Little Office of Horrors

So the other day I went to the dentist. Shudder. Most people hate going to the dentist but those of us cursed with poor dental genes have a bigger burden to carry. I think I had 16 cavities filled once. Not kidding.

After I had settled in for the torture, the hygienist began making the obligatory small talk. She asked how many kids I had and I said "Three, soon to be four." Before she could swoop in with a comment like "Ah, I thought you looked pregnant. How far along? Seven months or so?", I quickly told her we were adopting. She asked where from and when. I said probably early fall, it depends on her heart surgery in Shanghai. She exclaimed "Oh, that's wonderful! You know she has heart problems and you still want to adopt her? You're definitely going to Heaven!"

Which makes me think two things:

-That's the requirement for Heaven? Adopting a child with special needs? Man, I'll be set for life now!

-And also, what's wrong with people sometimes? Not wanting a child because they have some issues? Thank goodness my mom didn't think that way. Her eye still twitches sometimes when she speaks of my childhood.

Then the hygienist began scraping my gums with a sharp stick, all the while remarking on how much I'm bleeding. Well, yeah. Of course I am. You have a sharp stick and you're repeatedly scraping tender pink tissue in my mouth. It makes perfect sense to me. And yet every hygienist acts all surprised. Maybe I should start doing that with my patients.

"Ok, here's your injection. Large gauge needle, chemicals right into your muscle. Here we go! What, that doesn't feel good? Odd, you seem uncomfortable. You're obviously doing something wrong in your life if this hurts you."

Then she starts measuring the gum line. Have you had this done? It's a good time. They take that needle of theirs and begin poking it into your gums at every tooth, inside and out. Then they shout out numbers. "One, one, two, three, two, one..." The whole time she's apologizing "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. Oh, I'll bet that hurts. So sorry." Stop apologizing. I tell my kids that being sorry means you don't do it again. She's obviously not sorry.

Then the dentist comes in and says "How are you today (and here I have numbing medicine on my gums, I have those weird sunglasses on and I'm drooling)?

"Well, I was ok until about 20 minutes ago when I sat down. How are you?"

"I'm doing great this morning. Really well."

"Of course you are, you're not getting poked with sharp sticks."

He chuckles like I'm joking.

Then he looks at my x-ray and begins to ask me when I got this crown done and how long have I had this filling, etc. Every single tooth in my mouth has had something done. Most of them several times. Are you really asking me details of specific dental work? Unless I look down, I can't remember what I'm wearing on any particular day. Oh that crown? Ah yes, I remember it well. The sky was blue and the birds were singing...

It's time for a new subject.

Today I went to Wal-Mart. Nothing happened in the store, it was the usual trip. As Noah and I were leaving, I noticed a woman very enthusiastically waving to me.

Hmm, I don't recognize her. Oh, the pitfalls of having so many friends.

Not being one to break a friend's heart by not waving, I wave back.

She, of course, was waving to someone behind me.

So then I have to pretend like I'm waving to someone behind her. Then I have to decide how committed I am to this charade. Should I shout a greeting? "Cynthia, darling! Haven't seen you since the 'Save the Depressed Wombat' fundraiser!" Then the original waver might happen to turn around and realize there's no one there. So then I'd have to pretend that my dear, dear friend has just gotten into her vehicle and I'd have to shout something like "No, no, you must go. I insist. Hemorrhoids are simply terrible, yes."

Parking lots can get tricky real fast.

The Naming - Part 2

We choose our kids middle names carefully. They are all named after people who mean a lot to us.

Jackson Dean - Dean is both Matt's former youth pastor and my dad's middle name. Matt dropped out of college at 20 to become a youth pastor, in large part because he benefited so much from Dean's influence in the teen years.

My dad is hands down one of the best men I know. He is kind and lives his life with integrity. The way he loves my mom is downright nauseating at times. I am honored to have my firstborn carry a name from both of these men.

Kate Margaret - When we lived in Alaska, we had the privilege of meeting an amazing family. They immediately treated us like part of it and we have many fond memories of dinners and games at their house. Margaret, the mom of the family, was a great influence in my life and was always there if I needed advice or some delicious caramel corn.  Her kids were in our youth group and remain our friends still. Her oldest daughter married Matt's youngest brother, which brings me to...

Noah Mark - Mark is Matt's youngest brother and just an all around great guy (I have to resist the urge to call him a kid). He is funny and sweet and I hope my sons take after both him and Matt as men. The fact that he married Margaret's oldest, Emily, is one of those cool, God things in life.

And now Talitha. You know the story to that name (and I forgot to mention that Talitha doesn't just mean little girl - it is an endearing term. The kind of 'little girl' you would call a beloved daughter. I imagine it said quietly and with great affection to a little one as she is tucked into bed at night. Sweetheart, my little girl - Talitha). And now for her middle name...

