Poop Happens

I've titled many posts about Noah's physical health in a similar theme (His Ears, His Blood, His Hands, etc.). I wasn't really sure what I should title this post...His Poop? Or another less proper word for fecal matter? I mean, Noah's not even a year old, but boy do we have poop stories! This one, tops them all. This is the story of how we set out to get ultra sounds on Noah's heart and kidneys, and instead got covered in poop.

An excerpt of something I wrote the day it happened 3 weeks ago.

Any day that starts of at 6:00 am, is not my cup of tea. Today, I had to rise at 5:30, since that's what time Noah woke up for his 'middle of the night' snack. Yes, 5:30 is the middle of the night for me.There are things that equivocate a 'bad day'. Like, waking up early, walking out to the main road with with a 22 pound baby in the frigid temps of Northern China. It's not a good day when you don't have time to drink coffee beforehand, you get stuck in rush hour traffic, and you can't find the nurse on the side of the road (the nurse wanted me to pick her up on the curb of a busy street--but it's like trying to find a needle in a haystack!), not to mention you and the taxi driver are having a hard time communicating. But really, none of those things bothered me because I'm used to all that stuff. 

Let me tell you the story of my horrible, no good, very bad day. 

The morning was crazy. Things that would normally stress me out were hardly bothering me. I don't know if that's because God was protecting me, or because I knew I couldn't afford to be stressed with little inconveniences. Noah and I were headed for his second trip to the Children's Hospital where his heart and kidneys would be checked. I hopeful and optimistic about the results, but I also wanted to be realistic with potential results.

The hole in his heart might still be there.
His kidneys might have tumors.
The hole in his heart might be healed.
His kidneys might be totally fine.

I kept thinking about these options as objectively as possible. Knowing that God would guide us whatever the results would be was actually the only thing that comforted me. I really was wishing that Adam had taken off of work to come with me. I hate being by myself in situations like this.

So picture this. I'm physically weary, stressed by my environment (but pretending that I'm okay), and emotionally confused. I'm not just saying that God was helping me through this morning; I really would have been a wreck without His constant support.

Like I've mentioned before in hospital posts---the medical system is so different in China.
In America, our primary doctor would schedule an appointment with the appropriate hospital. We'd be ushered into a well-decorated, sterile, efficiently staffed hospital. We would check in, wait a reasonable amount of time before being taken into a private room by a knowledgable nurse. It would be clean. It would be professional. It would be mostly quiet, except for maybe some chattering people or a TV playing Soap Operas in the corner. There would be kid-friendly art work and ferns scattered about. We'd sign some papers, flash our insurance cards. The actual tests would be explained to us, performed without a hitch, and finished with a promise that a doctor would phone us with the results sometime that week.

In China, I need a nurse to accompany me, because my Mandarin is not fluent enough. She will not only translate dialogue for me, but also navigate the system for us. I counted 9 different counters, in many different rooms and halls that she had to check-in at. I'm not sure what was happening at each counter. Sometimes she was registering, sometimes she was signing-in, sometimes she was paying, or getting a little medical spread sheet that would record everything Noah had done to him while at the hospital (like a running receipt, I guess). You have to pay for everything BEFORE the procedure is performed. You stand in lines. You don't make appointments. You can cut in line if you feel your case is more important than those that standing in front of you. You're surrounded by families holding their terminally ill children and babies. You don't understand how the building is designed or where to go, or how to read the signs. Even your helpful nurse, who has great English, stumbles across some translations. At the second counter she went to, she told me that the doctor behind that desk wanted Noah to be 'put to sleep'. The nurse looked just as confused as I did. She said, "He didn't have to do that last time, right?" No. They didn't 'put him to sleep'. I didn't even want to know what that statement meant--but my nurse said that we could try to get Noah's tests without worrying about that. He did get an ultrasound in the past without the hospital putting him to sleep.

Finally got into the color sonogram room (where we had pushed and shoved our way forward to keep our place in line) where privacy is a laughing matter. Anyone can walk into the room at any time. There's no clean tissue paper on the exam table. It's just a wooden cot.

The technician took one look at Noah and demanded that he be he be given an injection so that "he will not move". Maybe this is a normal practice in America  too, but I was feeling a little uncertain at this point. I couldn't call Adam to ask him what he thought.

Okay..."be put to sleep" + "an injection so that he will not move". I was starting to think that the word the nurse was searching for was 'sedative'.

The technician gave an extremely lackluster attempt at viewing Noah's heart and kidneys and then waved her hands saying that it was impossible to see anything--even though he was hardly moving. All I had to go on was when he was there at 3 months, and the guy who looked at Noah's kidneys did so without a sedative.

My main thought was that I wanted Noah's heart and kidneys to be checked; the technician wasn't willing to do it without Noah being sedated; so I should let them sedate Noah. What if something WAS wrong with Noah and I hadn't allowed them to give him a simple sedative for whatever reason? I would feel so guilty.

To get a sedative, we had to go through 5 more counters. At one point, the nurse wanted to take Noah away from me and bring him to another part of the building without me. I was shocked, and absolutely unwilling to let that happen--so I grabbed Noah back and followed her. To a cluttered, dirty, crowded rooom where they 'weighed' Noah. First they weighed me holding him, then I returned to the scale without Noah. So precise, right?

After the weigh in, someone at a desk gave us a slip of paper that announce how much of a sedative Noah needed. We walked to another counter--which was basically in the hallway. It was a very wide hallway, and there were chairs set up like in an airplane terminal. Behind the counter were four nurses, each with a medical cart, and a computer. Above each nurse, a medal rod was hanging from the ceiling, for IV bags. On the wooden counter that they were sitting behind, were small plastic cushions for babies/children to sit on. This is where Noah was to get his sedative. When we saw an opening, we walked up to the counter, where I was told to sign a medical release. I couldn't read the characters. The nurse told me of the side effects that might occur from the sedative. I signed in English.

Side effects included child being unable to breathe well. What does that mean?!!!
I asked how long it would make him sleep--the hospital worker said "Maybe 20 minutes. Maybe several hours. We don't know".

Wow--we're just brimming with reassurances!

