Morris Goodman

"The Miracle Man"
"It's A Cinch... By The Inch"


     I soon found that I could breathe with the respirator. This meant trying to inhale a little air and expanding my lungs as much as I could. My chest ached, but I continued. After 100 breaths, I stopped to see if my lungs would expand on their own. Nothing happened. Yet the voice kept saying, "You must keep trying."

     All night long I stayed awake, repeating the process: 100 deep breaths, a five-minute rest, another 100 breaths, another brief rest.

     When morning arrived, I was still practicing. I was not tired, but the pain in my chest had become severe. Convinced that I was doing something that would help me to recover, I knew that I must continue to bear it. It was as if God were speaking to me, and I had no right to question His judgment.

     My faith never wavered. Despite seemingly insurmount­able odds, I refused to think of quitting. As far as I knew, no one had ever tried this, let alone succeeded.

From page  41

     Thinking about the obstacles our forefathers had to over­come to create this nation helped to put my own difficulties into perspective. I was fighting against the odds, too. The well-trained and organized medical staff didn't believe that I could accomplish my goal—full recoveryjust as King George doubted that the uprising in the colonies would amount to much. My hunting musket was the damaged muscles and organs that I had to make function like a fine rifle. My constant pain was the bitter winter I had to survive. Those courageous men and women of the Revolution had made it, and so would I.

From page 84

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