Christmas in August!

It's never too early to start thinking about Christmas. Let's start before August ends!

We're going to sponsor all of the kids at Children of the Promise again. It will be a little different from last year. Here are the basics, so you can start planning.
* You still get to choose a child (or more) to send presents too.
* We'll focus on the basics - clothing, food, diapers - plus a toy or two.
* This year I'm going to ask everyone to ship their own boxes. The adoption has us kinda low on funds.
* Boxes still need to be sent in early November.

Start scouring those clearance racks for summer clothes and shoes. Stock up on diapers. And find yourself a big box that you can start filling up. It's never too early to get started. Heck, if you fill the box up now, you can ship it right away and just start over!

Check out the babies here. Nikensly and Theo are already taken. (Thanks Kris!)

Let's fill their depot from the floor to the ceiling and give this kids the best Christmas ever.

And then...she smiles

It seems like it takes me a day or two back home before I'm able to blog again. Yesterday was unusually busy. Our kitty needed surgery, what I thought was a lost filling ended up being a crown, and my kids wanted and totally deserved extra attention.

I'm relaxing on the couch right now. Henry is munching on popcorn, and our kitty is cuddling up to me, cone of shame and all. As my mouth recovers from some very intense drilling yesterday, I can't help but think that my pain is nothing in comparison to what the kids are dealing with post-op. Chest tubes, central lines, wires, a stitched up chest. Such brave kids.

Facebook is my friend this week. The team is updating their pages, and I'm able to download pictures that bring it all back. I'll warn you now that the first pic has a bit of blood. There's an open chest. A heart that's not beating. Lots of instruments. But in this picture is something amazing. Dr. Rodriguez paints a smile on the patch that's used to close the VSD. This particular patch happens to be the one that's now on Maria's heart. Maybe this ooks you out - but this makes me smile.

While she didn't smile before I left, she's smiling now. Every day she'll just smile more and more. Here she is with her aunt.

Along this journey I met many amazing individuals. One of those individuals was a 2nd year med student named Mary. Initially Mary was shy and quiet. You know what they say about the shy and quiet ones. I'm married to one of them!! Mary is an unbelievable person. She is small but mighty. Shy but confident. Quiet but full of wisdom. Mary was my partner for the week. We watched ECHOs, scrubbed instruments, and just hung out together. Here we are on Saturday, after spending the day on the beach.

Have to add this pic. This is Friday night - the 3 glasses of wine night. In the middle is Lori - respiratory therapist. On the right is Erin - intensivist.

This is the first baby who was operated on. He had a really tough week last week as he aspirated breast milk following surgery, then coded twice. He was extubated on Saturday morning. From what I was told, he'll make a full recovery.

How could I forget this picture. I was told that defects go together. This is his hand.

I think his fingers are pretty cool.

I'm looking forward to seeing more pictures this week, as the team continues their work. Amazing people - giving their time and skills to save lives.

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Last week I was on the same island as our daughter. Just 4 hours away from her. I couldn't help but think about her. Every. Single. Day. The past week's posts have focused on my trip with ICHF. My energy was given to those kids. But my mind never stopped thinking about her.

I don't have any updates on our adoption. I actually don't have anything good to write. I'm frustrated. We've had no updates. No pictures. Nothing. There's been no movement. I have to trust that she's healthy. And I have to trust that the process is moving, even when I feel like it's not.

We were given a Picasa link that has a lot of pictures of her. It was so exciting when we first got the link. Now it's just a source of frustration because there aren't any new pictures. I try to avoid the site. Yet I find myself unable to.

Right now I'm in detach mode. She is only a picture on my dresser. She's not a reality to me. This adoption is not a reality. At this point I don't see her coming home. Everyone I've talked to has experienced the same emotions. Why does it have to be this way?

In happier news, Odelande is home with her family. They got home on Saturday. Her mom sent me the greatest picture of her in the arms of her brothers. I can see these two protecting her and taking care of her as she grows up in this new country.

I guess it shows me that kids eventually DO make it out. It should help me believe that one day our daughter will be home, shouldn't it?

For now, I'll focus my energies on writing grants, finishing out my final months at work, and loving up Henry and Sofia as much as I can.

Please be thankful for the healthy children you have in your life. Be thankful for a decent medical system. Be thankful for toilet paper and paper towels and hand sanitizer. Be thankful that there are people in this world who give their time and skills to care for and save others. And be thankful that you have the opportunity to do the same thing.

30 minutes

In 30 minutes I'll be on the bus to the airport. Today I have a peace and calm about me. Not sure if it's because I'm going home or if it's because I now have a full picture of what this organization does for children who wouldn't otherwise have a chance.

I just emailed my adopting-mom friend Sarah that I could travel to every country and find children and organizations worthy of my time and efforts. While God may decide otherwise, right now it feels like this is where I'm meant to be. COTP and ICHF have my heart, time and commitment.

This morning a few of us went to the hospital. I was thankful to be able to see sweet Maria one more time before leaving. She's not happy - and she did not smile. I wouldn't smile either if my chest had been cracked open. From what I understand, she's going to make a full recovery. The team will see that sweet smile before they leave next week.

