About Ever After

{Contented Sigh.}

Well, it's just Hunter the Dog and I here at home today.  Just got the last two family members out the door for the day.  In fact, those same two were the ones lolling on the couches yesterday, looking pitiful.  Today, they left the house with bounce in their steps and PB&J in their lunch bags.  Bionic Man looks practically unscathed, unless you take a really good look at the back of his scalp and see the bump and the small cut.  And I was able to get every last drop of blood off the vintage Pottery Barn bedding that cushioned Bionic Man's landing after he conked his head on the bunkbed, thank you very much.

About that.....(Bionic Man's injury, not the vintage Pottery Barn or the bunkbed).....it gave me much cause for reflection.

I Have no Formula for Winning the Race

Perseverance is not a long race; it is many short races one after another.  ~Walter Elliott

Last week, Superkid and I spent a day visiting with doctors.  Superkid had three specialists that we needed to have follow-up visits with, and somehow I was able to fit all three appointments into the same day.  It was a long day for both of us, shuttling between two downtown clinics at two different hospitals, with a couple of loooong waits in various waiting rooms.  No tests--which was nice--but a long day, nevertheless.  

Our follow-ups were with immunology, neurology, and genetics/metabolism.  Immunology was completely unproductive in that the battery of tests they had done provided no answers to why Superkid gets pneumonia so frequently, but productive in that the tests did show that Superkid has a healthy immune system, so we can cross immunology off the list of specialties that follow her.  The neurologist had some additional tricks up her sleeve to help combat Superkid's migraines, and I feel like we're seeing some improvement with those.  And genetics/metabolism was, like always, a full semester of advanced bio-chemistry fit into a single hour: extremely intense and very educational.

Can I just tell you that I am deeply grateful for Dr. Hainline, our metabolic specialist?  The man is my hero.  He never fails to have answers for problems with Superkid that have troubled me for years.  Dr. Hainline's answers don't always make the problems easier to deal with, but they give me something to hang on to, something to use, and sometimes even something to blame.  I am absolutely certain that one of the greater purposes of our Lily's brief life was to introduce us to Dr. Hainline.  

Case in point:  the immunologist we met with earlier that day was not exactly sensitive or sympathetic.  Also, I'm pretty certain he wasn't big on reading patient charts before walking into exam rooms, either.  His use of the phrases, "We've just wasted $2500 of lab work to prove to you your child is normal" and, "Go home and be thankful your child is healthy," were proof of that.  

After a very different meeting with Dr. Hainline, in which he had answers to all of my concerns, I drove away in my mini-van and cried.  I knew, without a doubt, that had it not been for Lily, who introduced us to Dr. Hainline, that I would be taking Superkid to specialist after specialist, looking for answers, and getting both sympathetic and unsympathetic responses that amounted to, "We don't know."

It overwhelms me.  Not just the recognition of how Lily's time with our family continues to have meaning and impact.  But also the recognition of how much love and sacrifice must have gone into Lily's decision to come to earth in such an imperfect body.

I need to take a deep breath and go get some tissues.  I'll be right back.

Okay.  So, I'm gradually learning more about the implications of metabolic disorders, particularly mitochondrial disease, which is what they suspect Superkid has in a mild form. I'm finding it much more difficult to educate myself about mitochondrial disease than it was to educate myself about congenital heart disease--for one thing, mitochondrial disease is so new and the various ways it presents itself are so different; there is no road map.  I'm also finding it much harder to discuss Superkid's mitochondrial disease with people.  As difficult as it is to discuss the possibility of future heart surgeries with others, at least we know what that future is and what it entails: we've done heart surgery,  so have a lot of other families;  it's very serious, but it is understandable.  I don't know what to say about mitochondrial disease, on the other hand; not only do I barely understand what it is, but I have absolutely no idea what a future with mitochondrial disease holds.  It's taking me much longer to adjust to this diagnosis and learn how to deal with it than it took when we learned about CHD's.  

I guess that is why I started this post with some thoughts on running races.  This is no short sprint I am running, as a mother.  I'm pretty sure it is a marathon and I've already lost a couple of toenails.  Then again, perhaps I'm not the one running this, but the one being pushed, Team Hoyt style.  For I have to admit, I'm not naturally inclined to accomplish the things that I have, thanks to the strength and well-timed nudges of my children.  And when I look at it that way, how can I not be grateful that they are willing to let me accompany them?

       

She's With Me

Recently, my friend Heidi introduced me to Collin Raye's song, "She's With Me".  I've been a long-time Collin Raye fan, but hadn't heard this song.  He wrote the song to share his feelings about his sweet little granddaughter, who is featured in the video, below.  I suggest that if you are going to listen and watch, you do so with a box of tissues.  (If you are following through Reader, click here to watch.)

