Miracle Child
It was just an ordinary
day, at least it started out that way. My husband, Harold Littrell Jr., and I
had taken our two sons, eight year old Harold III and five year old Brian, to
my parents' house to spend the warm sunny day.
Harold and I
sat on the front porch with his parents, drinking lemonade and watching the
kids play in the front yard. Summer had just begun, and little Harold and Brian
were having a great time playing tag outside.
I finished my
tall glass of lemonade and was about to pour another when I saw that the
pitcher was almost empty.
"Mom,"
I said, "where do you keep the lemonade mix?"
"Oh, I
have a can of frozen concentrate in the freezer," she replied.
"All
right, I'll go make some more," I said, standing up and carrying the
pitcher into the house. As I stood at the sink, filling the pitcher up with
water for the lemonade, I heard a loud wail. I shut off the faucet and dashed
outside, knowing that something bad had happened. Sure enough, my youngest son,
Brian, was sprawled out on his back on the cement sidewalk.
"Brian!"
I cried, my heart leaping into my throat. I ran to him. Everyone else was
already hovering over him. I lightly pushed my older son to the side so I could
see what was going on. Harold carefully picked Brian up and carried him inside.
I followed at his heels. He lay Brian down on the couch. He wasn't bleeding
from anywhere, thank goodness.
"My head
hurts, Daddy," Brian moaned through his tears.
I turned to my
mother, who was standing behind me. "What happened?" I asked.
"He and
Harry were running around, and he tripped and fell. He hit his head pretty hard
on the ground, from what it looked like," she answered, worriedly.
"He might have a concussion."
"Harold?"
I said to my husband. "Mom says Bri might have a concussion."
Harold turned
away from Brian towards my mother. "Do you think we should take him to the
hospital?" he asked.
She nodded.
"Better be safe than sorry," she replied.
"Listen,
honey, I'll go start the car. Can you carry Brian out?" Harold asked me.
"Sure,"
I replied. He hurried outside, and I carefully scooped up Brian. It was easy,
for he was small for five.
"Mom,
Dad, will you guys watch Harry for us?" I asked quickly.
"Sure,
sweetie," my father assure me. "You call when you hear something,
okay?"
"I
will," I promised and carried Brian out to the car. He was still crying.
"I'd better get in the back with him, honey," I said to Harold. He
nodded and helped me and Brian into the backseat. As he headed towards St.
Joseph's Hospital, I cradled Brian in my arms. He was still whimpering. I could
tell he was trying to be brave.
I kissed his
forehead. "We're almost there, Babyduck," I
told him, using my special nickname for him. He looked up at me with his
innocent blue eyes and managed a tiny smile for me. I smiled back at him and
ruffled his light brown curls.
We pulled into
the parking lot of St. Joseph's a few minutes later. Harold turned off the car
and took Brian out for me. He carried Brian inside, and I followed. We went
into the ER entrance. Harold took Brian to sit down in the waiting room while I
talked to the receptionist and filled out some forms.
Luckily, it
was not very busy, so a nurse came out a few minutes later, pushing a
wheelchair. Harold set Brian in the wheelchair, and the nurse pushed him into
one of the exam rooms. She lifted Brian onto the bed. Then she handed me a
small hospital gown. "You help him get changed into this, and a doctor
will be in in a few minutes," she said.
I helped Brian
into the gown, which was huge on him. A few minutes later, a doctor came into
the room.
"Hello,
I'm Dr. Henry Banks," he said, holding out his hand to Harold.
"Hi, I'm
Harold Littrell, and this is my wife, Jackie," Harold said. We both shook
Dr. Banks' hand.
"Now,
what seems to be the trouble today?" he asked.
"I was
running, and I fell down and bumped my head," Brian said.
"Oh, I'm
sorry," Dr. Banks said sympathetically. "That must hurt." Brian
nodded, tears still running from his baby blue eyes. I realized the kind,
middle-aged doctor must have had a lot of experience with kids. That was good.
I knew Brian was scared. "Well, Brian, I'm going to take you upstairs to
run a few tests to see how badly you bumped your head, okay?"
Brian nodded
nervously. I grabbed one of his little hands. It was cold and clammy.
"Dr.
Banks, would it be okay if I came with him?" I asked. "He'll be
afraid.”
Dr. Banks
nodded. "We're going to run a CT scan on him to see if there is any head
damage. Most likely, he just has a concussion. We just want to check things
out, just to be sure. You may come upstairs with us and wait outside the room,
but you can't be in the room with him when he is having the scan done."
I nodded. Dr.
Banks helped Brian back into the wheelchair and headed for an elevator, Harold
and I following behind.