When we were talking to our case worker soon after the referral was received (our case worker's name is Margaret - and I smile every time I say it), and after relaying the story about the name Peggy, she remarked "I don't know why they named her Peggy, her Chinese name sounds like Ruby. They should have named her Ruby." Sure enough, I raced to the picture with her namecard. Underneath Peggy is the name Wu Rubei. It is the name given her by the orphanage. Wu is the surname - they name all kids with the same last name who are entered into the orphanage for each respective year. All kids who came to that orphanage in 2012 were named 'Wu.' Rubei is her first name.

My grandmother's name was Ruby. She was my dad's mom and she was a force of life before cancer reared its despicable head. She died a few months before I was born. My name is Jessica Mae after her Ruby Mae (oh, how I wished I was named Ruby!). My dad still tears up when he speaks of her and it is always in the highest praise. She was kind. She was a doer of good. She shaped my dad into the man and father and husband and grandfather he is.

Doesn't she look good and kind and full of love?

Even though I never met her, I miss her. I always imagined what it would be like if she were still here. I would be her favorite, of course. She would have a nice laugh.

Rubei. Ruby.

30 years after her passing, she will get a namesake in the form of a sweet little girl from China.

Talitha Ruby.

A nod to her Chinese heritage and our family's history.

This is the bracelet I have worn for the past few weeks and will wear until we hold Tali in our arms.

It has a small t engraved in the charm.

"An invisible red thread connects those destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstances. The thread may stretch or tangle, but never break."  -Ancient Chinese Proverb

Rubei is part of her story; Ruby is part of mine. Our stories are beginning to entwine. 

I wear this bracelet because I want a tangible reminder of her. She is in my thoughts, she is in my dreams. I have no baby in my womb to touch and talk to until she is in my arms. All I can do now is touch the little t on the charm and think of my Talitha. We are waiting for each other - she just doesn't know it yet.

After she is adopted, I will put away the bracelet. One day, I will give it to her and tell her the story of Rubei and Ruby and how we came to belong together. I imagine in the years to come I will touch the bare spot on my wrist where this ruby red thread once connected us. And I will think of all these things and hold my daughter, Talitha Ruby. And smile.

Monday Morning

The kitchen is ridiculously awful. The laundry has grown to such tremendous heights that whole families of badgers could live quite happily in the piles. My children are woefully undereducated. I have a filling that feels like it's falling out and there is an unpleasant whoosing sensation when I turn my head. Aerobic exercise is right out.

We don't have a lot of information about Talitha's health right now. Her diagnoses may be and most likely are incomplete. I've spent the whole morning calling my agency and husband and emailing adoptive mamas and doctors and trying to see if we should medically expedite her for surgery here. I'm worried about her and trying to make the best decision we can for her.

Noah is taking everything in stride. His diaper fell down his pant leg and he peed all over himself. He seems pretty happy about things though.

The Naming - Part 1

Names are powerful. A simple combination of letters has so much meaning. Names can be loved or hated, shouted with joy or spat with contempt. They can remind us of those we hold close in our hearts - those who have gone on before us and leave their memory bottled up in that simple combination of letters.

My name irked me as a child. I had (and still have I suppose) a fairly exuberant personality and there is nothing I dislike more than being a wallflower. Imagine my dismay when I realized in elementary school that there were quite a few girls in my class with the same name. A few years later I looked up names and there it was: Jessica was the #1 girl name in the US in 1982. So we had to distinguish ourselves by Jess, Jessie, Jessica C., etc. I vowed when I was 9 to name my daughter Fuschia. That would show my mom.

21 years later, I have kids named Jack, Kate, and Noah.

Irony.

About 5 months or so into the process of adopting our little girl, we started talking about names. I remember clearly one morning in October, cutting Matt's hair before worship on Sunday. I told him that I really wanted to pick out her name so I could think of her and pray for her by name.

Giving someone a name is special. It implies thought and care. I wanted to name my little girl before I saw her face, before I held her in my arms. Before she was legally ours, I wanted to bestow a name on her.

Giving an orphan a name is proclaiming that she has a place in this world, a group of people with whom to belong.

While discussing it one morning, Matt brought up a girls name I had mentioned before, when I was pregnant with Katie. It's unusual - found in the New Testament. Matt likes traditional names so for him to suggest this name was very interesting. Once he assured me he was serious, I looked up the chapters to the story:

^{Mark 21-24} After Jesus crossed over by boat, a large crowd met him at the seaside. One of the meeting-place leaders named Jairus came. When he saw Jesus, he fell to his knees, beside himself as he begged, “My dear daughter is at death’s door. Come and lay hands on her so she will get well and live.” Jesus went with him, the whole crowd tagging along, pushing and jostling him.