Of course, I couldn't help but think about our Lily as I watched this.  What a beautiful and poignant illustration of what an honor and blessing it is to be the parent (or grandparent, sibling, aunt, uncle, etc.) of an exceptional child.  Though our time on earth with Lily was brief, I am so grateful for the piece of heaven she turned our home into while she was with us.  I'm thankful for the unconditional love that she gave us.  I'm deeply appreciative of the lessons Lily taught us while she was with us, and for the powerful influence her life and her example have had on our family and so many others.

This also calls to mind all of the families who still have their miracle child with them, and continue to struggle every day to meet the needs of those children.  Though frequently rewarding, it is never easy.  Please keep them in your prayers.  If you feel like you can do more than pray, here are some organizations that will accept monetary donations to help children and their families who have special medical needs.  There are many others, but I chose to list the ones that have impacted our family.

Make-a-Wish Foundation

St. Jude's Children's Hospital

Give Kid's the World Village

Despite the teary-eyed post, I wish you much joy as you prepare for Christmas in the coming weeks.  May your celebration of the birth of our Savior bring you closer to Him and to the ones you love!

Birthday Cake

We were soooo busy today, doing last minute errands and appointments before our trip.  The children, the dog, and I left the house before 8 A.M., hurrying off to get Hunter a couple of shots he needed before our trip.  Then it was off to the groomer's, to clip Hunter's nails.  I had just enough time take Hunter home, pay a few medical bills, and serving an early lunch before dropping the kids off to play with friends while I got a haircut.  Picking up the kids, we hurried off to turn in our library books and keep one more doctor's appointment, the last follow-up from my sinus surgery (everything looks great!).  Stops at Target, Kohl's and the mall were next.  A sudden downpour drenched us as we ran to our parked car.  We made it just before closing time to the tailor shop.  Somewhere in all that were two separate trips to ATM machines and a stop for gas.  Our final stop was at the grocery store, where we--dripping wet, all of us--picked out a birthday cake.

Because we weren't too busy to remember that today, July 15th, was the day we met Lily for the first time.  Her birthday!

You can read more about Lily in this post and this one.  She's our fourth baby.

Lily celebrated her first birthday just a few weeks before she died.  That birthday was one of our best days as a family, ever. 

In fact, it was so good, that we keep celebrating Lily's birthday, even though she's only with us in spirit, now.  I let Endeavor, Justone, and Superkid plan the parties.  They are good party planners.  Last year, we were in Utah with our cousins on Lily's birthday.  I don't remember the specifics of the party, but there were more helium balloons than we could handle.  Since we were so busy today, my event planners kept it simple this year, with a birthday dinner and cake.

Carrot cake, because Lily loved carrots. 

We lit three candles on the cake, because this would be Lily's third birthday.

Once, some well-meaning person asked if it was "appropriate" for us to keep celebrating Lily's birthday.  After all, they reasoned in hushed tones, "She passed away."

I flippantly answered that if we could celebrate the birthdays of dead presidents as national holidays, it was perfectly appropriate for our family to celebrate the birth of our Lily.  Honestly, some people just don't get it.

We, on the other hand, got Lily.  On July 15, 2007.  And though we may have only held her in our arms for a short time, she gave us so much love.  She taught us so many things.  She made us complete.  We are so grateful that Lily is a part of our forever family.  And we will be thrilled to see her again.

That will be a party! 

Everything Happens at Once

It has been kind of crazy around here, lately.

For example:  we hurried and took down the Christmas tree this weekend, before we went out to breakfast for Endeavor's birthday.  To be fair, all the ornaments have been off of it since February.  And most of the lights have been off since March.  Now that it's April, we've been able to get the whole tree down and packed away to the basement.  Thank goodness it wasn't a real tree!

Can you believe that?  I can't, and I'm the one living it!

Also, I suddenly have an eleven year old daughter.  How did that happen?  She's going to middle school next year.  She gets my jokes.  She gives me fashion advice.  She helps me move furniture.  I adore her and I have so much fun with her, but where did my cute little preschooler go?

Not to lessen the seriousness of some of the other things happening in our lives, but Azul died.  Our beta fish.  Azul (say it "ah-zool", Spanish for blue) never quite got the attention he deserved after Hunter the Dog arrived.  He was fed infrequently, I'm afraid.  His small bowl wasn't always clean.  Truth be told, Azul was horribly neglected.  The children in our house were guilt-stricken when we found him floating belly-up.  None of us was exactly sure when we'd last seen him alive.  (I assure you, the children and dog receive much better care than the poor fish.)  We held a respectful moment of silence and I shared a brief eulogy, thanking Azul for his role in preparing our family for the responsibility of caring for a larger, more complex pet.  Then we gave him the royal flush.  It has taken a full week for Endeavor to be coaxed into using the burial commode, and Superkid has yet to use it.  ("It's the toilet where Azul died," she reminds us.)  Justone hasn't had any issues that way.  He's far less dramatic than his sisters.  