The nurse brought out a large syringe with a long plastic tube attached to it. It was filled with a clear liquid. She had me take Noah's diaper off. We're in a hallway, in a relatively cold hospital with people all around. Babies and children are screaming because their sick and in pain. Some are getting blood drawn out of their feet, a meter to my right. Someone else is getting an IV hooked up to her head. Every kid seems to have their mom, their dad, their grandparents, a nurse, a nanny....And there's me, with the international clinic nurse.

So I take Noah's diaper off, and watch as the hospital worker sticks the tube up my son's 'acne' (as the international nurse kept mistakingly calling it). The hospital worker then injects Noah with the sedative, and squeezes his butt cheeks together tightly. She tells me to squeeze his but together as tightly as I can for 20 minutes. Then she tells me to pick him, and sit over there, in the waiting section.

What the heck? How am I supposed to hold a squirming, heavy, unhappy baby--while carrying him naked, while squeezing his butt cheeks with two hands? The international clinic nurse helped me as much as possible, and we shuffled over to the nearest seat--with my diaper bag and her big purse--and Noah's stroller.

This is a bad idea.

I had no idea how they were going to sedate Noah, but I thought it would be more like a tranquilizer dart or something involving a needle. Not a tube up his but. Not a liquid that I had to hold within his colon by squeezing his butt. Not something that had to be held inside of him for twenty minutes before it would start to work.

Do you know Noah? He poops a lot. Every day, several times, huge explosions.

This is a very bad idea.

I was not amused in the slightest. If anything, I had forgotten how to even panic or worry--because I already knew that this story was going to end in a lot of poop.

How badly to I want this ultra sound? I wanted it...so I waited. I sat there for about two minutes, with a very unhappy Noah--who wanted to move, and for us to stop bruising his dimpled butt cheeks.

Then, the front of my shirt was soaking wet with pee, and I felt that my hands were full of something very smooth and warm. I looked at the nurse and said quite calmly, "He's pooping on me, can you grab a diaper?" With an audience of Chinese people looking on, we tried to clean up the mess. It was everywhere on me, on Noah, on the nurse....we used nearly all the wipes.

She had some antibacterial soap, and we tried to clean up as best as possible. But my jeans were now yellow, and my shirt was beyond help.

After we cleaned up, I looked up at the hospital worker, who was sitting behind her stupid wooden counter very dispassionately. "You have to do it again." she said so vindictively, as if it's my fault that injecting a baby through his anus makes them poop.

At Chinese hospitals, they provide nothing as far as tissues, towels, bandaids, etc. As all the kids are screaming and crying around us, and I'm watching kids that have very serious illnesses walking away with multiple IV's that their parents hold on metal rods as they walk away...I was wondering if we should try again. I had one wipe left  and one diaper. No one told me to prepare for this eventuality.

The poor international clinic nurse who had been translating for me, and helping me to navigate the system is a single lady. And she had my son's poop on her. I slipped my poop encrusted wedding rings into my coat pocket.

Okay, let's do it again.

Which meant going to all the counters again. Paying again. Getting weighed again. Getting yet another prescription that was the exact same as before. Going back to the assembly-line-esque-injection counter. Having the same nurse tell me to take Noah's diaper off. Watching Noah's little face contort as she shoved the tube up his butt, for a second time.

Being smart enough to squeeze his butt cheeks with a diaper barrier this time (even though the hospital worker protested and said I shouldn't do that--I am not THAT stupid).

I could see that the line to get an ultrasound was now very long, stretch thing far down the hall. No wonder we had made such an effort to get there first thing in the morning.

This time, Noah made it about 15 minutes. And then he pooped all over me for a second time. I was kind of relieved, actually, because my arms were shaking with the strain of holding him still while squeezing his butt.

But I still wanted to cry. No one likes to be covered in poop, least of all me. I remember thinking with wonder, as I looked up at all the Chinese faces watching me, "it's amazing that I'm not sobbing right now".

At this point, we'd been at the hospital for 4 hours. Standing in multiple lines. Being covered in poop twice. Having the humiliation of watching your son poop on someone who is trying to help you (i.e. the nurse). Paying for tests that you can't receive because of the uncooperative technician, and not being able to call Adam just made it worse. I didn't know how Willow was behaving for her babysitter, and that was another stress on my day. I didn't know how long it would take to get a taxi (it actually did take a long time). Noah hadn't been able to eat all morning. He missed both of his naps. I rescheduled his follow up at the international clinic for another day and decided it was time to quit.

Later, when I finally got home, I put both kids in their beds for naps. I just sat on the couch and didn't move for a few hours. Wow, was I tired! Talk about an exhausting cultural experience, not to mention parenting adventure. Adam said that I shouldn't have even let them try to sedate Noah. Later, Noah's pediatrician said that we could wait until we're back in America next to get his echo-cardiogram.

I had a friend who understands the system a little better explain why the technician wasn't willing to check Noah's heart and kidneys without him being sedated. She probably makes a very small amount of money a month (maybe less than $500 a month) and for her to go through the extra trouble with an un-sedated baby was not worth it to her. If I had handed her 100 kuai under the table, maybe she would have done it, because then it would have been worth it. I'm not sure if Noah will have to go through the same rigors in America or not--but at least I'll understand the system, the language, and the culture.

One thing that shocked me the most while I was at the hospital was how little compassion I saw around me. Whether it was the worker/nurses at the assembly line counter who were so emotionally distant, it was disturbing. They would watch the babies and kids were in legitimate pain or great fear and offer no comfort or reassurance. Or the people shoving you out of place while you're standing in line. Or the uncooperative technicians or arrogant doctors.

Now, I really appreciate having compassionate medical professionals.

This is the best children's hospital in a city of several million people--and I am so thankful I have other options. I'm thankful Noah doesn't have to get his hand surgery there. And I admire all the families that travel from many cities and towns away to get the best care possible at that hospital. Life is different here, where a bribe can get you the test you need, and a shove can cut you to the front of the line.

On a spiritual level, I was reminded that when we knowingly walk into a difficult situation, we should prepare ourselves properly. Though I had forgotten to pack enough antibacterial-related items and diapers, I was still supported by the strength of God to get through those disgusting, humiliating, frustrating, and culturally confusing moments. There were many moments when I knew I couldn't survive that particular situation without Him, and I chose to obey Him with my words and actions. And there were many moments more when I failed to live in a way that would please Him. Fortunately, for reasons I cannot fully understand, His grace is sufficient for all those moments. If I had to choose between remembering to pack enough diapers or remembering to focus on God and His plan, I will strive to chose the Lord.

