"And Sarai said to Abram: 'Behold now, the Lord has restrained me from bearing'" Genesis 16:2
Sveta and I had been married for five years. In the first years of married life, we didn't even dare dream of a child—tours, relocations, rehearsals, and concerts left no room for a third person constantly demanding attention. But now we seriously considered that it was time for us to become a full family. However, all our attempts proved fruitless. A chance play of words, but in them lies the meaning of what happened to us. Sveta underwent numerous examinations and tests, spent time in the hospital, consulted with leading professors on infertility. The doctors' verdict was categorical—infertility; pregnancy was impossible.
Apparently, this was a consequence of her professional engagement in dance. My mother worked at the time as the head of a children's clinic and oversaw the commission distributing abandoned children. She said our situation wasn't the worst; there were hundreds of couples like us—and almost as many children whose mothers had abandoned them in the maternity ward. All we needed to do was find a child with good genetics, without pathology, and adopt them. She took it upon herself to conduct the search and checks.
I couldn't imagine how I'd be able to raise an adopted child. Even now I bow before people who've taken on the role of foster parents for abandoned children. But imagining myself in such a role—I simply couldn't. When the doctors pronounced their final verdict, I returned home from the clinic, closed myself in my room, and in a hot prayer with tears poured out to God everything that weighed on me. My desire to become a father. My fear of the fact of adopting someone else's child. I ended my prayer in a completely unconventional way. I said to God: "Lord, You created my wife as she is. And only You can correct the disturbances found in her body. If it is Your will—help us in the birth of our own child." Pouring out in simplicity all my problems and fears before the Lord, I continued to live and... to hope.
Time moved on. Sveta worked at one of the city banks, and she ran into serious problems because she didn't hide the fact that she believed in God. She was called to the Party committee and was lectured extensively, then told that she'd gone to church only to beg God for a child (everyone knew about our desire). "So," they continued, "God won't give you children, the Communist Party will!" "And how, I wonder, will the Communist Party be able to give me a child?" asked Sveta. "Well, through Party channels we'll send you to a sanatorium where they treat infertility; you'll get treated there and you'll give birth!" that's what they told her at the Party committee.
Sveta came home completely devastated. Holding the sanatorium referral in her hands, she said she didn't know what to do. After all those tests and examinations, she felt terrible. Her constant companions now were weakness and dizziness. I replied that if they'd taken such care of her, it was worth going to the sanatorium. Whether the Communist Party would help her become pregnant or not—but resting after all she'd endured wouldn't hurt. She probably wouldn't recover completely, but she could and should regain her strength. In the end, Sveta couldn't withstand the unshakeable authority of the Communist Party and gave in to it and to me. It was decided that she would go for treatment.
Arriving at the sanatorium and settling into her assigned room, Sveta went to the head doctor so she could examine her, read her medical history, and prescribe the necessary procedures and medications. She felt absolutely horrible. All her symptoms had worsened, apparently due to the long journey. But to her surprise, the doctor, after examining her, said to her in a rather sharp tone that she had no place in a sanatorium and that she should immediately pack and leave to make room for people who really needed treatment. "But I feel so terrible!" my wife exclaimed in tears. "My head is spinning, I've been nauseous since this morning! Why must I go home? I won't survive another move today!" To which the doctor replied: "This is no place for pregnant women!" "Pregnant?! Who's pregnant?! That's me, am I pregnant?! Look at my chart," cried Sveta. "It says in Russian and Latin: Primary infertility!" "My dear," replied the doctor, "I don't only look at charts, but also other places, and there I see the sixth week of pregnancy! So pack up and—quickly home!"
Sveta was speechless. It was clear to her that something supernatural had occurred. But her mind simply refused to believe it. The only thing she knew with absolute certainty at that moment was that she felt very bad and that she couldn't go home now. What does a woman do when she doesn't know what to do? That's right, she cries! And my wife-heroine did exactly that. She simply burst into tears in the head doctor's office and began begging her not to send her home. The monologue came out very natural and convincing; the doctor's heart softened. In the end, she herself became moved and... gave in to Sveta. Her condition was very simple: no one must know about the pregnancy. As for treatment, she prescribed something wonderful: eat well, sleep soundly, and walk more in the fresh air.
In joyful excitement, Svetochka rushed to the pay phone—the only means of communication with the outside world available at that time. And there—a queue of women staying at the sanatorium, also wanting to call their beloved husbands.
And while Sveta waited her turn, she composed a "code message" that she needed to convey to me so that I'd understand everything, but those standing nearby wouldn't guess what she was talking about. Her turn comes; my beloved dials the number and, hearing my voice, excitedly whispers into the phone:
"Sasha, listen, a miracle has happened!!!"
"What kind of miracle? Did you arrive okay?" I ask.
"Yes, I arrived okay, but a miracle has happened!"
"Can you explain what you're talking about?" I pressed, not understanding at all what she meant.
"I won't come home alone!" she suddenly blurted into the phone.
"How do you mean—not alone? With whom?"
"Well, I can't tell you that yet!"
"What do you mean 'can't tell'? Have you already met someone??? Who do you want to bring here? Come to your senses; we're believers! I've already heard so many stories about such 'miracles' when wives come back from sanatoriums not alone!"
"You misunderstood!" she protested.
"How else am I supposed to understand? You go to a sanatorium, and two days later you say you're bringing someone with you! What's his name, at least you can tell me that?"
"I don't know his name yet. We'll think together about what to call him," she answers.
"Think together? He doesn't even have a name? Is he a vagrant?" I was carried away. I felt the earth disappearing from under my feet. But no further explanations followed.
"That's it, I won't say anything else; details in a letter!" Sveta cried out passionately, and short beeps came from the receiver.
I was in shock! What had happened to my wife in those two days? Who would she come back with? And how should I understand all this? My common sense retreated to a far corner, while a ridiculous feeling of indignation filled me completely. Realizing I could get answers to all my questions only by receiving that fateful letter, I began to wait.
Three days and two sleepless nights passed. Every day I ran to the mailbox several times, hoping to see the letter. And finally, it was in my hands! After reading it, I knew exactly who my beloved would come back with. Needless to say, I didn't sleep for another three nights, but now it was from joy and gratitude to God, filling my heart. THE LORD HEARD ME!!! I was ready to shout about it at every step.
GOD ANSWERED ME, contrary to all the predictions of medical authorities and the care of the Communist Party!
HALLELUJAH!!! I will be a father! Glory to our God!!!
After the period appointed by nature passed, our son Mark was born. He's 24 years old now. He is the only child in our family. The Lord answered our prayers. And the fact that we had no more children confirms the doctors' diagnosis.
The birth of our son was supernatural.
