Early Arrival #1 and #2

“You’re going to have this baby today… it’s going to happen today.”

Those words, spoken by a nurse friend, replayed over and over in my mind.

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It was happening too early.

Seven weeks early.

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My mind was racing—filled with questions, and some of them involved death.

Was it too early for the baby to live?

Had my water broken too soon?

Would we make it to the hospital in time?

Would the baby be delivered on the way there?

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Another contraction hit—and pulled me back to reality.

I was supposed to be tracking them… but they were all over the place.

Fifteen minutes.

Five minutes.

Ten minutes.

What was happening?

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Fear settled in.

I felt like I was in a daze… almost an out-of-body experience.

This had to be a bad dream.

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We arrived.

The drive took twenty minutes—almost half the normal time.

There were nurses waiting outside the emergency room doors with a wheelchair.

Everything moved fast.

Too fast.

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I was rushed down a cool hallway, questions coming at me from every direction.

I didn’t want to talk.

I just wanted it to stop.

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The next hour would be etched in my mind forever.

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Monitors. Machines. Silence.

And then…

Words no parent ever wants to hear:

“I can’t find a heartbeat.”

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Seven months of waiting…

And six years before that, trying to get pregnant.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

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Tears came.

And kept coming.

My husband held me as best he could through all the wires and machines.

But nothing could stop the numbness that was taking over.

I was slipping into silence…

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Until suddenly—

“I found it! I found the heartbeat!”

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The room changed instantly.

Breath returned.

Relief flooded in.

Tears turned into something different.

Hope.

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An emergency cesarean was needed.

All I wanted to hear was a cry.

A sound.

Anything that said…

He’s alive.

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At 6:34 p.m., August 28, 1993…

We heard it.

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The loudest cry from a newborn.

A baby boy.

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Tears of sadness turned into tears of joy.

He was alive.

Small—just 4 pounds, 5.5 ounces.

But alive.

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Our son, Phillip James Hamilton.

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Soon after, we were told he would be taken by air ambulance to a larger hospital for neonatal care.

I hadn’t even held him yet.

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Then the doors opened.

Doctors. Nurses. Equipment.

And our baby—inside a small incubator.

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For a few brief moments, we were alone with him.

Just us.

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I wanted so badly to hold him.

To touch him.

To make this feel real.

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When I finally did…

It was like touching something so fragile, so delicate.

Warm.

Soft.

Fighting.

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I spoke to him.

Words of love.

Words of encouragement.

“Stay with us.”

“Don’t give up.”

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And then…

“We have to go.”

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At 10:30 p.m., we heard the helicopter lift off.

That sound…

It stays with you.

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Life given.

And then carried away.

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We didn’t know if that moment would be the first…

Or the last time we would see our baby boy.

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We were being carried by faith.

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Today, August 28, 2023, we celebrate 30 years of that early arrival.

Our son is now a father himself—his own son born early as well.

A new story… still being written.

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Happy Birthday to my son who changed my life forever.

I love you more than words can express.

— Mom

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This story is just one part of a much deeper journey of faith, fear, and trusting God through the unknown.

If you want to read more about how God carried me through seasons like this, I invite you to explore my memoir:

👉 Carried by Faith: From Substance Abuse to a Life Filled with Miracles

https://www.suelhamilton.com/carried-by-faith

— Sue L. Hamilton

Speaker | Teacher | Author

Live4One Ministry