The Pregnancy Scare

I learned something about myself today. I like to think of myself as sure, as confident, as immune to the stares and whispers of others. You can't live as counter-cultural as we do and have a thin skin. Just driving the fifteen-passenger van to the grocery store and watching people count the car seats would do you in. I use humor to deflect a lot of the criticism and most of the time, it bounces off.

But, today I realized what a complete wimp I really am. 

You see, today we had a pregnancy scare. I, or rather Shawn, did some calculating this morning and realized that I was days late. It wasn't until late this afternoon, one negative test, and a monthly visitor later, that we found we were in the clear. I was relieved, and a bit puzzled by my reaction. 

You see, when the possibility of a pregnancy existed, I wasn't upset about having another baby. Clearly, children are welcome here. I wasn't even that upset about another pregnancy, although they are hard on me and I generally loathe them. I certainly wasn't worried about my advanced maternal age and the associated risks of Down syndrome. In fact, that didn't cross my mind until just now. 

No, I was scared of what people would say. 

I could hear the whispers, the not-so-gentle teasing, the exclamatory cries of shock, and the words of admonition and warning from all of those around me, but specifically those at work. Frankly, it is sometimes fun to tell new patients when they ask how many children I have, and sometimes, I grit my teeth and avoid the question altogether. But it's easier when the family is already made. I know from experience that people feel much freer to comment when the newest member has not yet arrived. 

I found myself feeling ill at the thought of answering, "Is this your first?" multiple times a day, or worse, hearing one of my many co-workers answer it for me, "No, it's her ninth! She already has EIGHT!" And then having to paste on a phony smile and defend my family. Egads. 

It gives new meaning to the term "pregnancy scare" when what you're really scared of is not the pregnancy, but other people. 

So let me just say for the record, children are welcome here. Do not be surprised if another one joins this family at some point. Most probably that will be via adoption, but if God chooses to bless us another way, I will just have to dust off my phony smile, put on my big girl panties, and ignore the whispers. Because I refuse to let fear of other people rob the joy of new life. 

But God...

Setting off on our adoption journey, we were sure that we would be rescuing a child from one of those awful institutions we heard so much about. In fact, when we found out that Bogdan was in foster care, I felt almost guilty, like maybe his need wasn't great enough to warrant all the fundraising that we needed to do to bring him home. But we knew that God had a plan and that he was supposed to be ours.

On our first visit, our translator informed us that the social workers and foster family were already discussing which child would replace him. That gave me some measure of comfort and I often wondered about that child, who they were and where they came from.
I never thought I'd actually know anything. 

But God...

My friend, Leah, who was instrumental in leading us to our Bo and helping us navigate the world of Serbian adoption, is going back a fourth and final time to adopt a child with Down syndrome, this time a girl. 

Through the miracle of Facebook, I recently reconnected with Bogdan's foster family and received a whole bunch of early pictures of him. Wanting to share the wealth, I connected them with Leah who had also adopted a child from their home. 

In looking through their posted FB pictures, Leah made a marvelous discovery: Her new daughter, "J", is a foster child in their home! Through Google Translate, Leah was able to chat with them and discovered that "J" was the child that replaced Bo. She came from one of the worst mental institutes in the country and was in terrible shape when she arrived at their house. Even now, at 9-years-old, she weighs the same as our tiny 4-year-old Bo, thirty pounds. She needs to come home.

God didn't have to do that. He didn't have to fill that spot with a child in such dire need, a child that likely would not have survived much longer where she was. He didn't have to lead my friend to that particular child. And He certainly didn't have to put all the pieces together so I could see the tiny part we played in His grand scheme. I am so humbled and overwhelmed by it all. 

And excited!

There is a mad rush to this adoption. On April first, Serbia becomes a Hague certified country. Leah found out THIS MORNING that the adoption must be COMPLETE by then!

Funds are a priority. She does not have the luxury of waiting for her tax refund or creative fundraisers. She needs money NOW! The dossier needs to be shipped and translated, airfare needs to be purchased, etc. Be part of this amazing tapestry that God is weaving before our very eyes! Here is the GoFundMe page. 

Give a little, give a lot, but just GIVE!

And let's see what else God has in store...

Pox Parties

I want to say this with humility and grace. A day or two ago, I wanted to come on here and say it with guns blazing. That's the problem with being a justice girl. Everything is black and white and when an injustice is perceived, there is little inclination to consider all sides. 

In this instance, I took some time. 

