She finally agreed to take down my info and “do her best” to have the doctor call me back.

I hung up the phone and it all burst forth. The tears flowed and flowed.

And then I had what for me was a penetrating and inspiring moment of tefillah. I cried and asked Hashem why He had to make these simple things such a hassle. Why there had to be so much frustration as part of the process?

Baruch Hashem, Dr. Shapiro did call me back, and he did send the necessary paperwork for the medication I needed. On the phone I conducted myself in a composed manner, but later, when my husband called, I was on edge. “Why did I have to go through all of that time- wasting and frustration for some pills?!” I complained.

I don’t usually take my kids to the park. Maybe because of that morning’s stress, I felt I needed to sit in nature and relax, so when my kids asked if we could go to a park we don’t usually schlep to, I impulsively said yes. We packed corn chips and apples and water, and off we went. My niece came along with her three little ones and met us there. The kids were delighted.

My niece Rachel and I stood in the park schmoozing with our eyes half on the kids. My three-year-old, Chava Shaindel, wanted to board a kiddie swing, so I placed her in it. But then she stood, wobbled about, lost her balance completely, and did a somersault out of the swing, falling gracefully to the ground. I went into Frantic-Mommy-Mode, but she stood up quite confidently, looked at me with her gorgeous big eyes and laughed, “Was so scared, Mommy, right?”

Rachel and I had a good laugh at that for a minute, until we heard a shriek. I swirled around and there was Chava Shaindel curled up on the ground, right in the path of a giant swinging tire.

I ran over and scooped her up, then placed her in the stroller. But she wouldn’t sit. Her head slumped backward, her chin stuck up, and her arms fell limply. Her eyes had rolled back and all I could see was their whites. Her lips were turning blue, and she wasn’t making a sound.

“I’m calling Hatzolah,” Rachel said.

Thank G-d she was there because I couldn’t think. Thoughts of a lifeless Chava Shaindel passed before my eyes. I picked her up again feeling so, so helpless to fix her. I shook her a bit, swung her upside down (which I learned later you don’t do), and then heard the precious cry of, “Mommmmy.” She was speaking, she was breathing. Crying, but not totally alert.

We went through all the motions of a suspected concussion: An ambulance arrived, we went to the hospital, they checked her (she furiously fought off anyone who tried to touch her), and five hours and two ice pops later, we were released with a clean bill of health and some instructions for follow-up care.

Later that night, I was able to fully debrief my husband, and we both breathed sighs of immense relief at the “tragedy that didn’t happen today.”

And then I asked him, “Do you think… could it be I had to cry so much this morning so that I would daven and that prevented anything really terrible from….”

“Whoa, that’s powerful,” he said.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 904)