Max's Journey

A young man with brown dreads and a flannel shirt approached us as we waited to hear if Max had been taken off the heart bypass machine.  He kneeled down beside Bard, held out his hand and said, "My Father told me to come pray for Max."

And I don't want the world to see me

Cause I don't think that they'd understand

When everything's made to be broken

I just want you to know who I am

This song still stirs haunting memories in my heart every time I hear it on the radio. I absolutely adored it at an absolutely despairing time in my life.  I breathed in the lyrics. Nobody understood.  I was broken.  To this day I struggle with feeling left out, unseen, regularly in a crowd but all alone. Now those feelings are mostly lies, but somehow that does not always diminish their power.

And you can't find the tears that ain't coming

Or the moment of truth in your lies

When everything feels like the movies

Yeah, you bleed just to know you're alive

Hospitals, by nature, can be very lonely places.  Staff rushing around with purpose, patients wandering around in a daze. Meandering buildings with corridors that lead off into nowhere like some twisted medical version of the Winchester Mansion.  By my fourth day I knew how to go three places and was the picture of confidence as I walked past the cafeteria, my nose in my phone. However, I have still decided that in my next lifetime I am going to design hospital interiors (surely that is a thing) and make each hall a different color so they don't all look alike-which has obviously been done to make you go insane. 

Liberian students pray for Max.

The young man with dreads had been at the cafeteria with us, grabbing breakfast with his wife (or girl friend) who was also suitably PNW with her cropped hair and tatted arms. He had sprawled, apparently sleeping, on the couch next to us as we chatted with my dad about Max being on bypass, and then had left with the girl to talk to their Dr. It was then that he came back, held our hands, prayed for Max, and walked away. We never saw him again, it was 10:00am and a half hour later Max was off bypass and being closed up, the hole patched, the valve stitched.  Perfectly.

At 4:30am, after sleeping two hours, I checked my email. Babushka Olga had emailed us that they were praying for Max. A colleague in Liberia-a country that has an innumerable amount of tragedies to focus on-had sent photos of his entire school lined up in their courtyard.  Praying for Max. Four Facebook messages popped up, Indiana, Iowa, Florida, and New Jersey-places we all know I am incapable of finding on a map-were all praying for Max.  It was not yet 5am and he was still sound asleep in his crib. 

Throughout the day, thoughts and prayers poured in from close friends to people I rarely talk to-everyone was there for us. I lost count of how many visitors we've had, my book people cast aside as I connected with real people. (My books bear the sad tragedy of this love as I've only been able to read two of them instead of the hoped for five.) We've had lattes, espresso beans, fruit, games, teddy bears (probably meant for Max), fuzzy socks for cold hospital floors, chocolate bars, chocolate covered berries, chocolate cookies, and you guessed it-Cadbury Eggs-delivered right to our room. And did I mention the six meals delivered to our home? Keep in mind we've only been gone for four days!

O the deep, deep love of Jesus, vast, unmeasured, boundless, free!

This is the church. Never think that the petty ignorance you see thrown around on Facebook or the evil hatred depicted by the media is an honest portrayal of Christ's church. His church is a living breathing act of beauty. A symbiotic community, intertwined in each other's lives and strengthening each other so that we can reach out and lift up the world.  Lost.  Hurt. Broken. The church is a card. The church is a phone call.  The church is a meal, a hand up, grace when judgement is called for. The church is love, incarnate,

If you do away with the yoke of oppression,

with the pointing finger and malicious talk, 

and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry, 
and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,

Then your light will rise in the darkness,

and your night will become like the noon day.

~Isaiah

This is Bard's favorite quote and we have lived our lives just that way, this is the church. A bit earlier Isaiah commands the church to defend the fatherless and that's what we did, adopted an orphan.

But we didn't do it alone. And I know you just want to hear about Max (unless you're on Facebook and then you've already read all about chest tubes and cheesecake) but Max is really about me and I just have to share this part of my journey with you. Hopefully Max comes home tomorrow, from open heart surgery to sleeping in his own crib in just five nightmarishly long and impossibly short days. But as I sit in my home right now and think back to how I started the week-angry that Bard and I were fighting colds, frustrated that I had only slept two hours, scared that Cici and Evelyn would get sick-I realize that none of those issues were lessons I needed to learn.  I already know that God can take care of a cold. Or Vitamin C. Whatever. But what I get to learn, again and again, as it washes over me and I drown in it, is love.

O the deep, deep love of Jesus, love of every, love the best!

Tis an ocean full of blessing, tis a haven, giving rest.

Sunrise over Mt Rainier

I saw the sun rise over my mountain Monday morning as we waited to hear about the surgery (you know it's my mountain, right, we've been over that?) The image of that mountain stayed with me throughout the week, as I fed Max his first bottle and held him while he slept. I stood by his bed as he cried his whole first night in the hospital. And I watched as they pulled first one, and then another chest tube from his little body (Next blog I promise to share what will be Max's grosser than gross story with which he will be able to win any contest with any little boy. Ever.)

As much as the Goo Goo Dolls spoke to me, so many years ago, another song claimed me and it sings truth over lies.

