Another good angel miracle everyone, Introducing "Mysterious Medication", hope all of you enjoy it as much as I did. Lots of love, light, hugs and angel blessings. &, Uma     January 20, 1992, in Larsen, Wisconsin, dawned sunny but bitterly cold. A good day to stay inside, Mary Mueller decided, hoping that her pager would remain mute. In addition to working a factory swing shift and running a 131acre farm, Mary is a member of the Clayton-Winchester Township volunteer fire department, and she relishes her downtime. In the middle of a shower and shampoo, however, Mary heard the pager squawking details about a car on fire less than two miles away. The dispatcher requested not only fire trucks, but also the Jaws of Life. It sounded serious. Although Mary's adrenaline always races at a call, this time she felt literally propelled. She barely dried herself, stuffed her dripping hair under a helmet, raced into the subzero morning, and leaped into her pickup. Because this was a daytime call at the far end of the district's rural boundary, Mary knew that farmers would be the only ones responding-and that could take a long time. Except for the passing volunteer who had phoned in the report, Mary was the first rescue worker on the scene. It resembled the aftermath of an explosion. Although there was no fire (first accounts were inaccurate), a pile of twisted metal lay on the highway. Wreckage was strewn across the fields and road shoulder. To Mary, the site seemed mysteriously stripped of color, ominous in black, white, and gray. There was no sign of a second vehicle. Mary would later learn that a semitrailer had been pulling a front-end loader with metal tracks, on a flatbed. An oncoming compact car carrying three University of Wisconsin students had swerved into the protruding steel treads, which had sheared off the car's roof like a giant can opener. The truckdriver had continued on for another mile or so, initially unaware of the accident. But now Mary investigated quickly. A young man, obviously dead, lay under the station wagon's left front bumper. The' other volunteer was consoling a young woman pinned inside the wreckage. Mary rounded the metal tangle toward the passenger side, then stopped. Was that a third body in the ditch? She ran, sliding down the incline on her knees. A blond girl, about twenty-one, looked up at Mary with terrified eyes. Mary felt an instant bond. "I'm Mary," she told the young woman. "I'm a firefighter, and we're going to help you, but we need your cooperation, okay?" The girl nodded, trembling. "I'm Lori." Before moving a patient, rescue workers must make an assessment. Gently, Mary examined Lori's left side and found only a bruised calf. "When I got to her right shoulder, it literally fell out into my hand," Mary says. "I padded it up the best I could, and kept looking." But as she lifted a lock of Lori's hair to check a trickle of blood, Mary gasped. She was looking at a gash at least six inches long and three inches wide, forming a pool of blood underneath the girl. Lori's heavy clothes and matted hair had hidden the horrible fact that she was bleeding to death right in front of Mary. How could she stop the flow? Mary had first-aid and CPR training, "but firefighters are primarily expected to fight fires," she notes. "We don't carry medical supplies-everything is on the equipment van." Coming from miles away, the van might not arrive for fifteen or twenty minutes. Mary needed pressure bandages immediately. What about her fireman's gloves? No. They were big enough but dirty, and pressing them against such a terrible wound would introduce more infection. "God," Mary prayed, "please help me help her. There's no way I can do this on my own." Who had brought it in that split second when Mary had looked away?, There was no one near her, no footprints marring the smooth snow. And the bag looked nothing like the fluorescent-orange ones local EMS personnel used. Mary didn't have time to wonder. She hit the clip, and the bag snapped open to reveal a veritable pharmacy. Rubber gloves, tape, bandages, and absorbent squares of every kind and size, all sealed in sterile containers-everything that she needed was there, in the order in which she would need it. Quickly Mary went to work, applying as much pressure as she could against the gaping hole, adding new gauze squares as the old ones became saturated."Come to the hospital with me, Mary, please," Lori mur-mured. "I will, honey. Just hang on."  Firefighters didn't go to hospitals with victims as a rule, but Mary couldn't imagine leaving this girl. Something seemed to be holding them together in a protective glass bubble, shielded from the horror, somehow safe. Mary knew the Life Flight helicopter had arrived-she could hear the engine descending. But she and Lori didn;t feel the propeller's blast of wind. Nor was either of them cold, despite the subzero temperatures. As personnel loaded the other girl into the helicopter, paramedics arrived and ran to assess Lori's condition. "Stay with me, Mary," Lori pleaded, her voice fading now. Mary nodded. Her fingers ached with the strain, and her hair had frozen solid under her helmet. But she still felt that strange-and loving-connection. They would have to pry her away from Lori. But Lori had lost too much blood to survive a helicopter trip. "There's only one thing to do, Mary," a paramedic decided. "You're going to hold Lori's life in your hands-literally."  "How?"  "We'll show you." Quickly, the paramedics taped Mary's hands against Lori's wound, and then to the backboard. It took six men to haul both women out of the ditch without disturbing their arrangement. Sirens screamed, lights flashed. Mary smiled down at the girl as the van raced against time. "I told you we'd stay together," she reminded her.  It was hours before both victims stabilized and Mary felt able to relinquish her link with Lori. Only then did she remember the mysterious medical bag. She drove back to the scene to retrieve it. Several firefighters had seen Mary using the bag and had assumed it was hers. If anyone had come across it, he would have returned it to her. Nor had the site been left unattended. Since the accident, it had been under constant surveillance. The medical bag, however, had mysteriously vanished. And although workers painstakingly collected all accident fragments, no trace of discarded bandages, wrappings, gauze, or other debris from the bag was ever found. Today, Mary and Lori enjoy a close friendship, forged during those desperate moments in a ditch, when both felt held in the Divine Physician's hands.