the adventure that was Zoe's MRI...

I already told you about the amazing results. Every day Zoe surprises us with one more things she has learned to do, and it's refreshing to operate with no expectations or worries about development.

(By that, I mean that we don't analyze "should she be sitting up by now?" or "is she falling behind?" We know our girl has some brain damage, and that frees us to just let her do her own thing developmentally without superimposing our concerns onto her abilities. It's a relief as a mom, in so many ways.)

On the day of the MRI, we were blessed to just leave for the hospital, because one of our old neighbors came and stayed the night at the house so that she could care for the big kids in the morning. (And then she stayed until about 5pm or so to help me throughout the day. We might have good neighbors at our new place, but we sadly left the best neighbors ever in the old 'hood.)

We arrived, following the signs to P3.

I made Lee slow to almost a complete stop so I could take a picture of this sign, because it made me chuckle.

And it's a darn good thing I did, because as I snapped the picture, we heard a loud clunk.

You can't see it in the picture, but that clearance bar was swinging (this, after we backed out of the deck). The picture is blurry because I was laughing.

FYI, the P3 parking deck is not tall enough to accommodate Suburbans, and we think the parking attendant's humor for the day is watching big vehicles try to drive in, given that he had the chance to stop us but didn't..

After we parked elsewhere, the rest of the check-in procedure was easy peasy. Our girl - not showing signs of hunger at all, thank you Jesus - hung out with Daddy and checked out her reflection in the glass.

Oh, how I love watching him fall deeper and deeper in love with her. See that smile on his face?

Then again, who wouldn't love that face? She's a cutie.

And she knows it.

In the spirit of Jocelyn, who loves giving Zoe bunny ears in pictures, Daddy got in touch with his immature side.

"Mommy, can you ask Daddy to act like a grown-up?"

I checked her in and placed the medical bracelet on her little ankle.

And, yep, she was still in a good mood!

Even when Daddy accidentally banged her head into this picture as she was fascinated by her reflection.

Meanwhile, I assumed this sign wasn't directed at me. I think having your baby girl sedated grants you photography approval.

We sat in the same waiting room where we had been when Robbie had his MRI, and then we were escorted back to the same pre-procedure room with nautical murals.

Robbie had been fascinated by the oxygen light on his toe prior to his MRI, so I had to take the picture of Zoe's! She didn't really care about it, though.

She did, however, like her hospital gown and want to play with it instead of wearing it.

But the murals were enough to distract her long enough for Daddy to dress her.

I love seeing her smile up at him.

While it looks like she's yawning here, she's actually laughing in anticipation of Daddy's tickling.

Gotta keep her modest by tying the back closed!

I think her hunger was hitting her at this point, but it was time for her to get sedated - first by mask, then by IV. (She takes after me - a genetic thing, of course - in having terrible veins, because it took seven sticks in her hands and feet before they placed the IV. Made me thankful she was already sedated before that began and I was in the waiting room instead of watching them use her as a pin cushion.)

Speaking of the little mask, here it is! We were brought back just before she woke up.

The rules require a baby to drink a few ounces of a clear liquid like Pedialyte before going home.

This is what she thinks of Pedialyte.

So they broke the rules and just let us feed her formula, even though it would make everything yuckier if she threw up due to the anesthesia. (By the way, according to the nurse, Zoe got the same sort of drugs that killed Michael Jackson. Of course, not in the same doses or reckless manner, the nurse made sure to add.)

As we left, Zoe was supposed to be in the stroller we were told to bring with us. But when a sleepy baby girl is cuddled up to Daddy, they let that rule slide too.

And then we might have pretended that Jubala was on the way home from the hospital - it isn't - because Mama needed her beloved iced almond latte to go.

The end.

our morning around here...

fun with our playmat (thank you, Goodwill, for this find!)

sisters

distracted by doggie

oh, yeah. there's mom too.

don't you hate it when you focus so hard that your eyes cross?

fun!

meanwhile...

big sis set up a royal horse wedding (the pink one is the bride, brown one the groom, and small yellow one with a tutu is officiating)

the dog chewed on a dragon

and the boy cuddled with his blanket, undecided about whether or not the day was worth waking up for

why you might want to have tissue in hand if you ask me where Jocelyn is going to school this year

January of this year just wasn't a good month for blog posts.

I started the month with a post about a shirt's logo that I liked and a conversation that Lee and I had about it, and people were confused by the meaning of the shirt. (In case you're still wondering, the designer of it meant the logo to be a display love for people with special needs.)

I ended the month with a post about our adoption and home-selling plans, which was followed by a post in February with completely different plans. (Way, way, way better plans, because they included our news about expecting Zoe).

And in the middle of the month? A post in which I explained that we would be sending Jocelyn to public school. 

And now?

I honestly don't know.

Here's what I do know:

• None of the current options with our school district would work well for our girl. (We moved after the choice rounds in our district, which means you get offered whatever kindergarten seats are left over. At this point, that's one school that is way far away from our house. Thanks, but no thanks.)
• We're still unwilling to consider private school, not only because we're still uncomfortable with the exclusion of kids with special needs from the private school we would otherwise consider but also because we'd like to adopt again in the future (and if we do have to fundraise again to do so, we want to be able to clearly say that we've made financial choices to support our adoption before asking others to support it as well).
• Any of the charter schools we might have considered are currently full. 
• It looks like homeschooling is the only other option on the table.

