at the hospital. My brothers came through the ordeal quickly. My mother barely escaped death. The three of them were sent home. The physicians realized that little me would not make it. Overcoming so many infectious diseases at the same time was just too much for a little girl. They allowed my parents to take me home to die. My parents, however, did not accept the doctors' verdict. My father's life had been saved by a homeopath once when the doctors had given him up. This man became my parent's last resort a second time. He came as soon as he was summoned, but by the time he arrived, my body had turned blue with the coldness of death. He had heard of one desperate measure which would either revive me or kill me instantly, depending on the strenght of my heart. He sent the family out of the room to spare them the agony of watching. Only my father remained to assist him.

Desperate Measure

Water was heated on the cast iron wood stove in preparation for the hottest bath which any baby ever received. Towels were passed through the apartment window to be cooled in the cold winter evening air. I was totally immersed in the hot bath and then wrapped in the cold towels. My mother heard the screaming from the hall. She knew that her precious first girl had been given to her a second time. The homeopath was as amazed as the rest of the family. He had never witnessed such a dramatic revival. His comment, "She must have a really strong heart to have survived this."

Saved for a Purpose

My mother told me countless times about those anxious moments out in the hall, moments of waiting, talking to God, committing my life to him. She asked him to restore me to her only on the condition that I would live my life serving him. She gave God her consent to take me home at that time rather than allow me to live an ungodly life. That reminds me of the story of Hannah who dedicated Samuel, her miracle baby, to God's service. There is one big difference. My mother did not hand me over to an ungodly high priest for spiritual training. She undertook it herself.