In our extended family, we've had some big events.  The Bionic Man's youngest sister, Cassandra, got married a couple of weeks ago.  (If you want to see some of the beautiful photographs Cassie's big sis, Kris, took on Cassie and Royce's wedding day, visit Kris's blog.)  Unfortunately, due to scheduling issues and the cost of flights, our whole family couldn't go--just the Bionic Man.  He was having a hard time believing his baby sister was old enough to get married (she's seventeen years younger than he is), so I guess it is good that he had a chance to witness the wedding.

Not long after he returned from Cassie's wedding, we got word that one of the Bionic Man's grandmas wasn't doing well.  Grandma Kitchen passed away last week.  I adored Grandma Kitchen.  We've lived far from home and our relatives during most of our married years, but I thoroughly enjoyed every opportunity I ever had to spend time in Grandma and Grandpa Kitchen's home.  Grandma Kitchen is one of the reasons I decided to marry the Bionic Man.  After I met her, I wanted to be one of her grandchildren!  One of the sweetest memories I have of Grandma Kitchen took place after our little Lily died.  Because we buried Lily in Utah, near our families, we spent some time visiting there after her death.  It was not the easiest time for me.  The day that we stopped to see Grandma and Grandpa Kitchen, Grandma took me into her front room and showed me the pictures of her own little boy who died before his first birthday, Larry.  She shared some of her memories with me about Larry, and wanted to know all about Lily.  After we heard that Grandma had died, I couldn't help but think of the joyful reunion she must be having with Larry, and be sure that she'd be looking around for Lily, too.  Death certainly is not the end of life, just the end of a body's time here on the earth.

Today, I'm waiting to hear from my family in Utah after my father comes out of surgery.  He's had some challenging health issues during the last few weeks, and hopefully this surgery will help alleviate some of those issues.  I have appreciated his good humor and bright outlook during his difficulties.  I have also appreciated that my siblings who live near our parents have been able to be so supportive of them.  It stinks to live so far away when I'd like to be available to help, too.  I'm a pro at late-night hospital vigils, already.  Wish I could be there to help with my nieces and nephews while some of my siblings get some practice in vigilance.  Or to drive my mom places.

I'm homesick.  I miss my families, and I miss my mountains.  Also, I wish someone I know would have a baby, because I miss having a baby to hold.  And there is a very good chance that I'm suffering from P.M.S., right now......so maybe it is time to stop writing?

Holland and Spring

Notice my new header?  Yep, I found another gorgeous scene from the Netherlands to grace my blog.


You may have noticed that I use my blog for all kinds of things.  My blog is the blogging equivalent of a casserole: I throw in whatever I feel like at the moment and serve it out with a smile.  One day I'm complaining about laundry, another I'm bragging about a rare moment of craftiness.  One day I stand on a soapbox, another day I sit down and dish on our latest trip to a doctor's office.  And every so often I discuss Gacky Sage vs. Silver Sage. 

I began blogging to sort out and record the way I felt about some of the challenges in my life: children with special medical needs, the death of my youngest daughter, my evolving roles as wife and mother.  In fact, I named my blog after an essay written by Emily Perl Kingsley, "Welcome to Holland," which illustrates some of those challenges so well.  (You can read it here.)

Looking back, I can see that I have done a lot of sorting and recording.  But along the way, I think my blogging has begun to accomplish something I didn't expect: it documents the fact that despite some unanticipated challenges in my life, I've continued to read and write and do laundry and plan menus and go on vacations and sew things and make dinner and make cupcakes and give my husband  Valentines and give my kids haircuts and do things with friends and laugh at myself and paint my kitchen and.....so many other things.  I've continued to live and find joy in living.  There were some dark days, when I wasn't sure doing all that could be possible.  I'm so, so, grateful for the gift of time, and for a loving Heavenly Father who has a plan for all of us.

If you are living through some dark days yourself, take heart.  Or, as we like to say at our house, "Hold on Tight and Choose the Right!"  There are brighter days to come.

Maybe your life isn't going the way you expected, right now, but stop, look around you, and see if you discover some beauty in your own landscape.  After all, "...Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts." 

Today, in the spirit of Emily Perl Kingsley's essay, I want to share some of the things that make spring in real Holland wonderful.  I'll leave it up to you to find the parallels in your own personal piece of "Holland."

From www.krolltravel.com:

Few people realize that tulips did not originate in Holland. They were first imported from Turkey in 1554 as collectors' items. By the 17th century, the speculation in bulbs became a mania.

Merchants were so obsessed with their beauty that they would pay thousands of dollars for a single bulb. The tulip even gained a stock market value and fortunes were both made and lost.

Tulips are still a big business for Holland. Bulb fields stretch for miles across the countryside. During the peak season, a rainbow of vivid colors carpets the earth for as far as the eye can see.

