In February, 1929, our son was suddenly taken very ill

Bertha Bertschi with contributions from Adolf Bertschi

In February, 1929, our son was suddenly taken very ill. We asked immediately for Christian Science treatment, but he apparently did not improve. After three weeks he was so much worse that we decided to ask a physician to diagnose the case. The doctor said that the disease was tubercular peritonitis, and very far advanced. The knowledge that God is our physician calmed me. I told the physician that the case could be cared for under Christian Science, but he apparently did not comprehend it, for he replied, "I have heard quite a little of this Science, but such a sickness cannot be prayed away."

Against my wishes my son was put under X-ray treatment. He was so enfeebled after a fortnight's treatment, and so emaciated, that the physician was greatly concerned and arranged to have him taken to the hospital, where he could be artificially fed, and where, if he grew no weaker, they could operate. Eight days later the physician said to my husband: "Your son is beyond hope. He cannot live without an operation, and I cannot operate, for he will die under the knife. A great miracle is necessary if he is to live." Two days later my son seemed so very ill that I had to summon all my courage to appear calm in front of him. The same evening the physician telephoned that he was undertaking to operate, for an injection had been given the day before. I immediately consulted the practitioner, who called to my attention a passage in Hebrews which says, "The word of God is quick, and powerful, and sharper than any twoedged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart." The whole night I worked on this verse, and by morning, when I went into the hospital, I was very peaceful and confident.

My son was not operated upon, for the operating room was occupied. The next day the physician said an operation was no longer necessary, as food was digesting properly. My son improved rapidly, and sixteen days later I was able to take him home again, though he was still very much in need of rest and recuperation. It was a long, severe struggle, and error tempted me frequently, but whenever I could not immediately find the right thoughts to rout it, the words always came to me, "Great God, we praise Thee." It was also clear to me that if I pitied my child, I admitted at the same time that sickness is a reality. The victory won was splendid, and I have been enriched by the experience. The doctor has admitted that he and the nurses were hourly expecting my son to die, and that his skill did not heal him, but that a higher power intervened. In the middle of July of the same year my son, in the best of health, went joyfully to work again at his trade. For all this my gratitude knows no bounds.

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