Here's a little perspective on Maria's situation. As you could tell from the pictures, she was a very happy little girl. From the outside you'd never know what was going on in her heart. She basically had 4 different things that needed to be repaired. With her condition she'd live until about 20, then her heart would just give out. Right now she's one ticked off little girl, but this surgery has given her time and life and a chance to grow old. I wish I could have told her that.

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Humberto - the surgeon on the trip - brought a few of us to a friend of his so we could purchase souvenirs. I'm so thankful to have an 'inside' connection. I was able to spend my very last peso in this man's shop and get a few really fun things. Of course I can't post what they are because Sofia reads this and I truly enjoy the torture of making her wait to see what I've bought for her. I know - mean mom.

Look at what I saw on the way to the market.

I'm thankful for health. I'm thankful for my children. I'm thankful to have had this opportunity.

And I'm thankful to be heading home.

Home again, home again

I can't wait to see my kids. Have I said that yet? Tomorrow will be a long travel day. I won't be home until after midnight, but I'm going to wake them up as soon as I walk in the door. It's been 9 interesting and amazing days, and it's time to get home and kiss my family.

Today we drove through the mountains to the beach. I didn't bring a suit with me, so I sat on the beach in a skirt. It didn't matter - I just wanted to lay down and listen to the waves. The team so deserves this break.

The team received this gift from a local doctor. He paid for day passes for everyone to an all-inclusive resort. They got to eat, drink and relax.

Here's Dr. Humberto Rodriguez taking a nap. I love this man.

Sweet little Maria was extubated late last night. Sorry that I was not able to post that sooner. It was a wonderful message to get before we left for the day.

Tomorrow I'll head to the hospital with 4 of the team members, then I'm off to the airport at 11:30. It's bittersweet. I'm ready to get home to my kids, but I'm not ready to leave this group. I completely love the family we have here. It's amazing how a group of individuals can come together from all over the world, and bond the way we have.

Before heading back to Santiago tonight I had to say goodbye to most everyone. I will miss them. A beautiful group of individuals who gave their time and skills to save children with broken hearts.

I'll post tomorrow afternoon as soon as I get to Miami. Hopefully I'll have pictures of a smiling Maria.

Today, it's the beach

When I first was planning on coming down here, I figured we'd be working today. From all I read, Sunday was the day to play. Saturday was still a work day. Well, that's not the case. The crew has a much deserved break for the entire weekend. When I first heard that, I was ready to change my flight and come home today. I was here to work, and I don't quite grasp the concept of downtime.

I'm glad I didn't change my flight. After all that's happened this week, I need this time to decompress before heading home. It will be nice to lay by a pool, walk in the sand, and do a little shopping for Sofia.

After running out of money early on, I've now got 2,650 pesos to spend today. That's about 70 bucks. In Haiti that's nothing. Just across the island, it will go far.

We're headed to an all inclusive resort at 9:30 this morning. It's about a 90 minute drive there. Since I fly out tomorrow, I'll head back here with two of the doctors around 6:00 tonight. Just enough time to relax, unwind, and clear my mind.

While part of me wishes I was staying here with the team, I can't wait to get home. I can't wait to see my kids.

Life and death and glasses of wine

I'm just getting back from dinner with the team, and I'll tell you right now that I had three glasses of wine. Anyone who knows me knows that I don't drink - for a few reasons.
1 - It's too expensive
2 - I have kids who get up early
3 - I'm a lightweight
4 - I'd rather save my calories

Tonight those top 4 didn't matter. I needed some wine to forget about today. But tonight it's all rushing back, as the wine is wearing off. How do people who work at a children's hospital survive?

I met up with Maria first thing this morning and told her I'd be with her for her entire surgery. She was all smiles, for the most part, and gave me permission to be in her surgery. I walked behind her as she was entering the OR, and watched almost every minute of her surgery.

Here she is being put under.

What I didn't know before today is that the body sometimes fights being put under. She was resisting pretty hard on the table - what I was told was that it was just reflexes. She'd been given the drug to make her forget, and the drug to make her go to sleep.

I stayed. For the entire prep, opening, and the surgery. I watched little Maria's chest being opened, and thought about her mother has her heart was exposed to the world, and I thought of her as her heart was being stopped.

This is for you medical types. Maria had TOF. The doc removed her pericardium and constructed a valve out of it. I watched him make it. I watched him attached it. And I watched as it was full of blood.

Did you ever think I'd be talking like this? I speak heart now. Maybe not completely accurately, but I understand the lingo now.

Maria was in surgery for a very long time. At 2:00 my stomach finally decided for me that I needed to get some lunch. Here it is. No, I did not eat it all. The lunch gals dish up plates for anyone who doesn't make it in by noon.

I have no idea what this was - but I was so hungry that it was delicious.

As they were stitching her up I saw people flying down the hallway, then people flying out of the OR I was in. A child, who has just gotten out of surgery, coded in the room across the hallway from Maria. The stress of Maria's surgery, the stress of seeing a 4 month old's body this morning, the stress of hearing that a child was coding, that stress took me out. I was done. I had all I could take. It was too much.

