The View from Emergency Vehicles

Life is busy.  And hard.  I am starting graduate school in January.  Our kids are now spread from kindergarten to college.  I wish I had more answers to life and parenting than I had at this time last year.  I fear that I may actually have fewer...

In October, our youngest son, J.T. was very sick.  It came on suddenly with chills one morning that looked and felt like hypothermia.  Within several minutes he was in and out of consciousness, then vomiting and then in a grand mal seizure.  Chris called the doctor's office and then we rushed out to take him to the hospital.  His heart was racing but otherwise there was no indication he was breathing.  We never even made it to the freeway.  Both Chris and I knew in our hearts, in that way that only comes in the heat of true emergencies, that we might be fighting for his life.  We made it to our fire station and they grabbed him from our car and ran him to an aid car.  I rode in the back with him to the hospital.  We got caught by a train crossing on the way.  I looked out the window at the cars waiting around us.  I knew they could not possibly imagine what I was managing inside.  I wondered what it would be like to just be driving to church like we had planned.  I was calm when the medic asked how I was doing.  I was calm when they told me they decided he still wasn't acting quite right after a seizure. I was calm when we pulled off the freeway as another medic crew boarded our ambulance.  I was calm as I forced medicine down my son's throat.  I almost smiled at the compliment from a paramedic on how quickly I did it.  I muttered something about this not being my first rodeo and they all laughed.

But inside my world changed.  I looked out those ambulance windows and wasn't sure I could be the same.  To my horror I found myself looking out the window to avoid looking at J.T.  When I looked at him, it didn't feel like him.  He wasn't there in his eyes and his voice was different.  Half of me was terrified that I had become someone who couldn't look at their child, and the other half of me was terrified that he had become someone else.  I don't think there is a way to explain what that felt like.  I didn't find peace about it until we met with a pediatric neurologist a week later who explained that he was still seizing in the ambulance and then was only just beginning to come out of the seizure.  He WASN'T there for awhile, I had just never experienced that before and it was terrifying.  We'd had emergencies before, and even one with this same kid.  But there is something so scary about a seizure like that, that my brain only had the capacity to keep my lungs breathing and allowed me a small bit of energy to answer questions like my address and my son's date of birth.  When they asked me his weight, I had no idea.  That's when I knew I was in shock.

So J.T. didn't get better at the hospital.  His neurological behavior scared Chris and I, and soon concerned the ER staff.  We quickly heard that moving him down to Children's Hospital, two hours away, was the best thing for him.  Chris held him upright for a chest X-ray and we both cleaned him up as he vomited during the CT scan of his brain.  We changed his clothes when he didn't have control of his body, and held him as he gripped the side of the bed, screaming that he was falling.  We watched his strange head movements and talked to him during periods when he had no speech.

And then the door of J.T.'s room opened and a group of medical staff came in.  Chris and I both knew in that second that things might be getting worse.  The consulting pediatrician told us that they didn't feel he was stable enough to continue the testing.  They wanted him down in Children's for the spinal tap and anything else that was coming.  When we heard the words airlift, Chris' head hit the bed for a second and my mind went numb.  In our town, airlifting someone to a bigger hospital happens.  But we do have a trauma center and great services that serve several counties right where we were.  So when we hear airlift, it means something super serious.  My mind stayed numb as we answered more questions.  Out the window we saw his helicopter arrive.  When the flight team came we were asked if one of us would like to fly with them.  It was decided that I would go.  I was thankful to already be in shock because the idea of being in a helicopter terrified me under the best of circumstances.  But we couldn't imagine J.T. in a hospital by himself for hours while we tried to drive down there to meet him.  J.T. and I boarded an ambulance that took us to the helicopter.  His body was so small on the stretcher.  I looked out the ambulance window and wondered what you were supposed to feel when you were driven up to a helicopter with your 5 year-old.  I felt myself breathing in and out and that was about all I could handle.  They loaded J.T. in the back and I was told to sit in the front.  I hit my head getting in and barely felt it, thankful for my shock.