***
An hour later,
we were back in the exam room with Brian lying in the bed. He had gotten very
tired and looked ready to fall asleep.
Suddenly, a
nurse came in. "I just have to take his vitals," she said. "It's
routine."
"Okay,"
I said. "Brian, sweetheart, she just wants to take your temperature and
stuff, okay?" He nodded sleepily.
The nurse
wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his arm and took his blood pressure. Then
she took his temperature. She waited for a minute, then pulled the thermometer
out of his mouth. As she looked at it, she frowned and glanced at his chart.
"Has your son been sick?" she asked me.
"No,
why?" I asked, confused. "We think he has a concussion. That's why
he's here."
"Yes,
that's what his chart says. But he's running a pretty high fever too," the
nurse replied.
"A
fever?!" I asked. "Is that common with a concussion?"
"No,"
she said. "He's probably just coming down with something. I'll go let Dr.
Banks know. He might want to check it out." With that, she hurried out of
the room.
"Brian,
baby, do you feel alright?" I asked, putting my hand on his forehead. She
was right, he was burning up! When did that happen? I wondered. He
was fine this morning.
"Not
really," Brian mumbled. His cheeks looked flushed.
A few minutes
later, Dr. Banks came back. "The scan shows he has a concussion. But it is
only minor, nothing to worry about. However, Shari told me he's running a
pretty high fever all of a sudden."
"Yes,
that's what she said. I don't know what's wrong with him. He seemed fine this
morning," I said, concerned.
"Well,
I'd better check him over, just to make sure it's nothing serious," Dr.
Banks said. He sat down in a chair next to Brian's bed. "Can you sit up
for me, buddy?" he asked Brian. Brian slowly sat up in bed. Dr. Banks put
his stethoscope to his ears. He slid the other end down the front of Brian's
gown and listened to his heart. He frowned as he listened. Then he listened
from the back and then the front again.
"Do you
know if Brian has a heart murmur?" he asked Harold softly, so Brian
wouldn't hear.
Harold's eyes
widened. "No," he said. "What's that? Is it something
serious?"
"No, it's
usually nothing too serious. It's just an atypical rhythm of the heart.
Sometimes, it can be caused by an abnormality of the heart's structure
though," the doctor explained.
"Are you
saying that something's wrong with his heart?" I whispered, fearfully.
"Well,
I'd like to run a few more tests just to make sure there's nothing seriously
wrong. It could be nothing," Dr. Banks said. "I'm going to take him
back upstairs for an EKG and a chest x-ray."
"Okay,"
I said uncertainly.
"I'll be
right back. I'm going to go get a stretcher for him to ride on instead of that
wheelchair. Poor little guy looks too tired to even hold his head up," Dr.
Banks said. He pushed the wheelchair out and rolled in a stretcher. Then he
lifted Brian out of bed and gently lay him on the stretcher. A nurse came in to
help roll the stretcher, and we all took the elevator back upstairs for the
tests.
Once again,
Harold and I waited in a waiting room for Brian to get finished with the tests.
I said nothing, just sat there stiffly. Harold patted my hand, but it did
nothing to reassure me. I was worried.
***
We waited
another half an hour with Brian back in his room after the tests. Then, a nurse
came in.
"I need
to draw some blood," she said. Brian's eyes widened when he saw her prepare
the syringe.
"No
shots," he moaned, his eyes beginning to tear up. I squeezed his hand
tightly.
"It's
okay, Babyduck," I soothed. "It's just a
little prick and then it's all over." Brian squeezed his eyes shut and
tried not to cry as the nurse took some blood from his arm. When it was over, I
hugged him tightly. "There, honey, it's all over. You were such a brave
boy." I could feel the heat radiating from his warm little body. I prayed
that Dr. Banks would be back soon to tell us what was wrong with Brian.
We waited for
two more hours with no word from Dr. Banks. Brian eventually fell asleep.
Harold and I just sat back, watching him.
Finally, Dr.
Banks came in the room. "Can I speak with you out in the waiting room,
please?" he asked.
Harold and I
stood up and followed him out into the nearly empty waiting room. The doctor
sat us down in chairs. I felt ice cold inside. Somehow, I could sense that
something was wrong.
Dr. Banks
cleared his throat. "I'm afraid I don't have very good news for you,"
he started grimly. "First of all, Brian does have a heart murmur. We ran
some scans of his heart to see what was causing the murmur, and we found that
he has a tiny hole in his heart."
"What?!"
I gasped, tears filling my eyes. I tried to blink them back and stay calm, but
it was hard.