I'm not medical. I've had no training, no experience, and no exposure at all. And yet I'm thrown into all of this. Life and death and stuff most people never ever see in their lifetime. I don't want to. I want out. I just want to go home and forget this.

I held back the tears. This team of seasoned professionals is not going to see me cry. It's right there. All of the emotion and rage and anger. It's right there, and I'll get it out some day. For now, I need to check on Maria.

When I went back in, her heart was in v-fib. I don't know how to spell that, and I don't know what it means. All I know is that her heart was not starting on its own. The paddles were coming out.

Once.

Twice.

Finally. It's beating.

Did you know that in many countries the family has to provide the blood for surgery? Maria's family had to secure blood before she could ever go under the knife. After the doctor started up her heart, Maria started bleeding. They didn't know where it was coming from. What they did know is that she needed more blood.

Maria and I are blood mates. We're both A-. How does it work that this child needs blood, and I'm a prefect match? There was no question - I would donate for her. While I know that I'm A- I doubted myself and wanted to make absolutely sure I was A- before ever letting my blood enter her system.

As Maria lay bleeding on the table, I went to the lab to donate my blood. First - I was typed to make sure we matched.

There was no question here. Let me give this child my blood.

Terrible news. My iron is too low to donate. What do you mean it's too low? Will something happen to Maria if my iron is low? I don't care what happens to me. I'm not a small person. I can be without this blood. Please take it. Please give it to Maria. Please God, let this child live.

It didn't matter how much I pled my case. They would not take my blood. There was too much concern about ME. 12.3. All I know is that means I can't donate. What does that 0.7 matter?

I made my way back up to the OR. I was absolutely defeated. Until I opened the door. They were closing her up. Surgery was complete. Maria didn't need my blood.

After being stitched up, little Maria was brought into the ICU. I finally got to see this beautiful little girl - with all of her tubes and monitors that don't scare me anymore. She was finally out of surgery after 7 hours.

She didn't stop bleeding. I heard them talking about bringing her back in. A second surgery. Little Maria might be opened up again.

After about 30 minutes it was decided. She was going back in. A second surgery for this little girl with the beautiful smile.

I couldn't think about it. I couldn't go in. I couldn't watch. "Don't get attached." That kept going around and around in my head. Now I understood why. Don't get attached, because not all kids come out of surgery alive.

I did everything I could to distract myself during her second surgery and before I knew it, it was done. Maria was back out. Sweet Maria was back. And she wasn't bleeding as much. Whatever was happening, they got it fixed.

It was time for her mother to finally see her. Nearly 11 hours after watching her baby walk away into surgery, her mother was finally able to see her.

It's beautiful and difficult to watch a mother see her child in the ICU for the first time. Her mother completely broke down. All the tubes. All the blood. It's so hard to see.

After her mother left, I say down beside Maria to just watch her. I just wanted to watch. Her chest going up and down. Her feet which were so pink. Her hands which occasionally started reaching her mouth. I just wanted to watch.

I don't have the happy ending for Maria yet. If she does OK, she may be extubated at some point tonight. I won't know until tomorrow morning.

I won't know until the wine has long worn off.

I just pray that it's nothing but good news tomorrow.

Too tired to post...

But I have to before going to bed. So much happened today. This will be choppy - hopefully you can follow along.

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How to piss off a baby
1 - Take it away from its mother.
2 - Start poking it with needles.

It's kinda like Haiti - I'm getting used to the crying. Doesn't mean I don't want to do something about it, but I know that the end result is going to (hopefully) be a good thing.

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I tried really hard to make Leonardo smile this morning. It's gotta stink after open-heart surgery to have people poking around when your body is in so much pain. But that's my goal - I need to see them all smile. I tried games on my phone, funny faces, you name it. No smile.

He looked at me, then projectile vomited bright green.

Maybe that's why he didn't want to smile.

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Leonardo was discharged from the ICU after the projectile incident. His mother was so excited. He was not.

As we were walking into the 'step-down' unit where he'll be spending the next few days, I noticed a body wrapped in a sheet. I was told there was a trauma last night. I don't know what that means. All I know is that my joy was replaced with sorrow - and I just wanted to throw up.

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I fell in love. Jason is not going to let me travel anymore. Here's a picture of sweet Maria. She's 6 years old and will be having surgery tomorrow. I'm going to scrub in for it and follow her from start to finish.

We completely bonded during her ECHO. I was laying on the bed next to her, taking and showing her pictures. I showed her the picture of Sofia making bracelets - like the one she's wearing.

I'm really hoping that I can be with her in pre-op, scrub in for her surgery, then follow her to the ICU. She likes me right now. After surgery she's going to hate me.

Hopefully I can see her smile before I leave. Thankfully the team will be here next week and they can update me on her progress.

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Lunch. I have no idea why I started showing you my lunch but now it's a trend and I have to continue.

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So sorry this is short. My post will be late tomorrow. I'm going to stay for 12-hours to be with Maria.