Twice this past week, from two different people in two different circles, the idea of a pox party was brought to my attention. I admit, the concept was not entirely new to me. We are a homeschooling family, after all, and homeschoolers, for whatever reason, often tend to be of a crunchy bent. I never really paid attention to the idea of it before. It wasn't something that was on my radar. 

For the uninitiated, let me explain. A pox party is when the parent of a child with an active case of chickenpox alerts non-vaccinating parents so that they can get their kids together in hopes that those who have not yet had chickenpox will get infected. The idea is to have their children get this childhood illness over early and develop the natural immunity that comes with it. There are countless Facebook groups dedicated to connecting these families. 

As one who contracted chickenpox at the ripe old age of twenty-three from a patient who had shingles, I do like the idea of getting it as a child better. I had pox in every possible orifice, including down my throat and inside of my ears. I have never been so miserable and I have birthed seven children, some of them without medication and have had giant kidney stones on multiple occasions. But, I digress.

There is a vaccine for chickenpox. Many, many people had chickenpox as children and it was not a big deal. Those people roll their eyes and think the government has gone a little loopy and it is just one more unnecessary medical intervention and, of course, it's all about the money. And they may be right. It certainly is not a disease that comes anywhere near polio. However, before the chickenpox vaccine, 100 to 150 American children died yearly of chickenpox. One in 400 children were hospitalized, many with neurological conditions such as encephalitis, meningitis, convulsions, and even strokes. Within six years of the varicella vaccine being licensed, hospitalizations related to the infection dropped by 75%. Does the vaccine pose a risk? Of course. Every medical intervention has risks. But the risks and reported side affects of this particular vaccine are generally minor. 

Talking you into the vaccine, however, is not the point of this post. I think the reason it was on my radar and prompted this post when pox parties came up this time, is that now I have spent time in the world of special needs. I've walked the halls of the children's hospitals so many times, they feel like a second home, and I have healthy kids. But so many of my fellow parents on this journey do not. Many of them have children who are immunosuppressed. Their immune systems are not functioning as they should and they are at greater risk of developing illnesses.

Those children do not have the luxury of getting the vaccine that others are choosing to decline. What is a simple childhood illness for your child, can be a death sentence for them. 

A person is contagious for 1 - 2 days before the onset of the rash until the lesions have crusted over. A person usually contracts the illness between 10 - 21 days after exposure. In other words, a child could come down with chickenpox on average anytime between one and a half to three weeks after a pox party and will be contagious for a day or two before they know they have it.

So, here's my question for those of you who plan to send your kids to a pox party. 

Are you willing to keep them at home for up to two weeks while they may be contagious?

Because while the parents of those immunosuppressed children I talked about are less likely to have their kids out in public, sometimes it's unavoidable. One chance encounter with your infected child in the produce aisle could be the death of another child. 

I'm not being dramatic. Those 100 to 150 children who died each year from chickenpox before the varicella vaccine generally had underlying medical conditions, conditions that caused them to be immunosuppressed. Conditions that allowed a simple, normal, childhood illness to take their hope, their future, and their very last breath. 

See, you are free to choose. Vaccinate, don't vaccinate, partially vaccinate. Whatever. These parents don't have that luxury. They are counting on herd immunity for the life of their child. And if not that, then they are counting on common sense and decency from fellow parents. 

Recognize that these children exist, that they are fragile, and they are precious to those that love them, just as your children are to you. If you do choose to expose your children to a childhood illness, please keep them home until the risk of spreading it has passed.

Not Taking on a Lot - I Serve with Joy

"You're taking on a lot, having two of them," she said in that matter-of-fact, almost accusatory way school teachers sometimes have. 

One of the things I love most about my job as an occupational therapist in sub-acute rehab is the opportunity to build rapport and share life with my patients. 

In between exercises, Mary*, a retired high school math teacher, and I were chatting about the holidays. I had just shared about how my emotions ran high over Christmas as it was Bo's first with us. She had a lot of questions about our adoption of him and even more when she found that he is not the only child we have with Down syndrome. That's when she said it:

You're taking on a lot, having two of them.

The sentiment is not new to me. We heard it a lot when we were in process to bring Bo home, and at that time, I was pretty good at deflecting the skepticism, so sure was I in our mission. But that was a long time ago. I am out of practice. I mumbled something unconvincing and introduced the next set of exercises. 

I couldn't get it out of my mind and in the middle of the night when Bo woke me with his nightly thumping to stim himself back to sleep, I stayed awake. You're taking on a lot...You're taking on a lot...You're taking on a lot. It was a relentless refrain, one that seemed eerily familiar.