³⁵ While he was still talking, some people came from the leader’s house and told him, “Your daughter is dead. Why bother the Teacher any more?”

³⁶ Jesus overheard what they were talking about and said to the leader, “Don’t listen to them; just trust me.”

^37-40 He permitted no one to go in with him except Peter, James, and John. They entered the leader’s house and pushed their way through the gossips looking for a story and neighbors bringing in casseroles. Jesus was abrupt: “Why all this busybody grief and gossip? This child isn’t dead; she’s sleeping.” Provoked to sarcasm, they told him he didn’t know what he was talking about.

^40-43 But when he had sent them all out, he took the child’s father and mother, along with his companions, and entered the child’s room. He clasped the girl’s hand and said, “Talitha koum,” which means, “Little girl, get up.” At that, she was up and walking around! This girl was twelve years of age. They, of course, were all beside themselves with joy.

Talitha - little girl in Aramaic (pronounced like Tabitha with a l - emphasis on the first syllable). A story of a precious little one who was dead - and then alive. I read the story and got chills. This was her name. 

Talitha, you are ours. You belong. You are loved.

This is no savior complex for us. The nitty gritty truth at the heart of adoption has nothing to do with us but with God. Even while we ignored him and threw tantrums like a toddler, He loved us. Like petulant children who wail and cry at a parent for not letting them do something dangerous, we were fools and tried to steer the course of our own lives. 

But He loved us. And pursued us with relentless passion. He brought us into His glorious light and adopted us as sons - piecing us together into His family and calling us His own. 

We are His. We belong. We are loved.

There is nothing in this story that catapults us into the spotlight. Two heroic, unselfish people who sacrifice it all so a poor orphan can someday thank her rescuers. This is not that at all.

The truth is that we love because He first loved us.

We give and help and serve because He is good and kind to us.

We rescue because we, in fact, are the rescued.

He has given us life -real life. Not the waking, eating, breathing, sleeping, existing life. But the on and on and on forever life. The exploding with good things life. The life that only the once held captive and now set free can really live. 

Talitha koum. Get up, little girl - it's time for life.

Introducing...

This is probably the most exciting blog post. Ever. In the history of the posts. Because this is our daughter:

Isn't she ridiculously, almost absurdly adorable and sweet?

Less than two weeks after our documents were sent to China, we got a phone call from our agency telling us they had a referral for us. I really prayed and prayed that the good Lord would sent us our daughter on our first referral because who wants the agony of rejecting a child?

Our wonderful case worker told us her birthday (12/16/11) and her special needs (several heart defects - TOF, VSD, pulmonary hypertension, etc). Perhaps it was just Jack, who really wanted a baby with heart defects so he could go to the cardiology visits. Although we marked that we were open to a good number of special needs, I felt strongly that we were to have a heart baby.

I hung up the phone (well, pushed the red phone button on my cell) and went to my email to see the referral. When her name popped up on the screen, I said aloud: "Oh my goodness, it's Peggy."

A few months after we began this process, I idly scrolled through our agency's photo lists. They sponsor several orphanages and hold camps throughout the year where the agency workers go and visit with the kids and get videos and photos to advocate for them.

I saw this picture one day:

Her age, her special need, the way her baby pants look like old man pants, her tiny little feet.

I remember thinking she was perfect. And hoping we could find a little one just like her when it was time for our referral. Because there was no way she'd still be available. Lots of people are looking to adopt young kids, babies and toddlers, and especially girls. Not sure if people think raising girls is easier or what. Have you ever argued with a 5 year old girl, who raises her tiny eyebrows and puts her hands on her hips like she's a very small sorority sister about to get all crazy on you?

I digress. I do remember thinking "Who names a baby Peggy?"

Apparently, this guy does:

His shirt and his friendly face all point to a sense of humor. The story behind the name Peggy is actually rather humorous. She was left outside the orphanage gate at 4 months old, apparently with a note that stated her birth date. She was so malnourished (maybe 5 lb at 4 months) that she drank bottle after bottle after bottle. This guy thought it was so funny he named her 'Piggy.' My agency photoshopped an 'e' on her name sign in this picture to make it a name.

I had envisioned an orphanage worker watching American sitcom reruns late at night, jotting down names for the kids. Perhaps 'Married with Children' was running right as she arrived. I imagined little Eds and Bobs running around, maybe a group of girls named Dorothy, Rose, Blanche, and Sophia.

But that's the story of little baby Peggy. I read her referral, just shocked that she was still available. Called Matt, he thought she sounded like our daughter. Called our case worker and asked why her file was still up. She said that China just released her file two days ago. The past few weeks and months of set-backs and stupid things I forgot to do all seemed to make sense now. We were supposed to get our documents to China on Good Friday because she was almost ready for us.