For the next 25 minutes I had a beautiful view of the world I live in.  It would have been spectacular under different circumstances.  It was so much different from riding on a plane.  I was close enough to recognize stores and roads, yet I could see all over the counties and the mountains at the same time.  The view made my conversation with God easier because it was almost like I was sitting with Him looking down at the world - like J.T. and I had been removed from it for 20 minutes.  The pilot was kind and sensitive and didn't talk much.  He pointed out a couple of landmarks and explained what would happen when we got there.  The rest of the time I talked to God.  I thanked Him for J.T. and every second we have had him.  I asked God to heal whatever was wrong and restore J.T.'s brain to who we knew him to be earlier that morning.  I also gave my son to God.  I surrendered my dreams and plans for J.T. in acceptance of what may be.  I realized that my longing for J.T. to be whole and in my life, is probably only a fraction of what our Father feels for us, even me.  In my terror and my shock, I felt peace.  I really did.  Looking out those helicopter windows around and below me I realized that the God who loves this place and the people here, loves J.T. and Chris and me.  And no matter what happened when we got to Children's, He still loves us.

I had no idea how much a helicopter ride cost, but I would do anything to find healing for my son.  As we chugged along I realized that all the families that had loved ones in these helicopters every day probably have to pay that bill, even if their loved one didn't find healing.  My heart squeezed hard at that thought, for families that have to pay loads of medical bills after their child is gone and I wondered how that would feel if it happened to us.  But even then, He loves us. I prayed for my niece, sweet Sheridan, who had been in a school shooting only two days before and for several of her classmates who were fighting for their lives.  Life changes us in a second and we don't have the option of going back to what was before.  On that bright, clear October day, I realized deeply and maybe in a new way, that my Father's love is honestly the only thing I really have.  All the people I love might be gone in an instant, or slowly and painfully as some families endure.  Even then, He loves us, even me.

J.T. slowly got better.  We were released the next day and met with a pediatric neurologist the next week.  Further testing showed no underlying seizure disorder.  The neurologist believes that he had a 40-60 minute seizure brought on by a freak virus, like the ones that are on the news these days.  J.T. took a full month before returning to normal.  He had weekly high fevers.  Either his immune system was so down that he caught several viruses back-to-back or that was one LONG freak virus.  Then one day he was funny again.  He was active and goofy and not weak and strange anymore.  It took Chris and I another month after that to recover emotionally, although we are both changed for good.

This is the kid we visited in the NICU after birth, so we've never taken his special life for granted.  But something about the seizure and the hours of neurological symptoms afterwards scared us in some really deep place.  We've had many reminders in recent years that life is fragile and short and changes in an instant.  But this instant was OUR life and something changed in Chris and me.  His kindergarten teacher showed me a picture he had drawn in his journal the following week.  It was a red helicopter and he had drawn himself on a bed in the back and me in the front (like I was driving :).  It was pretty darn accurate and I think he is okay emotionally.  He remembers parts of it, but I think Chris and I felt the trauma.  We don't know what the future holds.  It may happen again.  It took a month to let him be alone in another room.  We have had lots of health issues in our family, but this is our first seizure experience.  I now can imagine what families face as they live their lives with the constant possibility of a child's seizure. 

I was in 3 ambulances and a helicopter with J.T. that day.  From the windows I felt numb, removed, terror and peace.  I looked at the world outside that had been normal and mine just that morning.  I had become a visitor in a strange land where things are both confusing and crystal clear at the same time, while the people in cars around or below me went on with their daily lives thinking about short term decisions and stresses that yesterday had been mine too.  It is important to know that life is short and to love deeply.  And from the helicopter I realized that no matter what comes, my Father's love is one thing I can count on.  He sees everything and misses nothing.  Even me.
       

How I Define Relief

I hear my 5 year-old son call out "Mom - what is the right way to hold an ax?"  My mind races as I rush around the corner to find him calmly playing with his new firefighter Lego set. Relief can feel so sweet...

My Thoughts on "The Tough Days" post

I had a hard time publishing yesterday's post and for the first time ever, thought about pulling it off last night.  I felt anxious and wasn't sure why.  This morning I think I have a better idea.

If anyone asked my advice about being vulnerable on the internet, I would probably tell them not to be.  So that's part of it.  Just like everyone else, it hurts to be judged and misunderstood, especially in baring my heart.  But that wasn't really it.  I think it felt dangerous to me.  Like I was breaking some unspoken rules of parenthood, adoptive parenthood and adoption worker-hood.  That's why I thought about pulling it off. 