After all, diapers are made to cover behinds. 

But God covers His children with saving grace.

Meeting Kaeya

Hello, my name is Willow and I like to touch everything I see. This is on hot day, trying to reach for some electronics. I can nearly do it on my own because I'm really tall. 

This day was special because I got to ride in a taxi. It took awhile to explain to the driver where we wanted to go because my parents didn't have the address. But they explained it soon enough, and we were on our way. I kept yelling at the driver. It was hot in the taxi, and I had no idea where we were going. 

This is a picture of me once we got to where we were going. This is a hospital. A very nice hospital. It's where lots of babies are born. That day, it was full of babies, which is unusual for this hospital. But, it's the year of the dragon, and it's the 9th month. Which is a very luck time to have babies in China. 

I have a new friend. This is what I looked like the first time I saw her. She is so little, I think she is a doll.

We had to wait to see her because she was nursing. I still nurse too. But I'm starting to stop that habit. Now I drink mostly cow's milk. I like it only if there's chocolate syrup in it. This baby is named Kaeya. She was born three weeks early because her mom's water broke. Whatever that means!?  She has very long fingers, and her feet are much smaller than mine.

I look a little shocked in this picture, while the baby sleeps peacefully. I wanted to sleep too. I ran around the hospital floor a lot and went into some other people's rooms. It was embarrassing. A lot of nurses played with me and gave me candy. But I couldn't eat it. I saw pictures of some of our friends hanging on the walls. They were born there too and since they're white, they get to be part of the advertisement.

This is across the street from the hospital. There is a very large park, with some ancient tombs from an ancient dynasty. I never went there, but there was a man selling Winnie the Pooh balloons.

Then we had to get home.

Finally we were home. I took a nap immediately.

Lessons from a Lump; Part 3

Man, this story is taking forever to tell! But as they say, hindsight is 20/20, and I have a lot to process. Now that it has been over a week since this happened, it feels so surreal. It feels like it wasn't real and only a bad dream. A hiccup.

I went home on Tuesday, tired from my all-day ordeal with the doctors/hospitals/tests. While I fed Willow and took a moment to recuperate, Adam went to speak with our boss. He let him know the situation and that we might need to leave Shenyang without much notice. He was very supportive.  Adam, Willow and I went to our friends' home where many of our team members were gathered for dinner. It was weird to go on with the formalities and pretend like nothing was wrong. It was strange to answer questions about the future, such as the play, when I had a sinking feeling that I would be flying back to America any day. How this affected us most immediately was the soccer tournament. Adam was planning on leaving Thursday morning, but with the situation as it was, he didn't feel comfortable going any longer. He called the PE teacher who is charge of the sports to tell him that he might not be able to go to the tournament. I, on the other hand, called the assistant director and told her she might have to take Little Women over without much notice. We abstained from telling our families for a few reasons. My mom and sister were on a vacation/field trip and it would be difficult to get a hold of them. Plus, I didn't want to ruin their trip with bad news. More than that, I didn't know what to tell them since I had very few answers myself. Adam's parents were also out of town, so we decided to wait a little.

With the prospect of returning to the States before the school year was over, Adam decided to stay home from the soccer tournament (which literally killed him, he wanted to go so badly!) so that he could make lesson plans for the rest of the year. He already had subs lined up for Thursday and Friday, so it was convenient to use that time for lesson planning. Wednesday, he really felt like he had to go into work. I needed to return to the #4 Hospital to meet with a specialist in the oncology department. A friend graciously agreed to go with me. She even found a private driver to take us in, which was a blessing since the weather turned out to be cold, windy, and rainy that morning.

At 7am on Wednesday morning, I walked out of my room, got Willow and walked into our living room. I stopped in surprise to see Adam sitting on our couch. "Why are you still here, did you miss the bus?" He usually leaves at 5:45 every morning. That's when he told me that school had been canceled because of a power outage. The weather was also a bit nasty. I know that the 'no school' situation put a lot of students, parents, and teachers at an inconvenience, but I couldn't help thinking that it was a blessing. Now I didn't have to drag Willow out in the terrible weather, to a dank hospital, where I would have to wait for who knows how long. She wouldn't be able to crawl around, play, or nap in that situation. I was so thankful that Adam was no 'forced' to stay at home by the power outage, so that he could watch Willow. What an answer to prayer! While I was walking outside to meet the driver, I couldn't help feeling 100% relieved that Willow didn't have to go with me to the hospital. I had wanted Adam to stay home originally, but felt bad asking him when he  was already taking 3 days of absence that week. God really works small wonders.

My friend and I got to the foreign clinic in good time. We were then joined by a 4th year medical student and a nurse, and then went on to the Chinese hospital. Of course, once we were there, we had to go to several different counters to register and pay. I had to pay about 80 cents to meet with a specialist. We walked to the cancer wing and waited to see the director of the department. He was in the middle of a surgery, so we had to wait a few minutes. I was surprised that I got to meet with the head guy out of all the other doctors. He brought us to his office where he read my report, looked at my ultra sound and mammogram, and then did a quick exam. His opinion was very quick.

The tumor was most likely benign. It was probably not cancerous. Because of its size, it should be removed, but surgery could wait until the summer. A biopsy should be taken to see what the tissue is. It could be done that very same day! However, since I was nursing, I needed to wean Willow. He could give me some medicine that would dry me up in a week.

That was quite a lot to process! My friend, the nurse, and the medical student all have excellent Chinese--so I was the only one who could only understand every 100th word.

I didn't like the idea of waiting a week for a biopsy. I also didn't want to wean Willow cold turkey. I asked why I needed to stop nursing in order to get a biopsy. Apparently the risk was that in the process of taking a tissue sample, a milk duct might be pierced by the biopsy needle. This could cause a milk fistula that wouldn't be able to heal while nursing. It would cause constant leaking of milk and other fluids that wouldn't stop unless I weaned Willow. However, he said that the chances of this happening were pretty low, since the lump was close to the surface. I decided to risk the possibility of hitting a milk duct, but didn't want to get the biopsy on Wednesday. I went home feeling a lot better about the situation and my future. It was such a relief to hear from the lips of yet another professional that the tumor was probably benign.