From http://www.infohub.com/Articles/traveluv5.html,  Holland, Everything's Coming Up Tulips:

Add to this picture the fabulous annual mid-April Flower Parade of the Dutch Bulb District. Consisting of approximately twenty bloom-covered floats, each covered with about 100,000 flowers, it is similar to California's Rose Parade in the U.S., except that this parade consists of floats covered with bulb flowers and is an all-day, on-going trek from one town to another. The gorgeous procession travels from Noordwijk, in the heart of the blub fields, to Haarlem, about 24 miles (40 kilometers) away. 

 There are more than 10,600 miles (17,000 km) of designated bicycle tracks around the Netherlands.  The landscape is generally flat, making it ideal for bike rides.  

Wouldn't it be great to see sights like these?  Windmills and tulips?  Imagine doing so while you pedal along at a leisurely pace, on your designated bike path!  (Am I making you want to go on a bike tour of Holland, right now?)

Just think of the pictures you'd come home with after a trip to Holland in the spring!

 Did you know that besides tulips and windmills and Rembrandts, Holland has diamonds?

 The diamond trade in Amsterdam attracts millions of tourists and buyers from around the world.  Many famous diamonds were cut and polished in Amsterdam. 

Let's go back to Rembrandts.  Holland does have Rembrandts, and this is one of my favorites:

The Night Watch

One thing I didn't know--but should have guessed--is that Holland has tulips named after Rembrandt!  They are very stripey and striking, like this:

 From Emily Perl Kingsley's essay, "Welcome to Holland":

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.

But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.

 I hope you have a moment to find and enjoy the beauty in  

your own unexpected journey, today.

This post has been linked to Tuesdays Unwrapped at Chatting at the Sky.

Just came back from the NICU....

......or the Newborn Intensive Care Unit, if you like to have it spelled out.


And just what was I doing at the NICU today, you may very well ask?

I was holding babies.

I was holding babies!

Oh, is there anything better than having a little wee babykins snuggled up against you?

(You don't need to grace that question with a response.  Because there just isn't anything better than that.)

How I ended up in the NICU snuggling babies is a long story.  Let's just say I was given the opportunity to do so, and had to turn it down initially because I thought I was going to be recovering from sinus surgery.  Thank goodness Dr. Gutt's wife gave birth so I could have an opportunity to go to the NICU.


Wait a minute, that didn't come out right.  I wasn't visiting Dr. Gutt's baby.  We aren't that close.....Remember, Dr. Gutt's wife had a baby, so he had to cancel my sinus surgery?  That freed up my schedule for babies.  I was much more excited about holding babies than sinus surgery, anyway.  Sinus surgery = boring, babies = fun.

So, off I went to the NICU today.  To hold babies.  Twins!  Boys! Two of the most darling little mannikins I've seen since, well, since the last time I got to hold a newborn.  And that has been a while.  They were absolutely precious.  And their mommy is taking such good care of them.  I was so impressed by their mommy!  She is a natural, and just seemed to handle all the tubes and wires and blankets and feedings with such grace.  I wish I had caught on that quickly!

I admit, I was a little nervous going to the NICU.  It wasn't the same NICU that Lily had started her life in, which probably helped.  But I wondered if I could handle it.  My time in the NICU with Lily wasn't easy.  I never felt at home there like I did when we were at the Heart Center.  And I had to witness some pretty sad situations with some of her NICU roommates.  

But I walked into the NICU today, and I was fine.  In fact, once I had one of those little babies in my arms, I was more than fine.  I felt like I'd got a piece of me back that had been missing.  The piece of me that knew how to hold babies with tubes and wires.  The piece that knew what all the bells and alarms meant.  The piece that knew how good it felt to hold a sweet bit of heaven in my arms while the world went rushing by.


So I was fine in the NICU.  But I started to cry as soon as I left.  Walking out the door of the NICU, I remembered how awful it felt whenever I had to leave my own baby.  I never got used to that feeling, and I guess I never will.  So I had a good cry over a lot of things.  I cried for all the parents in the NICU, who had to feel that way.  I cried for me, for remembering what it felt like.  I cried for some of the babies I saw, whose mothers weren't much older than Endeavor.  And I cried for Lily, because I miss holding her so much.  I'm very glad that I held her every chance I got.  

Oh, I do love babies.  If you ever hear of one or two or three that need snuggling, I'm your gal.  Give me a call!  I'll even come to the NICU.

 

 

Lucky Dog

The Story of Hunter the Dog

or 

How Hunter the Dog Came to Holland

or 

How We Became Dog Owners

Like many parents, the Bionic Man and I were asked by our children, many times, "When can we get a dog?"