She needs surgery to repair some heart defects and has some delays due to those issues and early malnutrition and probable premature status. But her cognitive development is good and I got to speak with the head of our agency, who met her right after she was found (she is the lady holding Peggy's foot in the picture with the blue cup). She said although she was tiny, she followed people and things. Her eyes were lively and focused.

She is 4 months younger than Noah. He weighs 25 lb. She weighs 12. 12! Like a 3 month old. Oh, she's going to need some love. And good food. And brothers and parents and a sister who adore her.

I will keep our name we have chosen for her for the next post.

Adoption Update

Some exciting stuff happening on this front. We started this process in May. Well, Mayish. I think. Some adoptive parents have all their dates lined up - when they applied, when homestudy was complete, etc. All I know for sure is that we started last year. Between Christmas and Thanksgiving.

Anyway, up until now it's basically been paperwork. Signing my name on countless forms and countless checks. Trying to remember where I lived from 1986-1988. That sort of thing. Our child was an enigma - her face all fuzzy in my dreams. The big trip to China was so far in advance that I forgot about it for long periods of time.

Remember this update? With that big crazy stack of papers that were being sent to China? After the passport fiasco, we finally got our dossier sent to China. In the adoption world, this is known as DTC (Documents to China). Our wonderful agent called me on Good Friday (April 29) to let me know the papers were officially on their way - we were DTC. It was a lovely, lovely feeling.

We celebrated by going to a local Chinese buffet. And decided to make it a yearly thing - Good Friday at a Chinese restaurant.

The kids got their food at the buffet. They both came back with cubes of red jello and exclaimed "We love Chinese food!" Um...no.

Our server spoke good English with a slight Chinese accent. After she took our order, Kate said in a bit of a panic "I can't understand what she's saying!" We had the same problem with Jack and the southern accent. When he was about 3 or 4, we were talking to some friends with a boy Jack's age. Their son said "Bye!" but it sounded like "Biiiii!" Jack asked what he said and I said "He told us 'bye' but with a southern accent so it sounds a little different." Jack found it hilarious and said "biiiii!" all the time for days. That was fun.

As we were leaving the Chinese buffet, I had the great idea to take a picture and save the fortunes for a scrapbook page and then we could make one every Good Friday. I ran back to the table to get the fortunes but they were already on the plates, soaking up soy sauce.

And this is our picture that Matt took:

Matt's head cut off, the top of the big kids' head, Noah with a finger in his mouth, me the only one focused and smiling. It's a keeper! Good memories, everyone.

Much, much more to come on the adoption front...

And now for something stupid that I did recently. You know you were wondering.

So I'm taking classes for my Bachelor in Nursing and we had to do a power point presentation. Groups of two took on a chapter and then we all presented them to the class. My partner did her slides and I went up with her, assuming my slides were next. She finished and I began reading.

You know, I wondered about those slides. I didn't remember wording things quite that way but heck, it was like two weeks ago. Who remembers things they did that long ago?

I got through a couple slides, one of my classmates mouthing things to me the entire time. Goodness sakes, can't you wait til I'm done? How rude. I didn't try to talk to you during your presentation, geez.

Finally she stands up and states that I'm reading her slides.

Who reads someone else's project and doesn't really realize anything is amiss?

Yup, it's me.

Should You Go To the ER?

As an ER nurse, it seems to me that people are a bit confused as to what is and what is not an emergency. Oftentimes the staff in the ER will just walk around with befuddled expressions based solely on the complaints. I've always thought this was common sense but it occurs to me that perhaps people just don't know. Here is a reference list in case you're thinking of popping in for a bit this afternoon:

-Are you calling ahead to see if there's a long wait? 

-Did you swing by McDonald's on the way to the ER for a snack while you get triaged?

-Are you checking in because someone your friend/family member/significant other is and you're bored so you might as well be seen for that weird toenail thing?

-Will you be reminding the staff that you have groceries in the car or a hair appt to make so they need to hurry it up?

-Is it Monday and you just don't want to go to work?

If you answered yes to one or more of these questions, it's not an emergency.

On the other hand, here is a list of reasons to head on in there:

-Are you carrying your head in your hands?

-Are your feet pointing behind you while the remainder of your legs face forward?

-Are your internal organs trying to escape?

-Did you meet an ex for lunch and you thought you were just going to get some closure but instead she cackles evilly and states that she has poisoned your wine cooler with the spit of a thousand rabid weasels?

If you answered yes to one or more of these questions, it is an emergency.

I hope this clears things up a bit.

Sincerely,

 Your friendly neighborhood ER staff