Kudos, sighs, and snippets

When we met YoYo, he slept with a catheter taped into the port in his side, and it drained to a small bag. Someday I may know why China has convenient tiny drain bags and America only has huge ones, but probably not. Anyway, when 4 out of the first 5 American bags pulled the cath out of our boy in the middle of the night and left puddles on the carpet and bed, it was time for a new system. 

So I stay up. YoYo has to be cathed every 4 hours, and though it slows at night, he still needs a cath somewhere in there. I do it around 2 am and again at 8. It was beginning to wear on me--I couldn't go to sleep and set an alarm, because I didn't want to wake Shane & I was afraid I'd sleep through. That sounds pitiful, especially when you read Superwoman's feats at gourfamilyadoption.blogspot.com. But I'd roll over at 8 am and think, "Can't do it." I'd do it-I was just beginning to feel a little overwhelmed. In the meantime, I was worried I was holding him back, because we're only doing 3-4 caths in the bathroom weekly--the rest are on his changing table.

Then we saw Dr. John Brock last week-YoYo's urologist. He did an ultrasound and checked urine. Turns out, he thinks we're doing a good job-the urine counts show we're cathing often and taking our time. He doesn't want me to rush the bathroom-the changing table is ok. AAAANNNNDD...YoYo's gaining weight! He's up to 30 lbs. now from the 23 he weighed in June. Sure, some 2T stuff still hangs tentlike on him, but we're moving along, and my fears of bone density and nutritional problems are fading. It's amazing how a little Dr. visit can kickstart your attitude.

I think one of the hard things has been that people have asked what can be done to "fix" YoYo or to make him "better." It's not a bad or wrong question to ask. It is hard to hear, however, that if we just keep praying, God can work a miracle that will astound the doctors and mend YoYo's body.

Now PLEASE do not read this and think you've done something wrong if you've thought or said anything like that; likewise, I hope you can afford grace to not judge anyone who HAS asked that. I would have done the VERY SAME thing before adopting YoYo. Part of loving one another, I think, is being free enough to not be afraid to ask those questions or to hope past what seems medically possible--it's how we help, it's part of community, and it is soooo ok. If we can't tell each other the things we dare to dream for each other, then how can we love and know each other? This is where we live! and these are the hands and feet we have!  Can I be free enough to receive another's brave hope for us without attaching strings to how it should be worded or thought?  

My idea of wholeness needs tweaking. The Author and Finisher of his little body SPOKE IT INTO BEING. I think I'm just now receiving that if He wants to change anything, He can, without secretly meaning that I think because He can, He should. If He doesn't? I don't think we'll fall out of His hands. If anyone who loves us or just hears of our sweet little man feels moved to pray for anything, far be it from me to set my face against that hope. For me, the miracle is that YoYo is our son, the waiting child for whom we waited so long. The daily care thing is so normal now that I don't think of him as "handicapped," I think of him as a 3-year-old whose energy and appetite for learning leaves me in the dust on the ground gasping for breath. He is formidable. That's funny, because I have to catch myself when someone feels sorry for him or can't believe how awful his condition is--it's like I've completely forgotten that just a few years ago, I would have only heard about bladder exstrophy through TV or charity appeals--like it would have been some sci-fi thing.


Enough! Now for the snippets...


Shilo is no longer mine. YoYo told me quite seriously, "Shilo is MY dog, MaMa. I feed her and pet her, but I can share her with you. You can pet her if you want to." So when the next vet bill comes, kid, what you're saying is...


We went to Barnes & Noble and discovered that some GENIUS installed a train table in the kids' section. I cannot tell you what this means to us. Suffice it to say, he's still got his coat on in the photo-when I asked him to take it off, he said, "There's not enough time, Mama." Apparently my priorities are all wrong.


YoYo wants to read. We've been playing games with letters in the tub, on the fridge, on blocks-when he initiates-but he does NOT want to spend time on the letter "B," people. He wants to know how to spell "BABA" right now! Yeah, yeah, these letters are all nice, lady, and I hear what you're saying, but what can I WRITE?! In the meantime, he channels his energy into color sorting. It's probably some cyrillic code.

boy of constant sorrow

And the saga continues

Happy New Year! 2009 has flipped a switch in our boy. Just as I despaired of never being on schedule again—it rocked my world more than it should have—we're back in a routine. But now, YoYo needs more. Not more stuff, but more stimulus, it seems. I can’t tell if this is a long unwinding from holiday chaos or if it's a new layer of his person growing into toddler-hood before our eyes.

He pretends to read all the time, desperately wants to write, and wants to either dance or draw nonstop. It sounds inspiring, but it is wearing me out. Each time I send him to play with his cars so that I can do dishes or cook or be sick for a minute, instead of crafting something that will offer him what he’s after, I feel as though I’m compromising his adulthood. It’s not about minimum wage job versus trust fund magnate, it’s about cramping his person—making him smaller to keep my world safe. I know I can’t take each moment that seriously, but I do, again and again.