Adam and I decided that Friday would be the best day for the biopsy, since he had subs lined up to teach his classes already. On Thursday, he told his soccer team and his colleagues what was happening with me. The response was instant. Skypes, emails, texts, phone calls...all people in our community telling us that they were praying for me. People offered us meals and help--we felt very supported. I think all the prayer did make a difference. So many friends and students were praying for us. The teams at the soccer tournament, the students at school, our teacher friends and team members....so many faithful friends were lifting me up, and I could literally feel it. No one needed to tell me that there were praying, I could tell the difference. A few days before, only Adam and I knew about it, now there were many interceding--and it was tangible. Before, everything had felt so out of my hands and surreal. It was a hazy chaos filled with lots of denial. Now, i felt confident that God was taking care of me, regardless of what would happen. The situation felt the opposite of surreal--it felt like it was in His control and completely peaceful. I felt a real shift in my attitude and perception of what was going on around me. My dad called on skype while he was on the phone with my mom and I couldn't help but let them know what was going on. I felt a little bad for spilling the news, and could tell that they were worried.

Friday morning came and I wasn't nervous about the biopsy at all. Adam went with me this time and another friend volunteered to babysit Willow for us. I brought my iPod so that I wouldn't have to listen to the biopsy. Of course, once I got in the operation room, I realized that my iPod was dead. Dang! I had a moment of panic because I was worried that the sound would make me faint. The director of the department, who I had seen on Wednesday, came and did the biopsy himself. He was a very kind doctor--he had answered all our many questions on Wednesday, and wasn't offended by us at all. he was patient with all the translation and very helpful. He made the situation seem so easy. I was thankful that he was doing the biopsy, because I had been able to build some trust in him. He didn't seem corrupt. He wasn't making me stay in the hospital for three days (like I was told I would have to, originally). He wasn't making me pay a crazy amount of money...He'd been doing this sort of thing for over thirty years. I felt like I was in good hands.

He also reassured me. He told me in a loud voice, "No hurt! Because, I professional!" I laughed. Adam left the room because he was worried that his presence might make the Chinese doctors nervous. I had to listen to everything, but didn't feel a twinge of pain.

The doctor went in with his scary biopsy tool. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on something besides getting punctured by metal prongs. He took a tissue sample and immediately said, "It's definitely not cancer". He went in a second time for another sample, and then said, "Mei you le". Which basically means, "It's not there anymore".

I opened my eyes and looked at his face. He had a little bit of surprise written on his face. I looked at the medical student who had accompanied to the hospital again. She looked a little surprised too and started translating the situation for me. She described the situation too--she said that as he was puncturing me (he did several times over and over again), blood and milk were coming out. The Chinese doctor kept saying, "gone now. No more!" and he made me touch my breast where the lump had been.

Sure enough, the tumor that had been the size of a golf ball was gone!

What happened?
After the biopsy results came in, an hour later, it was confirmed that the lump was not a tumor, but only a form of mastitis.

What?

Medical Explanation: several months prior, through a nursing related infection, a milk duct had closed off, forming an abscess. The milk that was trapped in the duct eventually began to harden so that the ultra sound did not pick up any traces of liquid. It also began to bleed, causing the skin discoloration. The hard mass of milk had basically become a solid. When the biopsy punctured the lump, it began to drain.

But, I'm prone to question this. Perhaps this is what happened, but it still leaves me with some questions. Why did I not experience any infection related symptoms like fever, inflammation, hot skin, etc? Why did the ultra sound and mammogram not indicate that it was a cyst or an abscess that could be easily drained? Why did it stump so many doctors as to what it was? Why did it appear, even to experienced doctors who deal with breast cancer every day, that it was a tumor?

Even the smallest miracles require faith. I really think that I was healed. And even if you are too skeptical to join me in this sentiment, you cannot deny the fact that I learned a lot through this experience. It was a life changing event. An Ebeneezer. My next post will be about all the things that God taught me during this storm.

All in all, there is no cancer, no tumor, no lump, and I don't even need surgery. I'm feeling great, can still nurse Willow, and have recovered from the biopsy/draining.

Thanks for your prayers! They were a catalyst and a comfort.

Lump Lessons Continued

So, after that last post, I probably left a few of you worrying about my health. I should have reassured you all that I am alright and that there is an interesting end to this story. Read on for something amazing.

A few weeks ago, I was walking home, and thinking about some of the problems in my life. When suddenly, I heard this very clear and loud word, "endure". It was so distinct from what I was thinking about, and the attitude with which I was thinking, that it took me off guard. Immediately, I felt that it was from God, and that I needed to dwell on this concept. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to endure, there are many situations I could apply that word to. Little was I to know that in a few short days, my endurance would be tested.

After discovering the lump, I made a doctor appointment. Then the worry started. It was difficult to suppress the dark thoughts that were beginning to form. The what-ifs, the worries, the bucket lists, the regrets. I kept reminding myself that it could be a mere nursing related problem, that it didn't do any good to worry about the unknown, that I should take things one step at a time. Of course, one of the most pressing thoughts was the logistics that might be involved. Possibly having surgery in China or in America. Possibly going to America before the school year was over. Perhaps Adam would miss his grad school classes in Beijing--either that, or I would have to return on my own. What if I needed chemo? Would we come back to Shenyang at all? These were anxieties, but they were also extremely practical questions. I had to remind myself one hundred times a day to not even go down that mental path. If I avoided the first what-if question, I could avoid the whole thought process altogether.