And then I realized.

Back when I heard the sentiment frequently, before we met our favorite orphan, I began to believe it was true. The seed was planted. This is going to be hard. I'm not sure we're up for this. We're taking on a lot.

After meeting him and realizing just how developmentally delayed he was, the idea grew. He is more like an infant than a three-year-old. We will need to do everything for him. We're taking on a lot.

Coming home and experiencing the sudden impact of three in diapers, all of which enjoying a strange urge to paint with poo, and it was no longer an idea. It was a fact. We have taken on a lot. 

Every doctor appointment that led to another specialist that led to another test, interspersed with the needs of our other seven kids, was a greater solidification of that fact. I began to believe it with every fiber of my being. We are in over our heads. It is so much. I'm not sure I can do this. We have taken on a lot. 

I wore it as a cloak. I wrapped myself in it and found comfort in the self pity it afforded and resigned myself to my fate. So when I was confronted with it in the subtle accusation of my patient, I had no answer. Deep down, I had been agreeing with her for the last ten months. 

My middle of the night realization made me see it for what it is. It's a lie. "We have taken on a lot," and every discouraging thought that goes along with it, is a lie. 

The truth is simple:

Now what I am commanding you today is not too difficult for you or beyond your reach. Deuteronomy 30:11 

I can do everything through Him who gives me strength. Philippians 4:13 

This is not too much. We did not take on some big burden by adopting Bo into this family or even having a family this size. The evidence I used to convince myself otherwise simply boils down to my own inflexibility, and lofty, and therefore unmet, expectations for myself and others. 

I'm ashamed of myself. I'm ashamed that I so quickly bought the lie and that I wallowed in it for so long. But with the recognition of truth comes a heart change. Too long I've been kicking against the goads. This is not who I want to be or how I want to view my world. 

I need a new mantra. I refuse to don the cloak of self pity anymore. Upon prayer and reflection, one thought kept repeating. 

I serve with joy.

That's what I want my response to be. That's the refrain I want to have coursing through my veins. More prayer than statement of faith, more plea than testimony at this point, I serve with joy is a perfect resolve for the new year. When people ask me how I do it, I want to honestly answer by year's end, I serve with joy. 

Of course, I've already had opportunity to try it out. The other night I left my sick husband and spent the night in the ER with an even sicker Bo who was having some signs of respiratory distress. After a dose of oral steroids, we were released and crept back into the house at 4:30 hoping to get at least a few hours of sleep. As I was putting Bo back in his bed, Eon sat up, looked at me, and proceeded to vomit all over himself and his blanket. I'm not sure I'd call it serving with joy exactly, but I did find myself laughing at the absurdity of the situation. 

Baby steps.

*Not her real name.

Two Worlds

It's the middle of December and I find myself on the ride that has no working brakes. Careening along from one festive event to the next harried shopping trip with no time to reflect in between. 

I do my best thinking while driving. While logistically it's a pain in the behind, I'm happy that we chose to move Bogdan's care to the much farther away Peyton Manning Children's Hospital if for no other reason than the chance to reflect during the drive. Earlier in the week was an appointment day to follow up on his recent ear surgery. Once we received a good report, my mind was able to wander peacefully on the drive home.

When did we allow ourselves to become so busy with things that don't really matter? Better question: At what point does a country become so affluent it convinces its citizens that wants are really needs? 

I thought about the things I need to do in the next few days. One of the things on my list is, "buy tape." I need to spend my time and gas going to a store to pick up some tape so that I can then take that tape and use it to wrap up gifts in paper, paper I already spent money on specifically so it can be ripped up and thrown away. 

Does anyone else see the lunacy in that? Or are we all so brainwashed by the norm that we fail to see the folly in our daily routine?

They made a mistake on the radio, this morning. They played this song twice within minutes of each other. 

Once was enough to punch me in the gut. Twice was my undoing. So again, I find myself caught between two worlds. 

There is the world I live in here, in the land of plenty and pretend, where tape and wrapping paper are needs and I must battle crowds and traffic, dip into my bank account to purchase them, and keep myself away from my family while doing so. 

And then there is the world that seems to be a universe apart from this one, but is actually so close I can almost touch it. 

The world in which children are alone. 

The world in which they have no mamas and no papas to keep them safe from the older kids in the institution who abuse them as they themselves were once abused. The world in which it is thought, no assumed, that children with cognitive disabilities cannot feel pain so they are slung around by one arm and thrown into their cribs, if they leave their cribs, at all. The world in which children can be so starved and so neglected they can weigh a measly ten pounds at nine-years-old.