Endeavor asked us for the first time before she was even able to talk intelligibly.  She found a long yellow ribbon, tied a loop at one end, held the other end in her chubby hand, and dragged that loop behind her for weeks.  When asked (on the first day of the yellow ribbon's appearance) what it was, she barked.  Turns out, there was an imaginary dog on the end of that leash.  His name, Endeavor told us, was "Paw."  Imaginary Paw went everywhere--and I do mean everywhere--with Endeavor until her second birthday.  For her birthday, the Bionic Man and I presented Endeavor with a stuffed animal, a black lab puppy, which she promptly named Paw and took everywhere, forgetting the other Paw who existed only at the end of a yellow ribbon.

The Bionic Man and I foolishly hoped that this would fulfill Endeavor's need for dog ownership.

It did not.  Endeavor, eventually accompanied by Justone and Superkid, continued to ask for a dog.  Their pleas became more vocal when we moved to our current home.  "Everyone in the world has a dog but us!"  This was an exaggeration, of course, but it was true that all of our neighbors in the houses surrounding us had at least two dogs apiece.  So it probably felt like everyone in the world had a dog (or dogs), except for our children.

Occaisionally, the pleas of our children did not land upon deaf ears.  I would feel a smidge of pity, a twinge of solidarity with their cause, and I would think, "Well, why don't we get a dog?"  Not ever having owned a dog myself, I would begin researching the basics of dog ownership, and would quickly decide that dog ownership wasn't for me.

Superkid, never one to sit around waiting for the things she wants, took matters into her own hands at the age of three.  She became the family dog.  For months, Superkid would randomly shift into a puppy alter-ego with frighteningly realistic characteristics: barking, whining, panting, licking, roaming the house on all fours, even begging for table scraps.  I had to admire her imagination, perserverence, acting skills, and attention to detail, but it was a little much. Especially when Superkid the puppy appeared in restaurants, church, and the grocery store.  Think Disney's Shaggy Dog.

Eventually, the children demanded a timeline for dog ownership.  This was in the early days of my fourth pregnancy, when I was having a hard enough time feeding, washing, and exercising my own children, let alone a dog.  One day, I declared with exasperation, "I'm not even going to think about getting a dog until everyone in this house is toilet trained!"

In my children's minds, this declaration morphed to, "We're getting a dog as soon as everyone is toilet trained."

A few months after our fourth baby was born, Justone was handing me wet wipes as I changed Lily's diaper.  Looking at her lovingly, he said, "Lily's so smart, I bet she'll be toilet trained soon."  He grinned at his little sister.  "Then we can get a dog."

Sadly, Lily only lived for 400 days.  The day that Lily died, our little family sat huddled together on the couch, crying softly, sharing sweet memories.  Then Justone  sniffed, wiped his eyes, and asked, "Now that everyone in this house is toilet trained, can we get a dog?"

Endeavor looked up with a hopeful, tear-streaked face and exclaimed, "Yes!  You promised!  You said we could get a dog when everyone was toilet trained. Now we are!"

"I am soooo toilet trained, Mommy!"  Superkid chimed in excitedly.  "Can we go get our dog today?"

At that point, the children began a heated argument over what kind of dog we should get and whose bed he should get to sleep on.

Now, there might be someone (or many?) reading this who are horrified by the fact that my children seemed to be replacing their little sister with a dog just hours after Lily's death.  To you, allow me to gently state that you don't have any understanding about children and grief.  So don't pass judgment.

Looking back, I am thrilled by the faith and optimism that my children expressed at that point.  Yes, they were sad that their sister had died.  But we had worked very hard during Lily's life to explain the promise of resurrection to our children, to focus on the fact that no matter what happened, our family would be together again someday.  I like to think that remembering the dog was their way of recognizing--with the perfect faith of children--that even though we were in the midst of tragedy, good things could still happen.  Dreams could still come true.  Promises would still be kept.  Isn't that the ultimate expression of faith in a just and loving God?

It was tempting to go get a dog right away.  But we waited.  There were funeral arrangements, an upcoming Make-A-Wish trip for Superkid, the yard needed a fence, a cross-country summer roadtrip.......lots of things got in the way of dog ownership.  And I didn't complain.  The more research I did to prepare for the promised dog, the more worried I became about the heavy responsibilities of dog ownership.  The Bionic Man came home with a beta fish one night, hoping that would stall the children.  It was only a temporary fix.

By the end of the summer, the Bionic Man and I were feeling guilty about the fact that we had yet to make good on the dog promise.  "Let's get them a dog for Christmas," he told me.  "We can start looking now, and maybe by December we'll have found the right one."

I had already decided upon "odorless"/hypoallergenic breeds of dogs, and had lists of breeders for shelties and labradoodles.  I'd even called and begun the interview process with some of them.  When one breeder began discussing a home visit, I began to feel as if I was preparing to adopt a baby.  Oh boy.  Studying the potential costs, I began to realize that by the time we fenced the yard, paid for the dog, the dog's vet care, the breeder's fees, the dog care equipment, etc......we very well could be looking at expenses nearing that of the adoption of an actual child.

