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At
32 weeks pregnant, I drove myself and husband,
Charlie, from Fallon, Nevada, into Reno because
of apparent labor pains and bleeding. Charlie
wouldn't drive because his license had been
suspended a decade before and never resolved
it. As I drove over those hills, an earie feeling
overtook me that our lives were about to change...
forever!
 In
the Maternity Ward, with all the monitors hooked
up, I was held for observation. There seemed
to be trouble with the baby's heart rate and
the amount of amniotic fluid. Had it ruptured?
Suddenly
at 11:33pm, I was rushed—against my will,
and terrified—to the operating room. My
husband stopped the doctor, protesting on my
behalf. I cried, "You can't take my baby
now, he is too little and we will both die!"
The
doctor looked at my husband, desperately believing
he was protecting us, and said, "Get out
of my way young man, I am going to save your
son's life tonight."
Even
though it was an emergency, I requested an epidural.
I wanted to be conscious to keep the baby and
myself alive. I had had a near-death experience
during a prior surgery, bleeding to death on
the operating table during a miscarriage. It
was when they knocked me out that I slipped
away, out of my body. I did not have the luxury
of getting near God, like Betty, but knew I
was leaving my body.
So
now, while I was going into surgery, my mental
state was "Stay awake—will us both
to live. Go to sleep—no control, we would
both slip away.
No
doctors could understood this. Charlie could
only watch from a two-way mirror—as there
was no time for him to scrub—in as my belly
was cut two ways to quickly access the baby
boy inside.
The
very small baby boy.
I
called for someone who believed in God to come
to me and pray with me. My fear was overwhelming.
A Catholic nurse came to my face and, as I prayed
like a crazed alcoholic, she held my hand.
Baby
Boy Harrison emerged from my womb a gray bird.
So tiny, it couldn't be recognized as human.
Charlie
looked in awe, helpless through the glass. We
swore we heard a baby's cry at the time. But
later we found out there had been no cry. Sometimes
when desperate we hear what we want to hear.
My
praying nurse had to leave, for she was our
baby's nurse now. He would need help breathing.
Alone,
on that table, I cried for the life of a baby—my
baby who I felt was about to die. Weighing 938
grams (2 pounds) I was barely allowed to glimpse
my sickly infant before they wheeled his incubator
away from my outstretched hand and tear streaked
face. All concern for myself left me as they
took my son out.
In
the hall my husband was coming my direction
but ran into the small incubator that contained
his bird-like son. I wanted Charlie to go with
his baby so that our son could at least hear
the comforting words from a familiar voice from
the womb—the words of his father—since
I could not be there. My baby could not be alone
when he died.
Charlie
was dumbfounded. He looked through the door
at me, his sick, terrified wife, tears streaming
down her face, hands outreached. And then looked
down at this tiny infant who was his child.
Should he stay with his terrified wife whom
he wanted desperately to comfort? Or go with
his new baby son who might soon die in his arms?
The
nurse spoke like an angel to Charlie and said,
"Your wife is in good hands. Come now and
meet your son. He needs you." And gently
she took Charlie by the hand and led him along
the way to the Neonatal Intensive Care Nursery.
"What's his name?"
"We
call him, Sonny," Charlie said.
In
recovery, separated for the first time from
my sickly baby I so desperately wanted to love
and hold, I felt a grief I could not explain
in earthly terms. But soon came reinforcements—my
mother, chipper smile and a video camera—then
my husband, grinning like he needed a cigar.
Sonny
was alive! He would have to fight, but my family
was SURE he would live. Doctors were always
hopeful in my presence, but his true condition
was dangerous.
I
cannot describe to you the roller coaster of
the months our son remained in the hospital,
including the death of a dear friend's baby
whose birth so closely resembled our son's.
But God spoke to me in many many ways to comfort
and assure me. In so many unexpected ways you
would never imagine.
In
church a few weeks later, a mentally handicapped
man, who simply could not have understood our
circumstances, came to me and said without his
usual stutter, "You know how you look after
your baby in the hospital? You know how you
worry about him, care for him, love him? Your
spirit won't let him die. But you know what?
That is how God loves you, Susie. He is with
you and your son and will take care of you both."