The day after that tough day, I had lunch with my high school daughter.  We talked for a couple hours about school and friends and the values she believes in.  She said some of the nicest things about our family that I've ever heard - and she's on the INSIDE!  She is thankful for many of the ways our family is and the choices that Chris and I make.  She told me that so far she hasn't met one kid in our small town with a good family like ours.  That surprised me.  I know it is just her perspective based on what she hears from kids around her, but I was stunned that the family she was talking about was the same one I wrote about yesterday.  And that's when I realized that I DO need to keep this blog honest.  Because the darkness we experience sometimes is the same place that holds the light of redemption and love.  In all of my dreams as a kid of what having my own family would be like, I could never have imagined it would be this painful and this hopeful.  It is WAY better than the simple happy family I imagined. 

These are REAL kids, with real hearts that get hurt by each other and by me.  REAL kids that have lived through abandonment and orphanages and understand that crazy mix of fear and hope that are overpowering in an adoptive placement of an older child.  REAL kids that have seen kids come and go in their family and lost more siblings than anyone I know.  REAL kids that have adjusted to losing their birth order and living with other kids they don't know or trust.  And I am a REAL mom who longs for a bunch of happy kids who enjoy each other, but finds myself constantly mediating conflict.  A REAL mom with limits to my own energy and hope, and my own childhood demons that appear when I am most vulnerable.

I work with many adoptive families and I know I am not the only one who struggles through this life.  I'm sure after my last post there are people who would judge me for letting my birth kids be affected negatively by our choices to help.  And I'm sure there are also some foster/adoptive parents that would judge me for grieving the losses of my birth kids.  I used to be one of them.  When my son struggled with foster kids in our family, my social worker heart would rise up, shake my fist in the air and resolve not to listen to the whining of the privileged.  But I regret that.  I wish I could go back and listen to his heart (through his anger of course).  I wish I could have done a better job of helping him through his confusion and validating his fear and longing for stability.  I'm working to change that.  But I can only see and understand his pain through eyes of regret.  And my regret was the ax that was strong enough to break down his concrete wall of anger.  Years of counseling and medication must have helped, but my tears and understanding of the pain he didn't understand himself, have been a healing balm to deep wounds.  So regret is very important to me.

Several weeks ago I was talking with an adoptive parent I respect very much.  Their family has struggled for years with their child and I heard the words "no one ever told us it could be like this - this isolating and hard".  The adoptive worker in me wanted to feel defensive.  But I know that they were not prepared for all they have faced.  In the adoption field many of us are trying to do much better now in preparing families.  But there is also reality and I feel it myself when I work with adoptive families.  Even as I try to help their expectations become realistic I don't want that hope and excitement in their eyes to fade.  They need to feel joy and their new child needs that too.  Who wants to join a family filled with suspicion and hard hearts?  So there has to be a balance for families.  And also - how do I explain all of this to a family before they start their own journey?  With all of my heart I hope theirs will be easier than mine.  But even if it isn't easier, it won't be the same.

I went to a FRUA (Families for Russian and Ukrainian Adoptions) conference many years ago.  I listened to the stories in the audiences of the workshops and was humbled by what I heard.  I remember sitting there and realizing these parents were warriors.  Their kids are some of the toughest around due to pre-natal exposure of alcohol and years of institutionalization that are hard to imagine.  But these last few years I realized that I'm a warrior too.  There are many of us.  We are quiet in our war.  Because the battles are complicated and sensitive and the pain runs deep.  We are fighting for the hearts of our kids - ALL of them.  Some of us are helping kids reconcile to living with other kids they don't like and some of us have had to let go of our hope and find a better placement for a child in order to keep everyone safe.  We are trying to hold onto who we were when we started our adult lives, before we understood how deep the heart of a parent goes.  We are fighting to keep strong marriages strong, and some of us are fighting to hold onto marriages that bend and break under the weight of pain and conflict in our homes. 

But my understanding of warrior has changed.  In that conference I felt it because the parents I met had been physically attacked by their children, had their other children abused, had to fight school systems to get help for their children and given up the visions of family that they had started with. And lived around the constant judgement of family and friends who can never understand.  Now I know that the other side of being a warrior is about peace.  It is the lifelong journey of trying to help our kids find peace with the events in their lives and peace with each other.  It includes making peace with God in all the things I won't understand until I stand in Heaven, and making peace between the me I intended to be and the me I am. 

