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Photo by Joe Treleven

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Nick Leibold, whose family has worked the same northern Iowa farm for four generations, had a life-changing morning in 2011.

It was a hot August morning, and I was mowing a waterway with an old tractor from the 1960s. I backed up into a fence post that had some wire hanging on it and heard a big clanging noise, like rocks. I raised up the machine, and it kicked out a piece of wire one-and-a-quarter inches long—straight into my back, like a bullet.

At the time, I thought a rock had broken my ribs and pushed them into my lungs. But that wire had gone right through my liver in two different places as well as my diaphragm and heart. It ripped a two-inch tear in my vena cava, the vein that comes right out of the heart, and got lodged in my breast bone. I got off the tractor, took a couple steps, and collapsed to the ground.

That was when our neighbor, Aaron, drove by, saw me on the ground, and called the sheriff. Another man I’d never seen before—he looked like just another farmer, but we say that perhaps he was my guardian angel—blocked the sun so I could stay cool.

When I got to the local hospital, the doctor asked me how the pain was on a scale of one to 10. I said 11. I don’t remember anything else until 10 days later.

Kendra Leibold, Nick’s wife: They called the helicopter to get him to Mayo, and during that half-hour ride, he used five bags of blood and two of plasma. In the first surgery, they opened him up, cracked his ribs, took the wire out of his breastplate, and sewed up the gash in his vena cava and heart. But blood was still pooling near his heart, so the next morning they had to do a surgery of last resort. It lasted 10 hours. Two days later they did a third surgery. He went through more than 90 units of blood. In the process, his kidneys failed and he got a blood infection. They worried that he’d have brain damage and be on dialysis for the rest of his life. But he got better so fast. He was only in the intensive-care unit for 10 days and went home two weeks after the accident.

Nick: I haven’t had a profound revelation to go do something as my mission in life. But I know that some hospitals have changed their rescue procedures and now take plasma with them in the helicopters—without that plasma transfusion, I would have died long before I got to the hospital. Not long after I got home from the hospital, there was a blood drive. When the paper mentioned I was going to be there, they had three times the usual number of people show up to give blood, and a lot of them were first-time donations. Even if it was a small thing, it was a direct result. We knew some good had come out of this.

Born 17 weeks early

April Winebrenner-Palo was born at Children’s Hospital in Minneapolis, where neonatologist Ronald Hoekstra became known for dramatically improving the survival rates of micro-preemies.

There weren’t any extenuating circumstances that would explain why I was born prematurely. But very early my mom noticed signs of impending labor, and she went to the hospital. They tried to hold off on having me born for a little while, but in the end I was born at 23 weeks. I was 1 pound, 8 ounces.

My parents were told that I would almost certainly not make it and that they should make preparations for that. Doctors told my parents to consider coming up with a name and doing a baptism—or saving the name for a future infant. My grandfather, a Lutheran pastor, baptized me in the hospital.

But I was born in the right place at the right time. I benefited from procedures that were experimental at the time—like injected surfactant, a chemical produced by the body that makes babies’ lungs more stable. Today they won’t do a preterm birth without having surfactant prepared.

There were other problems. My heart wasn’t fully formed and had to be repaired via heart surgery when I was two weeks old. I had two procedures to fix my eyes and all sorts of things to make sure I was breathing properly and maintaining calories.

My parents were in the hospital all the time in shifts: one parent during the day, the other at night. Sometimes they would both be called in because things were going so badly that doctors didn’t think I would make it.

Of course they knew that there was a very real possibility that I would die at any moment. But they treated me like a regular baby as much as they could. They would read me books or tell me stories or tell me about their day. I think that was crucial to helping them feel like normal parents.

I only weighed 20 or 30 pounds going into kindergarten, but I was never delayed intellectually. I graduated from Hamline University in 2011, and, in May, I graduated with a master’s degree from Harvard Divinity School. I’m hoping to get a job in interfaith community organizing.

The fact that I was born so early was tough on my folks, and of course they’ve never forgotten it. My parents raised me to recognize the fragility of life and to understand that all things are impermanent.