The fact that I cannot reconcile these worlds may one day drive me mad. 

I choose to believe that the latter world is closer to the heart of Christmas than the former. The glimmering world of tinsel and bows, where tape is a need, seems far removed from the humble stable where my Savior was born. He cares about these orphans, too. 

But Jesus said, "Let the children come to me. Don't stop them! For the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these." Matthew 19:14

So on my trip to buy the oh-so-necessary tape, I cry. I cry and I pray that He will draw near to them and keep them safe. I pray that He will open eyes and move hearts in this land of pretend and plenty; that others will see with His eyes and let the children come. And I pray that I will find a way to meld my worlds; that while my feet must stay in this one, my heart will stay soft and very much connected to the other, that has nothing whatsoever to do with tape and tinsel, but so much more to do with Christmas.

Absolutely and Bologna

My boy's surgery was a complete success which was an odd reason to find myself sobbing all the way home from the hospital, but there I was. He will hear and, more importantly, he will live, neither of which he would do were he left in his home country of Serbia. 

I'm not being dramatic. The ENT confirmed that the cholesteatoma had already eaten away two of the three major bones of his ear and started to damage the third, though it was saved. It was only a matter of time before it entered his brain and caused eventual death. 

I told someone recently how grateful I am that he's here and able to get this surgery. Predictably, she gushed, "God must have a great plan for his life to have brought you all the way to him to save his life!"

Absolutely...and bologna.

Absolutely because I firmly believe that God does indeed love Bogdan and has a plan for his life. I do believe that God sent us to him. But bologna, because there are thousands of other children whose lives are not saved, who remain orphans, and who die alone. 

Does that mean God does not have a plan for their lives? Does He not love them? Does He not care about them? Why doesn't He send someone to save them?

And this is why I found myself sobbing, partly in gratitude for the boy that has captured my heart, and partly in sorrow for the others that are left behind. 

I'll be honest with you. After pouring out my heart to the Lord, I don't think the orphan crisis is God's fault. I fully believe He loves and cares for and has a plan for each and every orphan out there. I think He does send us and we're too busy to listen or we think adoption is for the super spiritual or the called. We think we're not patient enough or wealthy enough or strong enough or just enough. So we do nothing. 

And I wonder, where is faith? None of us is enough. That is kind of the point of the gospel. On our own, we are nothing, we have nothing, and we can do so very little. But in Jesus, we are children of the living God. We have everything we need for life and godliness, and we can do all things through Christ who gives us strength.

I have to remind myself of this over and over again. I don't have to be enough. Clearly, I am not. I am ridiculously inadequate in every possible way. Thank God, that's okay.

He is enough.

You don't have to be called, either. I don't know where this idea comes from. In our large family, my kids hear me say all the time, "You see a need, you fill it. If you see something that needs doing, and you are able to, do it. If there is a pile of stuff at the bottom of the stairs waiting to go to the top, take the stuff with you when you go upstairs. If you are near the sink and a little person asks for a drink, fill his sippy cup. If you find an empty box in the pantry, throw it away." It's not a difficult concept, right? You see a need, you fill it. 

You don't have to be called to adopt. 

I can't find the idea anywhere in Scripture that meeting a need is something that only a select few are called to do. 

Instead I find this: 

For I was hungry, and you fed me. I was thirsty, and you gave me a drink. I was a stranger, and you invited me into your home. I was naked, and you gave me clothing. I was sick, and you cared for me. I was in prison, and you visited me. Then these righteous ones will reply, "Lord, when did we ever see you hungry and feed you? Or thirsty and give you something to drink? Or a stranger and show you hospitality? Or a naked and give you clothing? When did we ever see you sick or in prison and visit you?" And the King will tell them, "I assure you, when you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you were doing it to me!" Matthew 25:35-40

There is no question of need. Over one hundred thousand children available for adoption in the United States foster care system alone. Millions of children institutionalized internationally. Sixteen-year-old girls aging out of orphanages and immediately entering prostitution. Children dying of ridiculous things like benign ear tumors, for crying out loud. A Teenage boy standing up in front of a church begging for a family, for someone just to care enough to take him to football practice.

There is no mystery here. Adoption is not for the super spiritual or those that feel called or equipped or whatever. It's for those who see a need and are willing to fill it. It's rife with complexity, but can start with a simple acknowledgment, as it did for me:

There is a child that has no one. I am someone. He can have me.