This week, we’ll return to the urologist for the first time since August. Not sure what to expect. I think we’re supposed to talk about some reconstructive surgery options for his pelvic area—I guess more cosmetic than anything. It seemed the most sensible time to do this would be at the beginning of a new insurance deductible, and at naptime to boot. Oh, but we’re the smart ones!

I am desperately trying to upload a video of YoYo dancing while cramming popcorn into his mouth (he thinks I can't see it happening). PS, thanks again, Dad, for the GIGANTIC container of popcorn. It's the gift that keeps giving.

snippets...

Just in case you thought we'd forgotten! We did so much these last 10 weeks--oral surgery & fittings for a new partial, wedding calligraphy for 380+ invites (some twice!), a baby shower for my sister (in SC!), three (count them) 6-hour-one-way trips to SC, the Christmas parade, preschool, umm--Christmas (with its 400 cards)!, and then the odd backed-into car, busted waste pipe spewing sewage beneath the house, etc. Really, it's been quite calm (for not having medication)!

YoYo is our delight. Yesterday I woke from our afternoon nap when he patted my face gently & murmured, "So cute...so cute." Delicious boy! He got his Grandma when he asked to pray over lunch and proceeded to give thanks for "YeYe and NaiNai coming to my house to see me." He is so very sweet & deliberate. It is hard for me sometimes to remember his timid places, and that he likes to come to new people slowly and without fanfare.

Every time we turned around, it seemed, he begged us to sing "Silent Night" so he could make up a dance to it. He delighted in turning on the Christmas tree lights. He was so very careful each time he opened a present. He offered guests photos of himself (how he got a hold of them remains a mystery) or even ornaments from our tree, and he was so happy to decorate cookies on Christmas Eve.

We played in the leaves on Thanksgiving...


We went to the Franklin Christmas Parade with friends...


We spent time playing dress-up...


And did I mention we made cookies?

The only disappointment seemed to be when we headed to SC for the shower. YoYo made the cutest gingerbread (graham cracker) house in preschool, and he wanted to take it to show Nana and Papa. I forgot and left it in the kitchen, and as we rolled into Chesnee just shy of midnight, I heard his tiny voice pipe up, "Oh, no, Mama! I forgot my gingerbread house! I wanted to give it to Nana and Papa for a surprise!" I had no idea that was his plan. Sweetest little bear.

Fu Xia

I haven't posted in a while-I didn't realize anyone was still reading the blog til I got some "Hey you!" emails-sorry ;) I'll start anew with a Christmas wish.

I've said it many times, but YoYo's foster home--defies everything you've heard of Chinese orphanages. The children don’t share beds, the food is so good, the play area is well-organized, education is offered no matter the challenges. I am thankful Tian Yo lived his first years there. When we left, his ayis gave us four books with photos and letters in Chinese to be shared when he is older. Their love is the reason he is such a happy child.

The ayis now are trying to find a home for Fu Xia, their oldest charge. Born with arthogryposis and clubbed feet, Fu Xia was sent to an orphanage for severely mentally handicapped children. When a group from Blue Sky encountered him, they swept him up quickly. He was six. He’d never seen school or TV. Now eight, he attends school and has an incredible command of English. He’s a talented artist, working with brushes designed for his tightly arched hands, and his paintings grace the walls in large frames.

Fu Xia is such a strong personality, we were at the home hours before I realized he was rolling across the floor to get around. That blew my mind--I was the kid secretly terrified of children with physical challenges, watching the Jerry Lewis telethon with my Grandmother in quiet horror--but here was this boy, exuberant boy!, and he leapt into my heart before I could count his challenges. He laughs that his wheelchair is slow. He flung himself upstairs to give us a tour, proudly showing us his room. He wheels along the alley outside with children clinging to him; he's their big brother. When the volunteers were out, Fu Xia translated for us. Once I found him perched on a stool, carefully folding dumplings for the Cook. He is remarkable.

For several reasons, we're not currently eligible to adopt Fu Xia. My hope is to help him find parents. He is precious. In those first days with Tian Yo, Fu Xia asked us many questions, hiding his eyes when we left because we would not be taking him home. I grieve to remember when he told me, softly but matter-of-factly, “You have not come for me.” He broke my heart. I hope somewhere that a mother is not too afraid to love. I hope someone will come for him. I don’t know if his condition is treatable or correctable or manageable, but none of that matters because he is a child who needs a mother and father.

It has been nearly a month since I posted, and I hope you can forgive me for not offering fresh news of YoYo’s conquests. I am asking you instead for prayer and hope for this little one, and for information if you have seen him on any agency’s Waiting Child list. My Christmas wish, dare I breathe it, is to help this boy find a home.