I
had never spoken to this man before, only had
seen him in church. Others were too embarrassed
to sit next to him. God says the smallest of
people on earth are the brightest lights in
heaven. And here God used this mentally handicapped
stranger to give me a message of hope.
Another
time—and this is important—Sonny was
4 months old and home on a heart and breathing
monitor. He was a candidate for SIDS. Once in
the middle of the night I was awoken. Something
told me to go check on baby Sonny. Why at 3am?
The monitor was not going off. I checked Sonny's
color. Yes he was dusky, but the monitor wasn't
going off.
I
started to go back to bed when an inner voice
stopped me again. I went to Sonny, picked up
his lifeless body, joggled him a little, then
put him to my breast. A few moments later he
latched on and his color began to return.
A
month later and in the hospital for encephalitis,
the monitor people downloaded the data from
the monitor computer. I told them Sonny hadn't
had any episodes lately. But the data disagreed.
In mid October, at 3am, his heart and
breathing had stopped for over a minute.
The
doctor's didn't believe the data, saying Sonny
would not have lived. But the monitor people
knew the data was not in error, and I knew our
Top Pediatrician—GOD—had been in control.
I
can't tell you all of the strange ways that
God saved Sonny's life or found a way to give
me messages of hope, but there were many. And
the support from certain people in church carried
us through incredible times.
Today
I realize that our local newspaper headline
about our baby was correct: "Fallon's Miracle
Baby."
Looking
back on the things I read in Embraced By
The Light, I realize now, that it was all
in God's perfect plan for this to happen. Our
family grew in ways you could never imagine.
Through what seems a tragedy and years of sleepless
nights comes knowledge and wisdom—the hard
way. But God has a purpose for the most smallest
of his creatures. I even wrote a book about
it all.
In
case you are wondering, Sonny is now 9 years-old,
in 4th Grade, and he sure has put on the weight.
On September 10th, 1997, a video we had of 2-pound
Sonny in his Daddy's hand was featured on the
television program "Real TV." They
say we all get 15 minutes of fame...
Even
Sonny!
But
forever in my heart, to God goes all the glory.
Susan Harrison - Fallon, NV
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Postscript
I'd
like to share also this dream I had right after
I conceived my baby:
I
fell into a deep anxious sleep. Anxiety was
my enemy at that time. I so wanted another baby,
but I had panic attacks often those days. Suddenly
for the first time in several months, I felt
a peace come over me in this dream.
I
was in a high fountain; trees, dark dirt, and
beauty surrounded me. The air was so fresh and
crisp. My body was totally relaxed. Although
I should have heard the chirps of birds and
the sound of running water from a waterfall
nearby, all I could hear was air around me so
high up above all the earth.
Then
an elderly Native Gentlemen joined me. How he
got there I don't know, he just appeared. He
did not communicate with words, but I could
understand him nonetheless. I felt his tension.
He was leaving a place he had known, a place
and people he had loved. He was saddened by
this. However, the old man was also excited
to go on a journey to a happy place—a place
he was destined to go. He was "in-between"
places, and the emotions were conflicting.
Then
before me, there was a dirt road or path. It
hadn't been there before. The Native man, who
somehow commanded a natural respect, lay his
arms out before him towards the path, and his
eyes indicated that what was about to happen,
was for me. There before me was a covered wagon.
I heard a little bustling inside when a young
Native woman, about my age, jumped out with
joy.
"It
is a boy! A very special little boy!" She
explained with such thrill.
I
looked behind the carton of the wagon and saw
no one. The woman did not look pregnant and
surely didn't show any signs of having just
given birth!
I
was confused and looked back to my elderly Native
friend. He was slipping away from me now, but
he said, "I have come, and I have shown
you what God needs you to know." He slipped
away as if being sucked into happiness.
I
thanked him, although I was thoroughly confused.
The
path was gone now, and I basked in my beautiful
surroundings for some time to take in the healing—healing
I so desperately needed.
I
did not know the meaning of the dream until
a month later when, after some blood work was
done, I learned unexpectedly that I was pregnant.
My
husband, Charlie, asked, "What do you want,
a boy or a girl?"
I
replied with a secret knowledge, "I don't
think it matters what we want. The child will
be a boy."
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