So my blog post from yesterday stays.  And my fight for peace continues.

The Tough Days

Some days are just hard.  Later I try to pick apart all the contributing factors to try to explain myself.  Usually there is some build-up that I failed to recognize or insecurities that crept up on me somehow.  My health and energy often seem to play a role.  But the circumstances of my life are the biggest factors.

I was a thoughtful, reflective, intense kid.  I had high ideals and lofty expectations of myself.  I always intended to live a life without regret.  And I honestly thought that was possible.  I thought if I always let my Savior direct my path and my choices and I tried to honor other people, then I wouldn't have mistakes to regret.  How little I understood of life, and of following my Savior's direction.

Chris and I always wanted to be intentional in our lives and we wanted to help.  But those wishes hold inherent regret.  There is always more to do and always people we can't help.  We chose to help kids and families by being a foster family.  It's impossible to know on this side of Heaven if we really helped anyone.  We sure saw pain and felt the weight of playing a part in that pain as kids tried to cope with their lives.  And our kids got hurt.  I do regret that very much.  They learned that the kids in their home could be unpredictable and sometimes my kids didn't feel safe.  One of my kids couldn't put words to his frustration and his aggressive behavior reflected his confusion - resulting in a skewed view of his own goodness and worth.  Our kids grew up hearing and knowing that families don't always stay together and parents don't always protect and take care of their kids.  I don't think it is good to shelter kids from the world, but I regret their loss of security and how it affected them at critical developmental stages.

Chris and I chose careers that don't pay as well as others, so we've juggled multiple jobs along with our kids and service in our churches and community.  I don't regret our choice of work, but I regret the costs to our family sometimes. That's hard and has taken a toll on all of us over the years.  I battled over 2 years of chronic fatigue syndrome and some health issues while we lived in Oregon.  I regret being a tired, anxious, irritable mom especially while our 4 newest kids were adjusting to our family and our first two boys adjusted to the new additions.  There are many directions and choices in this life that I don't regret. -  But the lies and insecurities that I can't seem to shake, affect even those sometimes.

Our family has had lots of healing over the last few years.  Sometimes I think healing gives us a glimpse into who we could be and I long for who I see down the road.  I love the signs of healing and maturity in my kids, but sometimes that makes the setbacks we face even more painful.

A couple of days ago was a very bad day.  It ended in tears with one of my kids as we shared some mutual pain and grief from the past and asked for forgiveness of each other.  By that evening I was feeling better and could see and feel a little more clearly.  I guess I'm learning that I thought God was asking me to live a life without regrets.  But that would mean perfection and that was never His call on my life.  On the big things I always try to do what I feel God has asked of me, so I guess I don't really have those big, life-choice kind of regrets.  I struggle a lot more with the little things - like trust and hope and peace in tough circumstances.  I regret that I don't always look to Jesus first when I'm feeling hurt or betrayed.  I regret that sometimes my own insecurities take over and bind me from being what my kids and Chris need most.  And I regret not being better at balancing work and helping other people's kids, with doing better with my own.

But this weekend I wondered if maybe it is in my regret that I see more clearly.  In my shame and guilt I realize what I truly value.  I realize how deeply I love my kids when I see the hurt in their eyes at my inadequacy.  I remember I am not in control of much, and it is only my reaction that is truly my responsibility.  I miss Chris when we don't make time to connect with each other in the busyness of life and start to question our importance to each other.  These are regrets that allow me to ask for help and to change things, find healing and change myself while I'm still here.

There are only 2 ways that it would be possible to not feel regret.  I could be perfect in a perfect life (which sure sounded good to a 15 year-old me longing for a beautiful life).  The other option is that I choose not to feel regret.  To close myself off from the pain I cause others and to turn away from people whose pain will not end with anything I can provide.  I have met people who don't feel regret and I'm realizing that is the last person I want to be.  And I think sometimes that it is a really deep regret that leads people to live without feeling guilt or any longing to do things better or make things right.  To turn away and insulate myself is not an option for me.  I realize I learn from my regrets, and I get better, and I get a bit closer to who I could be.