"Really,
it's not as bad as it sounds," Dr. Banks assured us. "It's actually a
quite common problem. It's congenital, meaning Brian was born with this defect.
In most children, it eventually closes as they grow up." I sighed with
relief. "However, that isn't the bad news," Dr. Banks continued.
"It seems Brian has contracted a serious infection called Bacterial Endocarditis. It's what we call a staph infection."
"Oh, my
God," I cried softly. "How did he get it?"
"It's an
infection of the blood. Has he had any injuries in the last few weeks where the
skin was broken?"
I thought back
to a day about two weeks before, when Brian had crashed his Big Wheels into the
curb and skinned his knee."
"Yes,"
I said. "He skinned his knee pretty badly about two weeks ago."
"That's
probably where he contracted the bacteria then," Dr. Banks replied.
"If we had caught it sooner, it would be a lot easier to treat. But in the
last two weeks, it has spread through his bloodstream and to his heart. His
heart is very weak now because of this infection and the hole I told you about
earlier."
"But he's
going to be okay, right?" Harold asked. Dr. Banks looked at us both,
sadly.
"I'm
sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Littrell, but this infection is 100% fatal. We can no
longer treat it. I suggest you start making funeral arrangements because your
son is going to pass on," Dr. Banks said softly.
I began to
sob. Harold pulled me into his arms, but it was no comfort to me. I had just
been told that my son was going to die, and there was nothing I could do about
it!
"I'm very
sorry," Dr. Banks said again.
"Isn't
there anything you can do?" Harold asked hopefully.
"I'm
going to start him on some antibiotics, but I'm afraid it has spread too much.
They won't help much," Dr. Banks replied. "I'm going to let you two
be alone for a bit. I'm going to hook Brian up to an IV with the antibiotics in
it. You take as long as you want." With that, he went back into Brian's
room.
Harold and I
didn't say much to each other. We just hugged and cried together.
***
After we had
finally composed ourselves, we went back into Brian's room. He was still
sleeping. I sat on one side of his bed and Harold sat on the other. We both
just held his hands and tried not to cry.
A while later,
Dr. Banks came back to check on Brian and take his temperature. His eyes
widened when he saw the numbers on the thermometer.
"What's
wrong?" I asked.
"His
fever's up to 107° ," Dr. Banks said worriedly. "That's high enough
to cause brain damage! We have to lower it."
He hurried out
of the room. A few minutes later, he and a group of nurses carried in a tub of
ice. One nurse gently nudged Brian awake and carefully took off his hospital
gown, leaving him in nothing but his underwear. His face was flushed and he
didn't talk, just moaned and mumbled things that I couldn’t understand. I
wondered if he was delirious.
The nurses
gathered around him and carefully lifted him into the tub of ice.
"This
will help cool his body down," Dr. Banks explained. Brian began to cry
when they set him down in the ice.
"Mommy!"
he cried, his blue eyes wide with fear. I knelt down beside the tub.
"I'm
right here, Babyduck," I said, squeezing one of
his hands. "Mommy's right here. It's alright."
After a few
minutes in the ice, the nurses lifted him back out onto the bed, with just a
sheet covering him. Ten minutes later, he was put back in the ice.
This kept up
for an hour. Then, as the nurses were laying him back down on the bed, his eyes
rolled back into his head, and his grip on my hand went limp. I screamed. Dr.
Banks sprang into action. He put his stethoscope to Brian's chest, listened a
moment, and yelled, "Get a crash cart in here now!" He climbed onto
the bed and began to do CPR while the nurses scurried around, attaching wires
to Brian's chest. They turned on the heart monitor that the wires were
connected to. There was just a flat line going across it and a loud, continuous
whine. Harold grabbed me and pulled me back, as another nurse wheeled in a
crash cart. He and I stood and watched in horror as the nurse got out the
paddles.
"Charge
to 150!" yelled Dr. Banks. He took the paddles. "Clear!" he
shouted and put the paddles to Brian's chest. I cried out in horror as my tiny
son's whole body shook. But then, the long wail of the heart monitor turned
into slow beeps, and I saw the flat line rise and fall unsteadily. I sagged
with relief into my husbands arms. I have never been so relieved in my entire
life.
"Phew, we
got him back," I heard Dr. Banks say. I said nothing, just clung to Harold
and sobbed.
***
By that
evening, Brian's fever had gone down a little. But it was still high, and he
was still unconscious.
Harold went to
call my parents to tell them everything that had happened and asked if Harry
could stay the night.
I remained
beside Brian's bed, holding his hand and talking to him soothingly.
***
Days passed,
and Dr. Banks told us that if Brian ever pulled through, he would be brain dead.