It feels so long ago now, so it's hard to remember all the events that took place, and the feelings that went along with them. I do remember, on a Saturday night, four days before my appointment, breaking down in Willow's room. I was nursing her before bed time, a sweet time of my day, and I just couldn't take the unknowns anymore. I thought of the possibility of dying before she could remember me. I started wishing that I could love her so much in the present, that all the love would last a life time for her. I started to pray about my worries, my heartache, my torn up emotions. It was a very good time because I was able to spend a few hours in conversation with God. I cried a lot as God pried opened my hands and took some pretty specific desires from me. It wasn't like he was saying 'no' or 'never'. But He was saying, 'surrender'. I was reminded that being a mom is not about my needs or happiness. There were so many moments that I wanted to see and be a part of. I could barely even grasp the concept of attending Willow's wedding someday, but certainly that thought crossed my mind too. I was surrendering these moments one by one. First steps, first pony-tail, learning to read...lots of milestones down the road. I thought, there's no guarantee that I'll see any of those things. I could get hit by a car tomorrow, never mind the suspicious lump! It sounds kind of morbid, but I want to be able to die at any given moment and be happy about it. Because for believers, dying is essentially a happy thing. Its what allows us to move on to the fulfillment of our salvation, when the promise of things hoped for, our sanctification, is brought to completion. As much as I love bits and pieces of this world, I don't want them to hold me back. I don't want the material to get in the way of the eternal. As wonderful and blessed as moments with my daughter are, I don't want them to be a stumbling block between me and Jesus. That's really hard to accept sometimes. I dwelt on the passage about storing our treasures in heaven. I wondered how that could be done. What were my treasures and how was I to put them in heaven where moth and rust do not destroy? What were the treasures of my heart?

Now my memory is a bit hazy. I can't remember exactly when I had this dream, but it was right around the time of my first appointment. It was an incredibly vivid dream. Like the word, "endure" that I heard so clearly and distinctly, this dream was bright and almost tangible. I was sitting next to Adam, with Willow on my lap. One of our friends was speaking in a fellowship type setting. He came over to use and said to me, "You know Willow is not here for your happiness, right?" I thought about it and said, "Yes". Then he spoke again, "You know Adam is not here for your happiness either, right?" I paused for a moment and then said, "Yes, I do". And I really meant it. I woke up instantly, and felt amazed to my very core. My soul felt the reverberations from these thoughts, and they sank in to take root. Since I hadn't been thinking about this earlier that day, it seemed so 'random'. I felt like surely, this vivid dream, could possibly have been from the Holy Spirit. Perhaps to teach me, or to remind me of something. Perhaps to encourage me forward. I don't know. But I definitely found strength in the reminder that if something terribly life-changing were to happen, I needed to rely on God and not my family. I'm not one to normally claim hearing words from God, and have never felt like a dream was sent specifically to me--but for some reason these two happenings were a strong reminder to me of God's faithfulness.

Finally Tuesday came. Adam took a day off of work so that he could watch Willow while I went to the foreign clinic. When I got there, I had no idea what to expect. It felt surreal, however. I knew that I was probably going to get some answers, and probably going to get some tests. I also expected that my biggest questions would have to wait, as we waited for results. I didn't know what to expect, and so I sort of separated from reality for a bit. I was in a haze, and perhaps you could call it peace. I was prepared to hear the worst, but hoping for the best. I knew that God had a plan--and Adam kept reminding me that everything would be ok, no matter what the situation was. There were going to be no unhappy endings for us. I envied Adam's peace of mind, and sort of resented him for it as well. I felt like this was no laughing matter, and the gravity of the situation really weighed down on me. But Adam had assurance that everything was going to be fine.

While I was sitting in the waiting room, I was doing homework for a study that I am in. I came across the verse in Psalm 119--"God is good. He does good". This was another beacon of light to me. Whatever happened, whatever the answers were, God was unchanging in His goodness. Who was I to cry foul and question the goodness of His plan? How was I to know what would happen, and if the 'worst' happened, how it could be used for His glory. Isn't that why I am here, anyway? To give Him glory in all things? So I waited.

During this first appointment, several doctors saw me. The lump confused the doctors during the physical exam. It carried some traits of a tumor, some for a cancerous one and some for a benign one. It was hard, round, as large as a golf ball, and showed some irregularities in shape. There was also some discoloration of my skin near the lump that indicated bleeding, which puzzled them. There was no pulling in of the skin or dimpling around the mass, which is common with cancerous tumors. It was puzzling! The general consensus was that I needed further testing and that it was quite possibly a tumor. If it was a cyst, they would be able to drain it.

So, they sent me upstairs for an ultra sound. It was so surreal getting the ultra sound, because it was the same room where I had my ultra sounds during my pregnancy. It was also the same technician. I used to be annoyed with the older woman because she would never tell me if the baby was a boy or a girl. She would also tell Adam to leave the room, because generally, parents aren't allowed to see the ultrasounds here. Now, I felt sorry for her. I realized that she doesn't just give news of healthy babies, she gives news of life threatening conditions. I was looking up at the dirty ceiling, and having these weird moments of "I've been here before...but it's so different now". The first time I had an ultra sound in that room I was six weeks pregnant and dreading the possibility of it. Now, I couldn't be more happy as a stay-at-home mom, and I was laying there with a tumor in my breast, pondering the possibility of cancer. I couldn't be dreading it more. I waited for the ultra sound to be over. I saw the grimness on everyone's faces, but I didn't want to understand what they were saying in Chinese. So I tuned out. Finally, the woman stood up and looked at me sadly. I said thank you and went back downstairs. My group of foreign doctors looked at the report and said I needed a mammogram. They informed me that it was not a cyst. The ultra sound showed no indication of the mass being a liquid that could be easily drained.

If it was a tumor, especially a malignant one, I needed to take action quickly. They told me that if I wanted to have surgery and possible treatment in America, I needed to leave no later than the following week. My heart sank at those words. There was so much that would have to change, based on this news, but this was my life they were talking about! The air was very heavy in that room, and the doctor prayed for me. I cried a little while he was praying because I was so touched by the action. Doctors wouldn't do that for me in America. Because the doctor knew me a little, he was able to pray for very specifically.

A few other doctors took a look at the lump, discussed their opinions, and recommended that I get the mammogram the same day. I called Adam so that he could bring Willow to the doctor's office. I needed to nurse her before going to the Chinese hospital, which was a few miles away, to get the mammogram. While I was waiting for Willow and Adam to arrive, I took a long walk. I didn't feel like sitting in the doctor's office for an hour, waiting for Adam. It was a beautifully warm spring day, and I walked a few miles which was therapeutic. Fortunately I had a copy of the Word with me and was able to soak in some more comfort. I was a little upset by how the morning had gone so far.

I might have a tumor.
It's possible cancer.
You have to go back to America. Now.
That means you'll miss the play.
That means Adam' will miss his graduate classes.

A new list of what-ifs started.