Suddenly, rescue dogs began to look very good.  I switched my search to online pet adoption sites.  Shelties....labradoodles....I kept an eye out, casually.  Looking for a dog with light, fluffy hair.  

By that time, we had reached the year mark of when we first agreed with the children that it was time for a dog.  The search was really on, now.  Then one day, the Bionic Man decided that the breed of dog we absolutely had to have was a German Pointer.  A chocolate brown, shorthaired, German Pointer.  And that was it.  

Now, I'm not saying I'm one to just do whatever the Bionic Man decides.  Nope. We have plenty of evidence to the contrary.  But this time.....well, there was no changing the man's mind.  A Pointer he wanted and a Pointer he must have.  Man's best friend, you know, and this particular man wanted a Pointer to be his best friend.  

The Bionic Man, now having discovered his One True Breed, became invested in our search for the family dog.  He also began perusing the online pet adoption sites.  (Petfinder.com was our favorite).  After all those months of my looking, the Bionic Man hopped onto Petfinder.com for the very first time and discovered.....Hershey.  

A fuzzy picture showed a small puppy being held by someone with a very hairy arm.  A brief description claimed that "Hershey" was a Pointer/Lab mix, four months old.  "But that dog looks black and white to me," I said, squinting at the fuzzy picture.

"That dog isn't black and white!" the Bionic Man assured me, sounding slightly offended.  "He's definitely brown and white.  Because he's a Pointer.  Obviously, they wouldn't have given him a name like Hershey if he wasn't chocolate brown."

The Bionic Man called the rescue number listed to make arrangments for our family to meet Hershey....and they told him Hershey was gone.  The Bionic Man was very upset.  "I can't believe he's gone!"  he lamented.  "That was our dog!  He's perfect!  A chocolate brown German Pointer."

"And Lab.  It says he's a Lab, too," I pointed out snarkily.  "Not all German Pointer."

"You can see from the picture," the Bionic Man said stiffly, "Hershey is predominantly German Pointer.  And now, he's gone.  To someone else."

But Hershey wasn't gone.  At least, not for long.  Two days later, the same picture of "Hershey" appeared, bearing the sponsor name of another rescue organization.  Same puppy, cradled in a hairy arm, only this time he was being called "Snickers."

"Snickers!"  the Bionic Man exclaimed.  "What kind of a name is Snickers?  You name a little fluffy dog snickers, not a hunting dog!"  He muttered about this as he dialed the number for the rescue, finding out that yes, "Snickers" was available for adoption, and yes, we could meet "Snickers."

It took several days to arrange a time that was convenient for the foster family to let us visit Snickers.  We went on a Monday night, for Family Home Evening.  On the way, the Bionic Man and I carefully prepped the children.  We were just going to look at this dog.  He might not be the right dog for our family.  Even if we liked him a lot, he would need to be checked by a veterinarian to make sure he was healthy.  We needed to make sure that he was a good dog, etc., etc.  

All the way across town to the foster home, Superkid worried.  Superkid had learned to love several of our friends' little dogs, but she was not a fan of big dogs.  She kept asking us, "Will Snickers jump on me?"  When we talked about how we needed to make sure this particular dog was right for our family, Superkid would agree, telling us, "We need to make sure he is not the kind of dog who will jump on me."  

This was a concern for the Bionic Man and I, as well.  Naturally, you don't want a dog knocking down anyone.  But we were particularly concerned about having a rambunctious puppy around our little heart patient on blood thinners.  Over the years, I'd read a lot of positive reports about the benefits of pet ownership for heart patients.  In my mind, I was convinced that getting a dog would be good for Superkid in the long run....as long as it didn't cause her any injury.  And how, exactly, were we supposed to predict that?

We arrived at the foster home, and were greeted by Snicker's foster family.  And then we met Snickers.  He was thrilled to have visitors.  He skidded across the hardwood floor on his little black and white behind (told you so, Bionic Man), and sniffed and licked all of us with pure doggy delight.  After petting him and asking his foster mom lots of questions, we took Snickers outside to play.  Snickers was ecstatic to be outside.  He ran laps around and around the children.  The Bionic Man stood close by Superkid, ready to scoop her up if Snickers seemed to be a threat.  Turning to talk to the foster mom, he was distracted for a moment.  Snickers came running full speed towards Superkid, who was calling to him with outstretched arms, stopped right at her feet, and dropped down onto his belly, happily allowing her to pat his back and scratch his ears.  He repeated the same behavior for the rest of the evening: running around the yard as fast as he could, jumping up to greet our other two children, but dropping onto his belly every single time he approached Superkid.