But Harold and I refused to give up hope. We remained at the hospital with
Brian at all times.
One night,
Harold had gone down to get a cup of coffee, and it was just Brian and I alone
in his hospital room. He was still unconscious, of course. All week, I had been
hoping and praying that everything would be okay, and my baby son would be all
right. But, I knew by now that it was nearly impossible. I realized God had
another plan for my son. And so I said one final prayer.
Dear God,
I love my son with all
my heart, and I want him with me so badly. He's my baby and I need him. But, I
realize that you have different means. I realize that Brian is a blessing in my
life, and I know I have to let him go, if it is his time. Whatever happens,
happens, if it's meant to be. If you have to take my baby to Heaven, just
please watch over him. Thank you, Lord. Amen.
As I finished
praying, I looked out the window and up towards the night sky, hoping that God
had heard my prayer. Then I began to cry softly. I had given my precious little
Babyduck up to God.
***
The next
morning, I awoke to find myself asleep in my chair beside Brian's bed, my head
resting on the edge of the bed. I yawned and rubbed my eyes. I looked at Brian.
He was still unconscious. I looked around the room for Harold, but he was not
there. I wondered what time it was. I would have liked a cup of coffee, but I
would never leave Brian's side.
Before I knew
it, I had dozed off again. I don't know exactly what woke me for the second
time, that early morning, but something did. I stared at Brian for a moment,
before turning to see if Harold was back in the room again. He wasn't. I stood
up and stretched. I was still exhausted. I hadn't gotten a good night's sleep
in my own bed in over a week now.
I started to
head towards the doorway so that I could look out and see if Harold was in the
waiting room. But as I started across the room, I was startled by a tiny
whimper behind me. I spun around. My eyes widened at the sight on the bed.
Brian was still lying in bed, so small and unmoving. But when I approached him,
I found myself looking into his clear, blue eyes.
"Brian?!"
I cried, my voice faltering. I couldn't believe it. I rubbed my eyes, thinking
maybe I was hallucinating. But no, when I looked up again, his eyes were still
opened. And then he said the most wonderful thing that I have ever heard.
"Mommy?"
I gasped and
began to sob. I ran to his bed and hugged him tenderly, my tears falling over
his body. He recognized me! My baby was awake, and he knew who I was! Dr. Banks
had been all wrong. Brian was not brain dead. He was awake and knew who I was!
"Mommy,
what's wrong?" Brian asked, his voice so soft and weak, I could barely
hear him.
"Nothing,
Babyduck," I cried, kissing his cheek. "I'm
just happy!" I looked down into his eyes, those beautiful, baby blue eyes
that I thought I might never see again, and I cried even more.
Then, I ran to
the door and saw Harold sitting asleep in one of the couches in the waiting
room.
"Harold!"
I cried. I didn't care if I woke up the whole hospital. This was a miracle!
Harold jumped
up. He ran towards me.
"Is he…
is he?" he asked, his eyes wide with fear.
"No!"
I cried happily. "Harold, he's awake! He's awake, and he knows me!"
Harold's mouth dropped open, and he raced into the room.
"Daddy!"
Brian said happily. Harold, too, began to cry and ran to the bed to hug his
son.
I ran down the
hall and bumped into Dr. Banks.
"Come
quick!" I shouted to him. "Brian's awake!" Dr. Banks gaped at me
for a minute, shocked. Then he followed me quickly back to Brian's room.
***
Later that
day, after running many tests on Brian, Dr. Banks told us that his fever had
gone down, and the infection seemed to be going away.
"It's a
miracle," he said. "I can't give you any other explanation for
this."
"God just
reached down and touched that child," I told Harold, through my joyful
tears.
***
Brian spent a
total of two months in the hospital. Even though the worst was over, he was still
very, very weak. Even after the infection finally went away, he was too weak to
walk and had to be pushed around in a wheelchair. Finally, he graduated to
walking, pushing his little IV stand down the hall with him.
When he
finally came home from the hospital, we bought him a new bike. It was red, with
a yellow seat that looked like a banana. Brian was very proud of it.
After that
experience, I was very protective of my youngest son, my Babyduck.
But I eventually realized that even though his body was not strong, his
willpower was. Eventually, I let him start playing sports with the other kids.
He became very good at basketball, and it has been his favorite sport ever
since.
As I look back on this
experience, I know that what happened to my son was indeed a miracle. God heard
my prayer that night, and instead of watching over Brian in Heaven, like I had
asked him to, he let Brian stay here with me. I knew Brian was kept on this
Earth to do great things, and now, twenty years later, he has. He is my miracle
child.
The End
Miracle Child Ó 2000 by Julie