What if the play can't go on without you? What if you have to cancel it?
What if Adam has to drop out of classes? Will he ever finish?
What if you never come back to China? Should I pack up what we want and sell the rest?
What if you have cancer and need chemo?
What if we have to resign from our positions here?
What if you can't afford the bills because we won't have insurance?

After an hour of battling those new sets of questions, I walked back to the clinic where Willow was waiting for me. She nursed, I ate the sandwich Adam brought for me. And then we left for the Chinese hospital.

Hospitals are so different here. Infinitely different. The system is convoluted, meaning that it is nearly impossible to navigate it by yourself. You need a medical professional with you, if you are a foreigner, to help guide and translate. Everything is like an assembly line. The buildings are dirty. You supply your own band-aides, gauze, linens, and everything else you might need while staying in a hospital (including towels, toilet paper, and food). People are literally dying in the hallways. Sometimes on beds, sometimes on the floor. It's a bleak picture of humanity. There are definitely better hospitals than others, and even within those buildings some wings are better than others. Where a lot of common place tests are done, there's a lot more people and chaos. It was also about 90 degrees in the hall where we waited for the mammogram. It was loud and people were smoking. I found myself wondering how a movie set would be constructed if it was to look like a Chinese hospital.

Adam and Willow eventually left because I had to wait so long. It was hot and Willow was tired. Plus, the stressful environment was overwhelming to her. People kept coming up to her, in the usual fashion, and asking questions. But they were particularly aggressive at this place. A few cleaning ladies kept gathering people to come stand around us. They were loud and dirty and kept trying to touch/hold Willow. No manner of communication could get them to stop. I told them in clear Chinese to stop it, don't touch, she doesn't want you to touch or hold her. But they kept being very physical--so then I started hitting their hands away. Desperation! Once Adam and Willow left, my stress level decreased a lot.

It was very confusing getting the mammogram. First we had to go register. That meant going to two different desks, which were on different floors, and paying fees. Then we went to another wing of the hospital. We had to pay again and wait. The hospital desk workers sent the nurse who was with me all over the place to register here/pay there/sign up somewhere else. It's like a maze. Finally, it was my turn. I got the mammogram, was examined by a few doctors, and then sent up to another floor to speak to even more doctors. These doctors, maybe about four women, kept asking questions about my nursing. It made me feel like they weren't understanding the problem. They thought the lump was from Willow biting me.

Afterwards, I went back to the clinic. Doctors looked at the results/report and said that the lump definitely looked solid, but on was only a RAD-3. This means that it was probably benign. However, they wanted to rule out any possibility of it being cancerous. They suggested that I make an appointment with a specialist and get a biopsy. Although I felt a lot better about the situation at this point, several doctors having told me that it was probably benign, I was still anxious to know what this lump was! I was also told that regardless I would need surgery to remove the tumor. Because although it was most likely benign, a tumor that size left unattended could turn malignant. The recommendation was that I return to America sometime in May to have it removed surgically.

The possibility of staying in China for this operation was out of the question for Adam. Even though I was considering it as an option because it would allow me to finish Little Women, or at least see the performances.

To be continued.....

Medical Scavenger Hunt

I love how Adam makes almost everything a game. He's very much like a kid still, in many ways, and this is one of them. Many people say that his enjoyment of middle school teaching is directly related to this fact. Of course, Adam can make a game out of his physical examination.

Willow and I just got home from a very interesting outing. I changed her diaper, nursed her (finally!), and she promptly fell asleep for her nap. I think that we are both tired. I'm laying on my bed, typing this, while our house helper is working on dishes, laundry, and mopping. I have such a privileged life-style! We left the house in a complete disaster this morning, because we were running behind schedule. It's a great feeling to re-enter your home with the mess tamed, and everything getting cleaned...without lifting a finger yourself. I'm spoiled.

At 4 o'clock in the morning, Willow woke up for her 'middle of the night' snack. What made this night different from other nights was that after she ate, instead of falling back to sleep, she decided to play! Adam and I were both tired, and neither one of us was interested in entertaining Willow. So, I kept trying to get her to sleep. The lights were off, no talking allowed. Finally, she fell asleep again. At 6 o'clock in the morning, Adam got a call from someone he usually shares a van ride with in the morning--their van was late. Adam said that was ok with him since he wasn't going into school early that morning. In fact, he would be going in late. Today was the day we had to get our Chinese physical examinations.

We both fell back asleep, and at 7:30, I woke up in a panic. We had to be out the door by 7:55! I jumped in the shower, Adam woke Willow up to change and dress her. Adam and I finished getting ready, packed our bags, tried to feed Willow breakfast, bundled up, and headed out the door with our passports. I'm amazed that we were not the last people on the bus!

Now that our school is officially licensed, we have a few more formalities to adhere by. One of which is physical examinations. The foreign staff was separated into three groups that would be getting their exams on three different days. We were among the first to go, so everything that was about to happen was new and unexpected. I just have to write about this (for memory's sake) because I think that my readers will find this interesting.

When we arrived at the hospital (that seems to be used exclusively for giving foreigners physicals for the students or workers permits), it was a building on the corner of a street that I had passed several times before on our way to the orphanage. I had never been over there that early in the morning, however, and was interested to see a long line of carts set up on the street outside the building. Vendors were selling everything from fruit, vegetables, chunks of raw meat, and even a goat head. Where we live in the city, we often miss out on sights like this--we don't have any morning or night markets near our complex.

The first thing we had to do was register. Each of the foreign staff had to go up to a counter and present their passport and another 2"x 2" picture. We had to stand in front of a web cam and get another picture taken that was printed onto our forms. On the forms had our basic and relevant information about ourselves, and we had to sign a few places promising that if we didn't answer truthfully there would be consequences. I thought it was a little over-kill that we had to have a passport, a 2" x 2" picture, AND a picture on our form.

Then we went down a hall way where there was a large metal sliding door. It was automated, and made a very loud beeping when it opened and closed. First the guys went in to get their chest x-rays. Then the women. I was a little nervous because they were making a big deal about the fact that I nurse Willow. They wanted to know how old Willow was (like that makes a difference in breast milk?)--it made me nervous too, and I wonder what the affects of x-rays are on breast milk. All of us women were ushered behind a curtain where we had to strip and put on a flimsy blue cover up. Then we took turns getting our x-rays. The doctor-man stamped our papers and sent us out.