This spring, Dr. John Wagner and his team—including Dr. Michael Verneris and Dr. Timothy Schacker—treated a 12-year-old boy with a stem-cell transplant in an attempt to cure him of both leukemia and HIV. If it works, he will become only the second patient in the world to be cured of both diseases
and the first using umbilical-cord blood instead of bone marrow.

Because of our work with umbilical-cord transplantation, this patient was referred to us to treat his leukemia. As part of the discussion, it came out that this child was HIV positive and in fact had AIDS. So it changed our plan for how we would attack these two diseases simultaneously.

In 1996, there was a discovery of a receptor called CCR5, and in some individuals, there was a variation that prevented infection by HIV. Only 1 percent of northern Europeans have this variant receptor. Cord blood is banked and stored but most is never typed for this variant. The only way we found donor cord blood is that it doesn’t have to be perfectly matched. An adequately matched cord-blood unit was identified in Houston and shipped here.

Before the transplant, we gave the boy three days of chemotherapy to knock down the leukemia as far as we could, followed by four days of total-body irradiation. We also had to manipulate the drugs to get his HIV burden down.

The infusion took only 15 to 20 minutes. We first thawed the frozen blood, then washed it of preservatives and infused those cells into him through a catheter that goes into major vessels that go right through the heart. These stem cells circulate around the body and within the first 24 to 48 hours hone into the bone-marrow space where they hopefully regenerate not only the blood but also the immune system.

Now it’s a waiting game. It takes about 100 days for the immune system to recover enough to send the patient home. At three months, we hope to come out and say the goal has been accomplished and we have gotten rid of the HIV. It takes longer to prove the leukemia won’t come back—one to one-and-a-half years.

This is a major step forward in the quest to cure HIV/AIDS. Who would’ve thought there would be a naturally occurring variant of a receptor that actually inhibits HIV from getting into a cell and infecting it? Now we are taking advantage of this natural thing and seeing if it can help other people.

Lived through China’s Cultural Revolution

When she was 18, Baorong Li became one of the millions of well-educated students in China sent from cities to rural areas to quell political unrest. She arrived in the United States on a scholarship in 1988 and eventually earned her PhD. Li now lives in St. Paul.

The Cultural Revolution began in 1966, while I was at boarding school. Classes stopped, and eventually I was sent to a village 100 miles from my home in Beijing. I worked as a peasant with three other girls from my class. We formed our own little family.

There was never a minute to sit: we were up at 4:30 a.m. so that by the time the sun rose at 5 a.m. we could be out to water the wheat fields. We were in the fields until the sun set, after 8:30 p.m., and then we still had to do all of our cooking and washing. We had to grow our own vegetables—something that brothers, dads, and grandpas usually did. But we girls had to do everything ourselves.

What did it feel like? It just felt like I had to accept it. I couldn’t say, “I don’t want to do it,” and go home. So I worked very, very hard. I spent two years doing this, and I was one of the lucky ones.

My generation thought we were unfairly treated. We lost our youth. We lost our opportunity. But there’s no use in complaining, because it won’t make your life better. The only thing to do is face reality and do what you can do.

Reader Stories

We asked you to share your own miracles with us. Here is one of those remarkable tales:

“I was kayaking on Silver Lake near Silverwood Regional Park in St. Anthony over Labor Day weekend last year when a speedboat hit my kayak dead center. The driver never saw me—he and his passengers were watching the kid they were towing on a tube behind them. I bailed out at the last second before the impact. My kayak ended up on one side of the speedboat, and I ended up on the other. My husband was in a kayak in front of me and two of my sons were in a canoe behind me, and we were all screaming at the driver to stop but to no avail.

Several years ago, I also survived a telephone pole skewering my car. The pole was on a trailer, and when the truck couldn't make a corner, it backed up, not seeing me, and the phone pole poked through the passenger-side of the windshield, bent back the headrest on the driver's side, and went out through the rear passenger window on the driver's side. Luckily, I had ducked, or my head would have come off with the headrest. In both cases, miraculously, I was unhurt.” —AMY BARRETT

Read more miraculous stories at MNMO.com/Miracles.

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