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After arriving at the local hospital, Kennedy was intubated. His lungs were swelling and he was having seizures and posturing, which is a sign of brain damage.

Several of Craig's medical colleagues were there at the hospital, taking care of Kennedy. They worked feverishly, but they were not optimistic about his chances. He had been without oxygen for too long. The pediatrician who had trained Craig several years ago actually pulled me aside and explained how bleak the situation was, that Kennedy would likely have severe brain damage—if, in fact, he survived.

The ER doctors worked diligently, but they knew Kennedy needed to get to the children's hospital in Birmingham for the best care. It was a 20-minute trip for Kennedy on the Lifesaver helicopter. It would take Craig and I an hour by car. As we left, we knew things were not looking good for our little boy.

When we arrived at Children's Hospital, we were amazed at everyone who drove to Birmingham to support and pray for us. The prayers began to ripple through our community. After the doctors worked on Kennedy, the icu physician came out to tell us that Kennedy was in critical condition but there was a chance for survival. He told us Kennedy might not recognize us and that he might thrash around uncontrollably. He also told us that there was a five-day waiting period during which Kennedy's brain could begin swelling.

After the doctor left, I again prayed for my precious little boy. I prayed for complete healing, but I would take Kennedy anyway God would give him back to me.

We were able to see Kennedy a few hours later. My little man had tubes everywhere, one down his throat into his lungs, one arterial line into his heart, numerous ivs, and a catheter in his bladder. He was a pitiful sight, but he was alive.

Later that evening, we were unable to recall the name of the icu doctor who attended to Kennedy. He had been such a wonderful caregiver. Craig asked a nurse what his name was. She said, "Oh, that is Dr. Buckmaster." Craig and I looked at each other and smiled.

My loving brother, Mark Kennedy, who had died of brain cancer six months earlier, was nicknamed, "The Buckmaster" because of his love for deer hunting. It was a small comfort God gave us to let us know that he was in control. The next morning, we found out that Dr. Buckmaster's first name was Mark.

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