I have always been a dreamer. I'm a visionary. I am not, however, one who follows through. I have started more projects than I can possibly begin to list for you, but I can count those finished on one hand. I don't know why international adoption is among those finished. I'm guessing the answer is grace. His strength, His endurance, His tenacity, His patience...certainly nothing whatsoever to do with me. It is with utter humility and gratitude that I reminisce. 

So big, giant, crocodile tears run down my face for this boy who was a stranger to me just a year ago, but now is my son. He is worth it. He is worth all the hoops that we jumped through, the paper chasing, the scrimping, the fundraising, the anxiety, the travel, etc. I would do it all again and then some. 

If you have ever considered adoption, I want you to know, to really understand, that your child is worth it, too. Your child, the one that has not yet stolen your heart simply because you have not yet laid eyes on him or her, waits for you, perhaps in a country in which you have never landed. He's worth it, you know. She's worth it. Take a leap.

I know that adoption is not a need every Christian will fill. We are not all going upstairs or near the sink or reaching in the pantry. I get it. Please do not tell me how you are not in a position to adopt or how unhealthy it would be for someone that you know to adopt, etc. 'Cause honestly? I waffle between Absolutely and Bologna on this one, too. Tell Jesus. He's the only One who can change circumstances and mend hearts, k? We are all responsible for the fatherless, though, and if adoption is not your thing, support those that are trying to fund an adoption, take a meal to those who have recently adopted, provide respite care, sponsor an orphan, get involved in a Big Brother/Sister type program, pray for orphans, etc. Most importantly, ask Jesus what He wants you to do and do that!

Easier

Sometimes, I don't realize how hard things are until they get easier. And sometimes, I don't recognize they've gotten easier until they just have and I realize I have time to breathe again. 

Such is the case with Bo. My last update on our lives with him was pretty raw and real and filled with angst. Since then, he's made some significant progress and our lives have gotten easier. 

He's learned to respond to the word no. He doesn't always obey, but a firm No is often enough to buy us some time to get to where he is and prevent him from inflicting whatever damage he had his mind set on at the time. That few seconds of borrowed time has brought a huge sigh of relief to our home. 

With the added visual cue of an outstretched hand, he responds to, "Come here." Not having to physically pick him up every time we want to change his location is such a gift. He will now willingly come to the dinner table or to get a diaper change and those things sound so small, but it's those little things that add up to making big changes in our world. 

So many other things are clicking with him, too. He's started eating with utensils which is HUGE! Not every meal or for the whole meal, but more often than not. He still makes every bit as big of mess as when he digs in with both hands, but we don't care. We have been working on this for months in therapy and always provide utensils for him at home. Every meal, we initiated a couple of bites with hand over hand and every meal, he chucked the spoon at his first opportunity. One day, he just didn't and ate two bowls of chili with his spoon while I stabilized the bowl and the rest of the family cheered like crazy. 

He started attending developmental preschool three afternoons a week which has been so good for him, too. I took him for his pre-surgery blood draw recently. After waiting for what seemed like an eternity, they finally called him back. There was a child-sized table with a coloring station set up and he immediately climbed into the chair. I cringed expecting him to take big handfuls of the crayons and start flinging them or sweep everything off the table with his arm as he is wont to do. But, he completely blew me away by grabbing the nearest crayon and scribbling on the picture. Amazing! (Two minutes later, when the lab tech distracted me with questions, he took big handfuls of crayons and flung them, but still...)

Speaking of surgery, tomorrow is a big day. Bo is having a tympanomastoidectomy (ear surgery) due to a cholesteatoma which was discovered when he had tubes placed in September. He will have an overnight stay at Peyton Manning's Children's Hospital which will be a new experience for us. Shawn will be staying all night with him which is the right choice given their bond, but a tough choice for this medical nerd and control freak to handle. 

It is always hard to hand your child off to an anesthesiologist. It's especially hard when the bond of trust between you is new and feels so tenuous and you know he will wake up frightened and in pain. He usually tolerates pain pretty well. He does not, however, tolerate oximeters, bandages, blood pressure cuffs, IVs, wrappings, and strappings of any kind and he will have all of those. He has been known to remove coban around an IV with his toes when a nurse turned around for five seconds, so prayers in this regard are greatly appreciated. This is one of those surgeries where the potential risks are the same as not having surgery, only much less so. We know it's the right thing to do, but it's still hard. 

So I guess the increase in function has made things easier in the day to day, but what we risk in the loving, that only gets harder as we have to let go a little bit.