After that, we went upstairs where we had to get our blood drawn. The room where this was done was divided by a counter and glass. We took turns sitting on a stool and putting our arms on the counter in front of us. The nurses sat on the other side of the counter, with all their supplies, and took our blood. It felt and looked very much like an assembly line. The nurses' gloves were the plastic kind that food service people wear, not the latex medical gloves that I"m used to seeing. I felt more like a sandwich than a person. I also tried to convince the nurse that she would have better luck getting the blood out of my wrist/hand because no one can ever draw blood from my elbow without a lot of trouble. She told me that the blood in my hand isn't good. She strapped on her tourniquet extremely tight and started beating my arm. Still no vein. So she just dug around until she found some blood. Instead of alcohol wipes, they used some yellowish antiseptic. Instead of a band-aid, she gave me a q-tip. She gave me a plastic tube, and a small plastic cup (about 1 ounce).

This leads up to our next step, which I was dreading. We took turns using the only squatty-potty that was in working order. It was a messy squatty potty too. There was no where to set my cup or plastic test tube. I got into position, filled my ounce cup, and then poured some of the urine in the test tube very carefully. The bathroom was dark (I don't think there was a light), and dirty. There was no toilet paper, in true Chinese fashion, and no soap or paper towels by the sink. Thankfully, we had brought our own tissue paper, and our friend shared some of her hand sanitizer. I set the test tube of pee (ick!) in the tray that was provided in the hall way. Once everyone had finished this less than desirable task, we headed over the other side of the building. Here, we had several exams to complete:

• Eye exam
• Weight/height/blood pressure exam
• Medical history/heart/squatting exam
• EKG/Sonogram exam

Through all these exams, I kept wondering what the point was? Did they want to make sure that we were healthy? Were they looking for a reason to send us back? If they are so concerned about health and hygiene, why don't they clean the bathroom? Why does it matter if you are color blind? Each exam was held in a different room, and each doctor checked all of our pictures before jotting down information. At each place, we received another red stamp. China loves stamping things, especially in red.

I forgot how poor my vision is without glasses. I don't think I did very well on the eye room. Of course, the only thing she checked was if we could read a chart on the wall, and if we could see identify animals in those crazy-multi-colored-dot pictures. I kept think, "why do I have to do this?"

Then, we had our weight and height checked by a digital machine. I don't really trust it, but it did tell me that I am the same weight I was 6 years ago when I graduated from high school. I would like to think that that is the truth (in which case, I'm 15 pounds lighter than I was pre-baby). Whether it's true or not, this is the official record now. :)

The sonogram and EKG were extremely fast. So very, very quick. I don't know what they were checking for, but being thorough was not a concern. The EKG was strange because they put some liquid on my wrists and ankles (water, maybe?) and then these metal clamps. It felt very industrial, or commercial.

When I was asked all of the medical history questions (probably about five), they mostly wanted to know if I had any sexually transmitted diseases. They had Adam look at a chart so that he could show them what an ACL was (because he had to report his knee operation). She listened to my heart, and then had me squat. I don't know what squatting proves, but I've never had to do that in a physical before.

Adam was eager to get all the red stamps on each of the room numbers on his form. It was like he was collecting stamps to get a prize--he was acting like it was a scavenger hung. Probably unintentionally too. Adam is just like that, and it makes me laugh.

At each station, being sanitary was not a huge priority. Room could probably be cleaned, and sometimes the equipment or furniture was a bit dilapidated. They didn't use tissue paper on exam beds, you just lay down where everyone else has been laying. They didn't always wear cloves. They weren't interested in conversation (not that I could reply)--it was very much of an assembly line, no-nonsense, get-in-line event. It bothered me that the lady who drew my blood didn't change her gloves at all, and that instead of changing the kleenex that had been under the arm of the last person, she just placed another tissue on top. My arm was literally on a pile of tissues.

I will give the whole process one thing though: it was very efficient. In America, we would have sat in a waiting room, filling out paper work. We would have been admitted into an exam room where a nurse would have taken our history, blood pressure, urine sample, weight, and anything else. Then we would have waited to see a doctor, who would have checked a few more things, and carried out conversation about our health. He would have answered questions, given advice, perhaps recommended a specialist. Then we would have to go back to the reception desk to pay. If we had done this whole process with our group, it probably would have taken several hours. But in this assembly line way of doing things, our group of seven people had had our blood and urine tested, x-rays, EKG, sonograms, eye tests, medical histories taken, weight/height and blood pressures recorded---all within an hour and a half. Very quick! Was it the cleanest process? Was it the most personal or thorough? Probably not. But was that the point? I don't think so. I'm just glad it is OVER.

~julie

Thankful...

This year, I am thankful for so much--here's what comes to mind without any effort. There's even more, I'm sure, if I were to really think back on this whole year...So, so, so much.

-Adam; he's such a wonderful husband and a great dad. I love getting to spend my life with him.
-Willow; she adds so much joy to my day, I can't imagine how we lived without her!

-Hospital bills; there were so many, but between insurance and some gifts, they are starting to dwindle away.

-Adam's surgery; was a success and his knee is healing super well. Also, the ginormous $53,000 bill has been covered by insurance--and the hospital waived the rest. They even reimbursed us the $300 we paid up front before Adam was prepped for surgery.

-Trip to America; we were able to spend three months in America this summer!

-Willow's safe arrival; there were no complications, and even though labor was long, it was worth it (and becoming a very distant/foggy memory).

-Willow's passport/visa; what a hassle! But I'm so thankful it's over and she has the documents she needs to live in China with us!

-Mom and Emma's visit; what a great chance to spend more time with them and show them Shenyang and Beijing.

-Staying at home; what a blessing to be able to watch Willow grow up every day--and not having to stress out about having to teach 3rd grade and be a mom (how do people do that?)

-Our home; it's so nice to have a comfy place that is relatively warm. A place where we can relax and enjoy spending time as a family. Even though my kitchen is small, I'm thankful for working appliances. And it's so cute to see that Willow is most comfortable when she's at home.

-Great friends/community; where ever you are in this world, we're so thankful for you!

-Dad's work; my Dad was able to get a job this year--which has been such a relief to me! Even though he has to work so much, I'm thankful for HIS faithfulness and provision.

