Vol. 7, No. 2• May 2003

Sunny's Story

by Marion H. Duncan

Editor’s Note: the names in this story have been changed to protect the confidentiality of those involved.

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I will never forget the first time I laid eyes on the most courageous person I have ever known. This little one also seemed to have a kind of faith I had never witnessed before and probably never will again.

We have pictures in our minds. When I thought of courage before, I had a razor sharp image in my mind, that of a knight in shining armor that comes and rescues everyone in distress. And when I pictured unshakable faith, I pictured an elderly woman with white hair, soft, and pulled away from her face. This lady is clapping and rocking and singing hymns, the way my grandmother used to do. Now, I see another picture.

The very first time I saw “Sunny,” I was shocked. He was about the cutest thing I had ever laid eyes on. He smiled and had a round, yellow face. He quickly earned the nickname “Sunny” because of his sweet disposition and because he looked like he had been kissed by the sun.

He was born with a condition known as biliary atresia and would die without a liver transplant. Ed had been up to the hospital a few times and had been “partially trained” for what was about to be!

A home health nurse came over that night and stayed for several hours, showing us just how to measure everything, give Sunny multiple medications, feed him by tube, measure him, weigh him, check for warning signs, and make his totally gross formula. Most of his medications had to be special ordered, as did the many components of his formula. A wonderful family pharmacy agreed to help us.

We began the arduous task of Sunny’s care. Sunny was perfectly content and acted as though he knew that everything would be just fine, which is more than can be said of the dozens and dozens of professionals who were working in his life.

He continued to smile. He brought instant joy into the room. Most little children do. However, most are not intertwined in tubes and wires. His breathing was shallow due to the fluid buildup in his abdomen. However, he would let out sharp, short cackles, reminding us constantly of how much he enjoyed living. Everyone constantly fretted over Sunny. However, he just smiled smugly and gave everyday proof that he was probably a little closer to Jesus than the rest of us.

He had to constantly go to some doctor’s office and be poked and probed, measured and weighed. I cannot tell you that he did not put up the typical battle when he saw a needle. However, he loved his doctors and nurses. It was as if he knew they were his lifeline and that only through their skills, God’s grace, and the unselfishness of another family could he prosper. He did pretty well. Between the coughing, constant dirty diapers, projectile vomiting, and bouts of fever, Sunny was just your typical kid—or should I say, anything but.

Sunny got sicker and weaker; and we prayed for a miracle, he never actually got critical before a donor was found. After the surgery, Sunny was much weaker and sicker. He continued to smile. His face was now white. Even the whites of his eyes returned. He looked great but felt terrible. He continued to smile and light up every room he entered. Many times this was a hospital room, as he now was quite susceptible to germs and was constantly sick. He went from doctor to doctor and had to have test after test and procedure after procedure performed. He was hospitalized several times in critical condition. However, a turning point did come, just as we had been assured.

Sunny amazed us all as he suddenly began to show signs of regaining strength and putting some weight back on. He was a little fighter and also very confident from the beginning that he would fine. We knew he was just a little toddler, but he possessed an angelic face, disposition, and faith that all would be well. He never showed signs of fear.

Ed and I have foster parented many children, some medically fragile. However, none required anywhere near the care Sunny did. However, he brought an equal amount of pleasure into our hearts and lives!

After Sunny’s surgery, we were all so relieved. However, we had accomplished a bittersweet victory. We also thought of and prayed for the family who gave Sunny the gift of life in a time of grief.

We know that Jesus laughs when he sees Sunny run and play like a typical kid these days. He went back home to his biological family, which is where he belongs. His care is simpler now. Now his family and friends can reap the same benefits we did from knowing and loving Sunny.

When I think of courage and faith now, I always think of Sunny. I also have another razor sharp image, that of Sunny’s donor. I am sure Jesus often bends down and touches her hair and kisses her soft cheek. She received the ultimate reward!

Marion Duncan is a North Carolina foster parent

Copyright � 2003 Jordan Institute for Families