This Kid

I have to admit it, I've had a hard time posting. It's hard to know what to write or how to talk about the settling in of a daily rhythm when the events which led up to it were so incredible. Everything I carry now as I look at this little boy, from kissing his toes to knitting my first little boy hat to feeling his tiny hand pat my face as he murmurs, "I love my girl," seems like the treasures that are stored up in any mother's heart. They are no less precious, but they're a different thing from the journey that brought us here. It's probably entirely ungrateful of my heart, but I find myself reluctant to blubber Momminess everywhere, as though it would tarnish this incredible thing that has happened. I have a lot to learn, I think.

We still exist in this world where our son has a life that played out before we came along. There are photos in so many places of him, some even in distress in hospital, that I don't know of and will never see. I don't feel unsafe in that; instead, it reminds me that we are so blessed to be part of such a larger image of God's love for one small child.

Shane jokes that YoYo is Bono--but there is still that rock-star like feeling sometimes. I staffed a booth in October for Shaohannah's Hope at a Steven Curtis Chapman concert. When we approached the table at the beginning of the evening, my Mom poked me. "Hey, that's YoYo." Sure enough, he was the poster child on the tabletop "November is Adoption Awareness Month" display, clutching his pink dog and looking upwards with Precious Moments eyes. Mom, in the Most Proud Grandparent in the World mode, told every single person--and I mean that--who that little boy on the poster was. This kid! Who has that happen to them?

Then yesterday, we collected our mail and found a catalog from the adoption agency. As many negative things as we experienced with them, I still have to say in fairness that their sponsorship program for orphans with special needs helped give YoYo lifesaving medicine and daily supplies. We opened the catalog, which highlights sponsorship information for several countries...and found a full-length YoYo, his two-year-old hands clutching a Christmas ornament, his feet snuggled in footed pj's capped with panda faces. They weren't soliciting funds on his behalf, mind you, it just so happens that he's the most beautiful child in the world, and who else would make such a convincing case that all children are precious?

Of course he laughed at it. He has no idea that there's anything unusual about his photo being on random pieces of mail or news video links. Why wouldn't he see himself on TV or in other people's posters? It doesn't seem to be a fixation-he doesn't constantly ask to see pictures of himself-so perhaps I won't obsess over that for now.

But he is adorable. And yesterday, in the greatest of all gifts in the world, he proudly gave me his first hand-turkey at preschool. I am such a lucky girl.



P.S. That toothless grin? We had oral surgery the day before Halloween (tragic!), and it turns out he had a LOT of infected teeth. We're getting "new teeth" in a few days, but moments like this make me think twice-so cute!

Anniversary

This is difficult to put into words. One year and two days ago, our agency called at 11 am to say that we had been matched with Tian Yo if we still wished to adopt him. I collapsed to the floor in tears, staying there long after the call was ended, the receiver on the floor. I was undone.

The night before had been sleepless. By the time gray light streaked the wet sky, I was convinced we would have to say no if we were matched with this little one. In the two weeks since seeing his profile, our lives had changed. I filled four notebooks with everything I could find about Tian Yo's challenges, from exstophy to colostomy to single kidney to spina bifida. My silly penchant for endless research was finally validated. And there was no way we could do it, we concluded. Medical supplies, surgeries, more money than teachers can hope for. What were we thinking to even request this little boy? I prayed he would never know how we failed him, that he'd never know he was rejected because his body's betrayal had scared people. I tried to imagine when and how he might find parents, or if he would go unrequested so long he would finally be ineligible for adoption. What would he do? Where would he go?

And then the craziest thing happened. The phone rang at 9 am. It was Dr. John Gearhart, the pediatric urologist who operated on Tian Yo just months before we learned of him. T, Tian Yo's tireless advocate, had sent Dr. G. YoYo's story when the constant reflux of fluid into his kidney endangered his life. The Dr. replied that he would waive his fees to correct Tian Yo's condition if the foster home could raise the money for hospital stay and travel. They did it, and Dr. G. saved Tian Yo's life. Now this surgeon, perhaps the best in the world in his field, was calling me about this little boy. He said, "There is a reason Tian Yo was born with this, and there's a reason he came here, and you and your husband are part of that story." No naming of God, but indeed words of Shalom.

And then came the call. Yes we will bring him home, yes we will love him forever, yes we will...

I drove to school weeping to tell Shane, playing one song again and again. When I first heard U2's "When You Look at the World," I wept. For three years, I had not been able to hear it without crying. There was something in it of a love larger than I had, without sympathy, empathy, pity, and I could not imagine being able to know it. But now, this was changing, too.

When you look at the world
What is it that you see?
People find all kinds of things
That bring them to their knees...

...When there's all kinds of chaos
And everyone is walking lame
You don't even blink now do you
Don't even look away...

...I can't wait any longer
I can't wait til I'm stronger
I can't wait any longer
To see what you see
When you look at the world.

For years, I cried, wondering how someone could love freely enough to gaze steadily into the eyes of a broken human. Death, age, blood, disability, leprosy, maimed torn life that I could not fix, how could anyone not blink? What could it be to love like that?

It could be Tian Yo-Heaven Protect, Heaven Bless. Welcome home, little one. I love you.