The adoption papers were there, ready for us to fill out and take Snickers home.  But the Bionic Man and I had promised ourselves that we would take time to think about it.  We were not going to go home with a dog.  We were not impulse adopters.  We were determined to be rational.

And we were rational, until we arrived home, dogless, and realized we'd left our dog back there!  Quite possibly the only dog in the world who could join our family had been within our reach.....and we'd just walked away.  The next morning, we tried to get in touch with the rescue organization.  We emailed.  We left phone messages.  They went unanswered.  It was as if the rescue organization had never existed.  

Not wanting to disappoint the children, the Bionic Man and I had kept it to ourselves that we were trying to adopt Snickers.  When they asked, we made vague statements such as, "We'll see," or "We're still thinking about it."  They had no idea that I was frantically sending out emails to the rescue pleading for a response.  I checked the website multiple times each day, hoping that as long as Snicker's picture stayed on the website, he was still available.  The Bionic Man and I worried as the days went by, wondering if perhaps we'd done something to be blacklisted by the rescue service, or if someone less hesitant had come along and taken Snickers home.  

Days went by.  Dejectedly, we began to look at pictures of other dogs.  Then, one day, we had an email from the rescue people.  They'd been out of town.  Snickers had temporarily gone to a shelter until his foster family came home.  (Hearing that our dog had spent the last week in a shelter when we wanted nothing more than to bring him home was like a knife in my heart.)  Of course we could have him, they told us.  When can we come get him?  We asked.  Several more days went by.....during which we wondered if this rescue organization was trying to find homes for dogs, or what?

The Bionic Man was convinced that our dog was so special, his foster family didn't want to give him up, and so they were putting us off in hopes we would give up.  We aren't dramatic, are we?

During this time of waiting, I had an epiphany.  After Lily's death, I struggled with my new reality of being the mother of older children.  Up to that point in my marriage, I had always had a babe in arms, so to speak.  Either I had a baby or knew I would have one again soon.  Finding myself without either baby or the promise of a baby was--to say the least--difficult.  I love babies.  I love taking care of babies.  I'm a good baby mother.  Being without a baby was like losing part of my identity.  It was painful for me, and painful for my husband, too, in a way.  Adoption seemed like the best way to fill the void we felt.  I began researching, looking at agencies.....the act of doing so seemed to ease the ache of empty arms.  I didn't do so in an effort to replace the daughter I'd lost, I did so to try to restore the role I'd lost: mother of a baby.

My epiphany came during the days that we waited for calls from the dog rescue.  I would never suggest that our dog adoption could compare to the miracle of adopting a human child.  But that little taste of waiting, wondering, and worrying about whether or not we were going to get the puppy we wanted was enough to teach me something.  My heart just wasn't ready to go through the ups and downs of baby adoption.  I was still grieving for my own baby, I was not ready yet to grieve any disappointments that might come during the long process of adoption.  I was able to set aside the dream of another baby, take a deep breath, and decide to learn to appreciate my new role as a mother of growing children.

Finally, the call came, on a Friday morning.  "Could you come get Snickers tomorrow?"  I spent the day at Petsmart, buying a puppy layette, hiding the puppy supplies from the children, calling vets, clearing a space in my laundry room to make way for a doggie bed.  And I announced to the family that if we ever got a dog, I thought we should name him Hunter.  Everyone agreed.

The next morning I signed the adoption papers, put the newly named Hunter into the back of my van, stopped to see a veterinarian (who assured me that Hunter was healthy) and drove home.  Hunter sat quietly in the back of the van, not making a peep until we were almost home.  As we turned onto our street, he began to bark happily, almost as if he knew the children were waiting.  Moments later, he bounded out of the van and into our home and our hearts....and he's been there, ever since.

Like I said, I've never owned a dog before.  I never considered myself much of a dog person.  But I'm just as silly as I can be over Hunter.  We're all crazy about him.  The children adore him more today than they did the first day he arrived, even though the shiny-new has worn into the old-familiar as Hunter has grown from puppy to dog.  He's smart, he's gentle, he's friendly, he's affectionate, he's loyal.  He's perfect for us, and we're perfect for him.

One night, as I watched Hunter curl up beside a sleepy Superkid in her bed, his paw strategically resting on her quilt, to keep it tucked around her wiggly toes, I thought about how Hunter came to us.  I remembered a little family, crying together as they missed their baby sister, and a little boy who asked with hope shining from his tear-streaked face, "Now can we get a dog?"  And I imagined the little angel sister, finding the right dog and making sure he came to us.  As dogs go, this one we have is just that special.  For us, Hunter is yet another reminder that joy can spring from sorrow, hope can be renewed, and miracles will never cease.

I wrote this over the course of several days.  During that time, Hunter chewed up the following:

a roll of paper towels

a stuffed squirrel

three miniature felted horses that go with Superkid's horsebarn set

a Christmas tree ornament which--ironically--was a squirrel

an almost empty yogurt cup

a dishrag

several random plastic cheapie toys

and this morning, I looked every where but couldn't find the 1/3 loaf of bread that was sitting on the counter last night, waiting to be made into sandwiches.