Your love O Lord

Reaches to the heavens

Your faithfulness

Stretches to the skies

Your righteousness, 

Is like the mighty mountains

Your justice flows

like the ocean's tides

And I will lift my voice,

To worship you my King

And I will find my strength

In the shadow of your wings

Your love O Lord

Reaches to the heavens

Your faithfulness

Stretches to the skies

Mitral Valve, Hospital Showers, and Good Coffee

No time for song lyrics people, we need to dive right in to the nitty gritty for Max's surgery.  Okay, well I already have two songs going through my head so we'll see if we can make it through without being a full on blogical and just remain a dramedy.

We spent three hours at the hospital this morning while they walked us through exactly what would happen next week for Max's surgery. I must say, we have an amazing team of people who offer every possible kind of care and support for the whole family.  We met with his surgeon first who explained all the technical aspects of what would happen to Max-from being given anesthesiology to going on bypass so they could stop his heart-and then to fixing both the hole in the wall of his heart and his valve, which is split down the middle. We'll be notified of what is going on all along the way and from the time they wheel him away, probably about 7am, he should be in surgery for roughly 4-6 hours. It's considered routine surgery and his medical team is among the top in the country.  The main "tricky" part (exact medical word used by our cardiologist) is fixing the valve.  If they don't get it just right they'll have to go back in-either right then in the operating room, later during his hospital stay, or any number of years from now. Max's heart is smaller than your fist.  Just make a fist. Smaller. That is what they are operating on.

We toured the hospital after meeting with the surgeon, completing various tests, talking with a nurse, the anesthesiologist, and a social worker. Max did really well-although he hates having his blood drawn and chest X-rayed, and I did pretty well too, although I hate seeing a big gray line on the floor that marks where I stop and he is wheeled down into the O.R.

After he comes out of surgery he'll spend a couple days in ICU, mostly sleeping, pretty out of it, closely monitored.  Then they will transfer him to a regular room, where he'll be for probably another 3-5 days. The hospital was recently renovated and it really is a nice environment.  We have our own room, super comfy sleeper couch, and even a shower, wahoo!  Bard and I will be trading time at the hospital so that one of us is with Max at all times. I'm packing yoga pants, a good book, and lots of chocolate.  Oh, and some things for Max :)

He'll be on some pain meds and various other drugs for a bit, but will likely regain his energy fairly soon. Oddly enough, since they will have just cut open his chest, he will not really be restricted.  So says the nurse. His mother on the other hand...does anyone have a giant bubble? Recovery could also be affected if his heart doesn't start pumping at the rate it needs to, which would mean he would need a pacemaker.  That sounds terrible to me, and although it is unlikely, it's still in the back of my head.

Honestly, the technical stuff bothered me the least, overall.  It's all so far out of my control and hard for me to grasp.  I was more emotional during the hands on part-seeing the room where we'll sit while he's in surgery and the little monitor where they'll display his progress. Imagining that first night and what he'll look like with all the tubes and wiring coming out of his tiny body. And if he'll be scared at being in such a different environment or if we'll be able to reassure him.

And breathe, just breathe

Grey's Anatomy ruined that song for me. On a totally medical side note...because they used it one of their more realistic finales, you know, like a moose invades the ER or the miracle of people remaining hot past their prime based on nostalgia, not actually good writing.

Wait, what?!

Yeah, so any good TV shows I should Hulu while sitting at the hospital for hours on end?  My favorite coffee shop is right down the street, so feel free to bring me a tall vanilla non fat latte and we can catch up on The Mindy Project. I have a feeling that between the beeping, nurses (watch your grammar there, oh wait, that would be "bleeping"!), and pure stress, I'll be a little exhausted. We're so beside ourselves with amazing friends and family who are watching our girls, running errands, bringing us meals, and lifting us up in every possible way.

I got my city right behind me

If I fall, they got me

Please tell me you are not surprised.

I have a lot to do between now and the surgery-put our house in order so that I don't have to be around running it. And, come to terms with the fact that in less than a week my son is going in for open heart surgery. Please pray. Maybe you believe prayer is the most powerful form of communication in existence. Maybe you think it's a right wing crutch of the crazies who believe Obama is a Communist Muslim. First of all, Obama is neither Communist, nor Muslim.  I just feel like that needs to be said.  A lot. Second of all, back to me! I don't know why people go on different spiritual paths and I don't know why they end up at different places. What I do know is the presence of God in my own life. Maybe you don't hear Him. But I believe He is listening. And, perhaps just as important, I believe God uses anything and anyone, for Good. It would mean the world to me, the absolute world and I mean that because there is nothing more important to me right now, if you would take a moment. And ask. Just ask. That as I stop at the big gray line, God continues.  That as Max is taken farther from me he is never out of God's arms. And that at the end of the day, God places him back in mine.

The Lord is my Shepherd

 I shall not want.

He makes me lie down in green pastures;

He leads me beside quiet waters.

He restores my soul;

He guides me in paths of righteousness

For His name's sake.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

I will fear no evil, for You are with me;

Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;

You have anointed my head with oil;

My cup overflows.