-Cheesecake; so thankful for cheesecake.

-Raspberries; so thankful for raspberries.

~julie

Hobble and Waddle's Summer Vacation

Part One

Here we were, a few weeks ago at Luke's graduation party. This was Adam's last weekend before his knee surgery. About three weeks ago, Adam had ACL replacement surgery to repair his knee issues he's been having since an accident in August 2010.



During a volleyball practice, Adam attempted to prove to some students that it was possible to jump 15 feet without a running start (long jump). He successfully completed the jump, but badly injured his knee. There was an audible POP and he instantly knew something was wrong. He spent the next few days trying to walk with much difficulty. His knee became very swollen and he could hardly bend/extend it. Finally, Adam decided he would go to the doctor. What happened next was that the American doctor he saw said that it was just a sprain and all he needed was to rest for six weeks. He asked Adam about 2 questions total and did not even perform a knee exam or order any x-rays or MRI's. Since I wasn't there (it was during a school day), all I had to go on was Adam's report of the appointment. So, a few weeks later, Adam was at it again, playing sports and working out as usual and rarely complaining about his knee. He had to sleep with it elevated, however, and it was still very sensitive weeks and weeks after his long jump.

Well, after a few months, his knee seemed to be much better. Actually, what happened was his body learned to cope with the changes and overcompensated to make up for the damaged ACL. So, his right leg (which was the injured leg) became very strong and Adam was able to do most everything that he had done before. In the spring, he was playing a game of pick-up basketball--which is something he did often. While playing, he came down hard on his right knee and he experienced the same kind of pain from when he initially hurt it in August. After that, his problems with his knee resurfaced again. Whether he was just walking, playing a sport, or even standing in his classroom, his knee would often slip out and cause a lot of pain.

Finally, in May, Adam decided he would go to the doctor's office again--this time to see a different doctor who we liked better. This doctor ordered an MRI after taking a full history of Adam's knee and performing an in-depth knee exam. Getting the MRI is a whole different crazy story--but basically what the results of the knee exam and MRI showed was there was something not exactly right with Adam's knee. The doctor in Shenyang told us to see an orthopedic surgeon once we arrived in America.

The day after we arrived in America, Adam went to get the surgeon's opinion about his knee. This surgeon was highly recommended by friends, and if Adam did in fact need surgery, we wanted it to happen as soon as possible. The thought of not being to walk after the baby was born was unappealing, and the risk of blood clots while traveling long distances (e.g. international flights) are much higher soon after a surgery. The surgeon ordered an x-ray after looking at Adam's Chinese MRI films. He asked lots of questions, worked with Adam's right knee a lot, and kept lots of 'notes' on a voice recorder. He had lots of neat visual aides and integrated technology throughout the appointment--so that was fun. But the news was, "you should get surgery if you ever want to play sports again".

The next week, Adam scheduled his arthroscopic knee surgery. The recovery period is about a year long, and so it was hard for Adam to make this decision. But hopefully after a year of therapy and recovering, Adam will have many more years of physical activity and athletics.

The day Adam went in for surgery, he didn't feel nervous at all. I took some videos and pictures of Adam as he was waiting to go into the operating room--but he doesn't remember that part of the day at all. There's actually very little that Adam remembers from the day of his surgery.

Here Adam is the day after his surgery.



Adam was listed as a "Fall Risk", which was funny because he almost did fall many times. Getting from the wheel chair to the van seat after his surgery was a close call. The nurse had to catch him by smashing him against the car because Adam started spinning/falling out of control. It took Adam about 20 minutes to get from the van to the bed (normally would probably take 20 seconds). But as soon as he had his pain medicine and some rest, he was doing great on crutches.


This was a few days after his surgery when we were finally able to take his pain catheter out and change his surgical bandages. His leg was fairly swollen and it was difficult to see a difference between his calf and thigh. Adam was a little disappointed at how short the catheter was--it was inserted at his hip bone and we thought it would go down to near his knee. But it ended up only being a few inches long.



By the third day after his surgery, Adam was walking around and exercising his leg as much as possible. He was often seen WITHOUT his crutches, much to my frustration.

~julie

Maternity Leave

Wow, it has been a busy week. It's definitely been a change of pace from the normal teaching schedule.

We left Shenyang on Tuesday afternoon, and arrived in Chicago around noon on Wednesday. It seems like we've been busy ever since then! Adam has a consultation with a specialist regarding his knee injury. The surgeon recommended surgery, and after a day of mulling over the pain and recovery period, Adam decided to go with it. I was able to meet with the doctor that will be delivering our baby in about a month (as a side note, my arms just fell asleep while I was typing--pregnancy really affects everything). Since then, we've visited with family, cousins, Aunts, and had lots of yummy food. There was a beautiful baby shower last night, and I was able to visit with many good friends that I haven't seen in about two years. I will probably write about this more later on. We've had hair cuts, dentist appointments, and shopped at thrift stores. We even had a little episode in the ER with my brother who had a sudden asthma attack.

It's been nice to access websites again, without needing a working VPN. We hadn't been using a VPN very consistently in the last month or two, so it has felt super convenient to be able to log onto facebook, blogs, or news sites that we're normally restricted from.

It's going to continue being busy for us, in the meantime. Tomorrow, we're heading to Adam's family's house. Adam's brother has a graduation party this weekend, and Adam is looking forward to doing some work on his family's farm. He wants to get some exercise, biking, and outdoor work accomplished before his surgery. If you think of it, please be lifting up Adam and his knee. The surgeon isn't exactly sure what will need to be repaired/replaced until he starts the surgery. It looks like some tendons and meniscus discs will need to be repaired, and probably his ACL will need to be replaced. It's a long recovery process. About 4-6 weeks on crutches, and about 1 year of total recovery time, with therapy and no sports for at least six months. It seems like a long time for Adam at this point, but I think that in the long run this will help Adam to continue his active life style. He will be getting the surgery when I'm nearly 36 weeks pregnant, which concerns Adam a little. The main question is, who will drive me to the hospital once my labor has progressed....I'm not worried about it, but it will be an interesting summer with both of us recovering physically and with a little baby. It's a good thing we're surrounded by lots of family and friends right now!

All right, that's all for now. We're meeting my family for dinner! Thank goodness for Western food--it is too yummy for our own good.

~julie