Coincidence?  I think not!  

Where did Hunter stash the plastic bag the bread was in, I would like to know?

And, perhaps I now have the answer for why Hunter had to go out twice during the night last night.  Hmmm.  

This post is a good reminder to myself of why I put up with the family dog.

Some miracles require more patience than others.

Love: 400 Extra-Ordinary Days

At this time, three years ago, I was pregnant.  Expecting our fourth child.  We were thrilled to be having another baby.  We love babies, at our house.

During the twentieth week of pregnancy, my husband went with me to the obstetrician's office.  It was ultrasound day.  My husband was supposed to be on a business trip, but it was cancelled early that morning.  That was our first miracle.

The ultrasound showed that we were going to have a baby girl.

The doctor came in.  We smiled at her, and she didn't smile back.  Instead, she began to gently explain to us all the problems that our sweet baby's developing body already had.  It was a long list.  Two vessel umbilical cord.  Hydrocephalus.  Hypo-plastic left heart syndrome.  A possible fatal chromosome abnormality.

My husband gripped my hand.  We tried to ask questions.  We cried.  We already had one child with a heart defect--we had already experienced long days in the hospital and an uncertain future for one baby.  We had been confident that this baby--our last--was to be our miracle baby.  

We named our baby Lily, for the lilies of the field that Christ used so eloquently to teach his followers of our Father's love for His children.

We prayed.  We tried to make difficult decisions without the aid of concrete evidence and information.  We moved forward in faith, sometimes not sure if faith was enough.

Our Lily was born alive, another miracle.  She was tiny and perfect, without the facial deformities or extra fingers or toes or enlarged head that we had been prepared to love along with her.

I was able to see her, pink and soft and wiggly, before she was taken to the NICU.  In the NICU, she grew, her little body preparing for the first of three surgeries her heart needed to function.

For three weeks, we loved and fed and held our baby in the NICU, not knowing if her sweet, tiny body would be able to handle the complex surgery.  

It did.  Lily spent many days in the hospital.  What would be unusual for some families became the norm for us.  Picnics on the floor of a hospital room.  Walks through the halls with IV pump and monitor in tow.  Saying goodbye to one child so I could go home to do laundry for three others.

Things that others might take for granted, we celebrated.  Like Lily's first trip outside.  Wires, and tubes, and all.

Two months after her birth, we brought Lily home.  Another miracle.  One we hadn't dared to hope for.

The following days were not ever easy.  Caring for Lily at home, as joyful as it was, was also complex and exhausting.  She had frequent trips to doctors' offices, more surgery and more procedures, more hospital stays.  I learned to insert a feeding tube and carry a baby in a carseat, a preschooler, and an oxygen tank across a snowy parking lot and through the grocery store.  

We were so grateful for the people who stepped in to help us.  Family, friends, neighbors, doctors, nurses, therapists, strangers...all of them became part of the fabric of each miracle.

Lily's siblings could have been envious or resentful of all the time that it took their parents to care for their youngest sister.  But they weren't.  Their unconditional, unwavering love for Lily was nothing short of miraculous.  And they way she returned our love so enthusiastically was yet another miracle.

 

We had been told, when our doctors first diagnosed Lily's condition, that we should be prepared that our baby girl might not survive the pregnancy.  There were so many unknowns, so many steps into the dark. I realized, as my baby grew and kicked inside me, that each day she was with us was a miracle.  

There may be some skeptics in the world that say miracles have ceased. 

They have not.  I've seen 400.

Lily lived for 400 days.  

Many of those days were difficult, for her more than anyone.  

Many of those days were spent in a hospital.  But many of them weren't.  Despite the 200+ days Lily spent with her friends at the hospital, she managed to be at home for Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's Eve, St. Patrick's Day, Easter, Memorial Day, and the Fourth of July.  She was at home for the birthdays of each of her family members.  She went on a family vacation.  She spent Valentine's Day and her own first birthday at--appropriately--the Heart Center.

More days have passed, now, since Lily returned to her Heavenly Father, than the 400 she spent on the earth.  Some days have been really hard.  We miss having Lily in our home and in our arms.  But we are convinced that we will be with Lily again one day, and we've learned that joy can still be present in our lives.  

I'm so grateful for each of the 400 extra-ordinary days that we spent with Lily.  

I'm also grateful for each day since.  Ordinary days that become extra-ordinary when I look at how far we've come, how far we have to go; how much joy we've tasted, and all the joy we have yet to taste; how much love we've felt and how much love we have yet to give.

This week is Congenital Heart Defect (CHD) Awareness Week.

This post has been linked to Tuesdays Unwrapped at Chatting with the Sky.