Surely goodness and lovingkindness will follow me all the days of my life,

And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Murmurs of Peace

The heart is a bloom

Shoots up through the stony ground

There's no room

No space to rent in this town.

I've heard that song millions of times. Really, millions.  It's one of my favorite songs, by my favorite band; I've seen them perform it live multiple times. But almost every single time I hear this song, it reminds me of a particular moment in my life. I was merging on to I5, on my way to Seattle during a stressful and depressing period.  But the sun was shining, U2 came on the radio, and for some reason as I watched all the drivers, in all their cars, representing all their lives interweaving before me, I just knew in that moment that everything would be okay. Even now, though I associate it with a terrible time, whenever I hear Beautiful Day, it makes me happy.

So I wasn't too surprised to hear it on the day I scheduled my son to have open heart surgery.

The heart is a bloom

We knew this day would come.  In fact, you can go to my post from almost exactly a year ago and read through my thoughts on adopting a child with CHD-a congenital heart defect.  We knew it when we first saw Max's referral sheet, back on July 17th, in a stuffy little office in downtown Kyiv. We heard it from the orphanage doctor as we sat and waited to meet our little boy. We heard it from our International Adoption Dr when we emailed him Max's EKG from our (first, I think!) apartment next to Maidan.  Our family pediatrician told us when we took Max in, 4 days home, for a worrisome cough.  And the cardiologist confirmed it when she first met Max in November, and said that she would perform surgery when he had gained a little weight and was stronger.  

So I'm not exactly sure why I was surprised to hear her say he was ready for surgery when we went for our follow up appointment the first week of January. Maybe because you never really believe that a Doctor will look at you and say a nurse will be calling in a few weeks to schedule a time for them to saw open your baby's chest and sew up a hole in his heart.

Shoots up through the stony ground

I firmly believe that Max would not have survived this surgery had he stayed in Ukraine.  He was so malnourished, failing to thrive, refusing to eat.  To undergo major surgery and not have someone fighting for every ounce of his strength would have been a death sentence.  Now, with a little love and a lot of energy, he has discovered that he is a fighter.  He pushes through milestones with nothing but sheer determination and does not seem to realize that he shouldn't be able to accomplish big goals like learning how to play with his sisters when no one ever played with him before, and climbing onto the couch when it's almost taller than he is!  That last one may be driving me crazy...

Thankfully, although his CHD is serious, it's not as scary as it could be.  Still scary. He has a small hole in the wall of his heart, and also on one of his valves.  They expect to be able to sew him up-he'll be in surgery for the better part of the day-and then in the hospital for about a week.  Success rates are high, our hospital is in the top 20 of the country for this procedure, and he should lead a fully normal rambunctious couch climbing life. On the other hand, it's major surgery.  On his heart.

Has anyone watched Parenthood lately?!  That show is trying to destroy me.

When peace like a river, attendeth my way,

When sorrows like sea billows roll 

On the day I found out that we needed to schedule Max's heart surgery, I read something crazy by Horatio G Spafford.  How I came across this reading was random, except it wasn't, and totally new, except it wasn't.  If you haven't read about Spafford, I challenge you to look him up.  You'll probably think he was crazy or cruel and you'd probably be right. I've known his story for years and often vacillated between admiration and annoyance.  If he drew peace from the greatest tragedy of his life, that is awesome, sort of. I really want to have that fullness of peace.  But unfortunately I also want to hold onto just the tiniest bit of the chaos, clutching it in my sweaty little hand.

And I just can't have both.

Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,

It is well, it is well, with my soul.

But as I read his story in the morning, before going to see the Dr, and as I heard his song, on the drive back home, I thought, maybe part of this man's story as he stared into cold ocean waves was that over a hundred years later a little boy's mama would hear and believe. Maybe he was part of something bigger. Maybe he was loved by something more.

See the world in green and blue

See China right in front of you

See the canyons broken by clouds

See the tuna fleets clearing the sea out

Of course I'm emotional.  Of course. I know that in just over two weeks I'll be sitting in a hospital waiting room and the hours of waiting will be utter torture. I know he'll be in pain and I won't be able to bear it. Five to ten days of being in the hospital, first in ICU, then hopefully getting stronger. Shifts back and forth with Bard so that a child who was once an orphan never knows being alone again. Family flying in, meals brought, back up plans. Prayers.  This will be life changing. Life giving.

See the Bedouin fires at night

See the oil fields at first light

And see the bird with the leaf in her mouth

After the flood when the colors came out

Because I've seen the other side.  This adoption journey began for me years and years and years ago. And it's not over.  I can step toward unimaginable sacrifice because in my heart of hearts I believe the promise that has already been given. To love. To serve. And Max will continue that journey, bearing his scars like the warrior he is, proof to the world of how strong he is and how vulnerable we all are. 

So when you stare at the ocean, the waves might not be there to crush you, but rather to show you the depth that lies underneath.

What you don't have you don't need it now

What you don't know you can feel it somehow

What you don't have you don't need it now

Don't need it now

It was a beautiful day.