Monday, May 2, 2011

forgive the tmi.

Hello from beautiful Corolla, North Carolina. We headed here last Saturday to surprise my stepdad for his 60th birthday. Boy, was he ever surprised. I love surprises. Love them. We knew the greatest gift for him, hands down, would be a week with his dearest loved ones. His reaction?

"This is better than a Harley. No, I'm serious."

This coming from the man that, I kid you not, has talked, dreamed, and pined for a Harley for years. Years. There have been Harley funds. Coin jars. Birthday gifts given as contributions to the funds. You name it. My mom even told me the other day that when she got a sales bonus a few years ago, she took what would've been a down payment to a Harley and scattered it around his office in twenties with a note saying, 'Go get your Harley.' He didn't do it. I think when push came to shove, he just couldn't pull the trigger. It was just too indulgent for him. This man's happy driving a clunker. Truly. Yet, he's a hardworker and has always yearned for a Harley. I say all this so you'll understand just how much his statement above means. And I love that because I love surprises.

So, an update on our adoption.

Well, the only thing I know to say is...never a dull moment. I declare.

At the risk of this post taking on a TMI (too much information) vibe, I do want to tell you what transpired last week so you can fully understand how much of an emotional roller coaster this adoption journey is. And, most importantly, how good God is. And because, what the heck, you might as well know the knitty gritty details of what's involved in the adoption process.

As you probably remember in this post I mentioned that JD and I both needed to get a Hep B test and a urinalysis done per China's requirements before we could send off the paperwork required to lock our little guy's file with us. The Hep B test results would take the longest to get back -- 5 to 7 business days. I went to the lab on Wednesday of last week (I guess that's April 28th). Late that afternoon, our doctor's nurse called and said my urine showed trace amounts of blood in it. She said they were going to have to send it off to be cultured. That would take a couple of days. I don't know what it was -- the tone in her voice perhaps? a slight hesitation by her as we talked? -- but I instantly felt worried. I've never had this happen or ever had a nurse or doctor have questions at all regarding a urinalysis before.

Okay, that's not entirely true...

(insert tangent).

When I was pregnant with Payton, I, how should I say it, enjoyed being pregnant just a tiny bit. I was very pregnant over the holidays so I, how should I say it, indulged my sweet tooth a tad. To make my sweet tooth worse, I discovered the marshmallow fluff and chocolate chips recipe for making fudge (at Christmastime!) and indulged my sweet tooth to the tune of eating an entire pan (9x13!) of fudge in one weekend. When I went in for my check-up that Monday morning, the nurse asked me what in the world I'd eaten for breakfast. I innocently said, 'Cheerios.' She asked if I had orange juice with my Cheerios. 'No.' She couldn't possibly understand why the sugar was so high in my urine! Well, my lovely, adoring, faithful husband threw me under the bus and blurted out, "Could it be because she ate an entire pan of fudge this weekend?!' Did I mention that I was carrying a human being within my body? The first of his little human beings? All this very pregnant woman wanted was a little fudge.

I do still love that fudge. Right out of the hot saucepan. But I don't eat the whole 9x13" dish anymore. :)

Okay, back to last week...

So, the urine (I warned you about the TMI).

I was a little worried. And did what all people who are 'a little worried' do when they don't know what's wrong. I went to the authority of all authorities: Google. A few times. Just trying to piece together the fact that I had no symptoms of any of the more minor ailments associated with blood in a person's urine. No pain, no discomfort, no fever, nothing. I found concerning things associated with the symptoms I did have (urine in the blood, back pain, etc). Then a voice mail from the nurse didn't help. She called me back late Friday afternoon and didn't reach me, so she left a voice mail asking that I call her. That was it. She said nothing else. Ugh. There must be something wrong, I thought. If everything were fine she would've just told me my urine came back normal, no need for concern. Of course by the time I get her voice mail, it's after business hours on a Friday so I can't call her back. It'll have to wait until Monday. My mind races and wonders all weekend. I even tell my mom the nurse called me back and what her voice mail said and my mom's eyes flung wide. She was shocked.

We leave for Corolla. Enjoy a wonderful surprise. Spend Saturday and Sunday with extended family and enjoy the beach. My prayer became that I not worry about tomorrow because tomorrow has enough worries of its own. I asked for trust and faith in God no matter the outcome. I asked for nothing to be wrong.

The idea of being gravely ill is not a peaceful one for me, per se. What mother of young children doesn't worry about that? But to top it off, I knew if anything came back seriously wrong this could put an end to our adoption plans. There are many countries that do not allow people to adopt who have been gravely ill let alone currently are gravely ill. My heart ached. I just prayed that all was well.

First thing Monday morning -- 9:01 AM -- I call our doctor's nurse. She says I have a bacterial infection of some sort and she'll need to call in a prescription for me and needs to know what pharmacy we use.

That's it?

That's why you needed to speak with me instead of just leaving me a voice mail?

I was asymptomatic because the infection is so minor?

Because the bacterial levels are so low?

It's that simple?

Thank you, Jesus. What a relief. We can adopt our little guy! We can move forward.

I realize not everyone is wired a 'worrier.' And, generally, I'd say I'm not someone who worries excessively, but this was scary to me. I felt like there was so much on the line. JD and I talked at one point and he said he wasn't worried about it being anything serious because I'm a young, healthy person. I wish it were that simple these days. I hear stories everyday (and know people personally) whose diagnoses were indiscriminate of age or health. It just doesn't seem to be the guarantee anymore.

[Sorry for the big downer of a post!]

But sometimes events like this past week cause us to stop in the ridiculously mundane of our lives and take account. I took account. And I'm very thankful. God is good. Even if I did receive a grave diagnosis this past week, God is still good. I was actually able to praise Him even when I imagined the worst. That's a hugely beautiful thing for me.

And one other thought to share...

I wonder if all mothers feel gripped at times with the fear of being unable to raise their children? Or are gripped with the deep desire to spare their children the grief and loss of their mother? Just imagining for one week my children's grief over losing their mother gave me the very real reminder of what an orphan feels. All orphans have lost their mothers. Oh, God. My heart.

Within an hour of getting the 'you-just-need-a-few-days-of-antibiotics' news, we also found our completed home study from our social worker waiting in my inbox! Our final background check came in and our home study's in it's final revision! When we're back in town next week, I'll send off what our social worker with Wide Horizons has been waiting for and our little guy's file should be locked in no time! Woot! Woot! :)

Can you see how something required in the adoption process that we think will take a week or two often takes a month? It's this strange phenomenon. I'm learning to plan for twice as much time as what I might expect. It's all good.

Pressing on...

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