So maybe it isn't a life without regret that I should be looking for.  But instead, a life that is open enough to recognize regret. When I feel the pain that comes with regret, I am able to change the direction of a path I don't recognize anymore.  And look to my Savior when I don't like who I see in the mirror.

On Sunday our church sang an old hymn by Fanny Crosby that I have always loved. It reminds me that avoiding regret isn't my calling.  Following Jesus to the end of life is my great desire and I am never alone.  I plan to sing it on my way up to Heaven someday.

All the way my Savior leads me; what have I to ask beside?
Can I doubt His tender mercy, who through life has been my Guide?
Heavenly peace, divinest comfort, here by faith in Him to dwell!
For I know whate'er befall me, Jesus doeth all things well. 

All the way my Savior leads me, cheers every winding path I tread,
Gives me grace for every trial, feeds me with the living bread.
Though my weary steps may falter, and my soul athirst may be,
Gushing from the Rock before me, lo! a spring of joy I see. 

All the way my Savior leads me; Oh, the fullness of His love!
Perfect rest to me is promised in my Father's house above.
When my spirit, clothed immortal, wings its flight to realms of day,
This my song through endless ages: Jesus led me all the way. 

 - by Fanny Crosby in 1875

New: Pacific Northwest Post Adoption Resource Blog

I have been working in adoption with Bethany Christian Services for the past 4 years.  I enjoy getting to know families and writing homestudies.  I LOVE getting to meet the kids we have all been working towards and longing for, once they are placed.  Providing post adoption support to families is possibly my favorite part of adoption work - if there could be a favorite part... It is an honor to be a small part of the process and to help families as they adjust to a new member.  I have met some of the people I respect most in my life through Bethany, and have seen miracles happen not only in the adoption process, but within families.

I have been helping out part-time since our move up north and it looks like I will be a more regular part of the foster care adoption team at Bethany, which I am really looking forward to!  We have a brand new branch director, Paulette Caswell, that we are all thrilled about.  She brings TONS of experience and passion to our agency branch here in Washington and Oregon and we have already witnessed the blessings her leadership brings to our work.  Paulette has worked in foster care adoption in California and Washington and knows just about everything there is to know about resources and how to access them.  She used to publish a post-adoption resource newsletter during her years working for Washington state.  She has decided to start a blog and hopes it will grow to be a very helpful resource for families.  I am adding it to my resources list on the side bar and wanted to share it:
Pacific Northwest Post Adoption Resource blog

New Addition for our Friends!

One of my oldest and dearest friends is in China right now.  She and her husband have had a very long wait for their first child in China.  They were able to get him yesterday and I can't begin to describe how happy I am for them.  Susie has been through middle school, high school, and college with me.  She is one of those lifelong friends that graces my life with her presence.  Most of my best childhood and teen memories have her in them!  Susie and her husband, Erik, have poured themselves into the children and youth of their small community for years and are finally able to pour out their love and humor on their own son.  Her little Jeremiah honestly feels like a nephew to me and I can't wait to meet him!

They started a blog so friends could follow their experience at:
Bring Jeremiah Home: The Journey to Meeting our Son

New mom and son!

Jeremiah and his daddy.

Erik, Susie and Jeremiah

When Did He Get So Smart?

So J.T. and I had several quick errands to do.  We ran in and out of a couple of stores and then headed into Bed, Bath and Beyond to look for bean bag chairs.

I haven't been in that store for years and the immediate onslaught of interesting things hit me as we walked through the door.  So many things I had no idea I needed, let alone had been invented!  As I was pointing out fascinating things, J.T. was hanging onto the side of the cart, clearly overwhelmed by the immensity of options for sale around him.

My delight was cut short when after about 2 minutes in the store I heard an instruction that I say to several of my kids fairly often but I've never had anyone say to me.  J.T. looked at me and firmly said, "FOCUS, Mom!"

I looked at him in surprise as I saw that at least 3 people looked over at us to see what kind of mom would need her four year-old to keep her on track during a shopping trip.  I wanted to explain to them that I don't get out much, but somehow I knew that would not make things better.

Sometimes I wish kids didn't listen to me...

J.T.'s selfie