We're concurrently making plans for what homeschooling would look like this year, with a planned start date of September 10, and watching the student seat availability reports for our school district in hopes that something will open up or come close enough to opening up for the student assignment folks to offer us a seat. 

I interrupt this post to remind all of you that I LIKE PLANS. God has clearly deemed that 2012 is the year of teaching me to hold plans loosely and be more flexible, but some days I just want to curl up in the fetal position while hugging a planner and pretending that I have some control over my life. I am thankful that God is in control, and I do know that His plans are so much better than mine, but that doesn't mean I'm not struggling with the loss of the plans I expected.

So when you ask where Jocelyn is going to school this year, please forgive me if I force a huge smile, proudly announce that I think we're homeschooling but I'm not really sure because I still kind of hope that Plan A of the public school we really like will work out, and then promptly burst into tears. 

(You think I kid. I assure you that I do not.)

the tale of two MRIs

I have never sobbed over any medical reports for our family.

Before yesterday, that is.

I've gotten news about necessary surgeries and possible cancers (no actual ones, thankfully) and chronic diseases and serious infections, and while I did shed a tear or two over each, it was never much. I'm just not much of a crier.

(If I'm mad or insulted, that's another story. Bring on the waterworks then.)

On Friday, I received an email with the results of Zoe's MRI. A lot of the words are medical gobbledegoo to my brain, but these words from Dr. W required no interpretation:

This is much better than we thought it would be. This matches her clinical presentation much better than the prior MRI.

Oh, geez. I couldn't write this post or even call friends yesterday because of the happy tears, and now they've started up again.

She still has PVL, the type of brain damage shown in her MRI from Taiwan. Her diagnosis is still infantile cerebral palsy. In the past couple of days, Lee and I have finally been able to see the difference between the spasticity in Zoe's legs and the typical jerkiness of other baby's legs. We still don't know what her limitations will be, so we're still taking everything day by day and raising her in the same way that we have parented our other two blessings.

But Dr. W has reviewed both MRIs - the actual images, not just the reports - and what was severe PVL in Taiwan is now mild-moderate PVL. I don't expect that to make much sense to anyone who hasn't spent the last six months reading medical journal about PVL (yes, I am a nerd), but let me tell you why this is a very, very, very, very big deal:

• First, a confession: I haven't admitted here about the bad news from our neurology appointment last week. While Dr. W said Zoe was exceeding all his expectations, which I told you, he also talked to me a little more about the degree of PVL in her MRI from Taiwan. Before that, I thought she just had small areas of PVL that were spread out, and I was wrong. The MRI from Taiwan showed a lot of damage all over. A lot. All over. The images of a patient's brain don't show her potential, but it was still bittersweet to find out that her brain was in worse shape than I had previously thought, even while we were finding out that she was doing better than the doctor had hoped for from the images he had seen.
• But... wait for it... the miracle. PVL is a static kind of brain damage. In other words, PVL - by definition - doesn't change over time. It is a type of constant, non-progressive brain damage, meaning it stays the same without getting smaller, going away, or getting bigger. Having one MRI in Taiwan show severe PVL and another MRI here show mild/moderate PVL (both classifications given by the same doctor reviewing the records here, so it's not a difference in interpretation by two different people)? That, my friends, is a miracle. By all medical criteria, the news in my inbox on Friday should not have been true.

I need to bust out a thesaurus, because my usual go-to words - excited and thankful - just doesn't cut it. Elated. Blissful. Overjoyed. Full of praise. Those don't even quite hit the mark. 

These do, though:

Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, 

according to the power at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus 

throughout all generations, forever and ever.

{Ephesians 3:20-21}

our sweet girl in my lap as we checked in to the hospital for her MRI

~+~

P.S. As you praise God for this news, would you pray with me for another little one from our church, who was also adopted and who also has unique medical needs? Some of his condition involves a lot of unknowns, and lately the questions (and the hospital stays) have piled up with very few answers. Join me in praying for conclusive medical findings for him, leading to a definite treatment and therapy plan.

I don't know why God would provide such amazing and clear news for Zoe while He hasn't done that yet for our friends. We do know, though, (as do they) that God is good, and we trust Him, as we look forward to all He has in store for both of our precious babies. 

in need of a little Compassion...

Nope, not me. I'm doing just fine. (Ish.)

But there are kids all over the world who could use a little Compassion. Y'all know that I'm passionate about adoption, but even more than that, I'm passionate about keeping would-be orphans with their families whenever possible.

Because the truth is, many orphans have at least one living parent, but a mess of reasons - largely stemming from poverty - render some of those parents unable to care for their children. Sometimes if those barriers can be removed, families can stay together.

That's why we give to Morning Light Ministries in Taiwan (see the end of this post for more on that), because they don't just facilitate adoptions but they also work to remove barriers so that single mothers can have the option to keep their children. And that's why we give to Compassion, because we love a fourth child like our own.

This Joselin (note the different spelling) isn't ours, though, and she won't ever be. She has a family, and she writes about them in her letters to us. We prayed for mother's health when she was fighting malaria, and we've prayed for other family members when Joselin has mentioned them in her letters to us. We thank God for her family. (What's even sweeter is that she writes in her letters that she's praying for us, too.)

Our support each month goes toward practical needs, like food and education and medical care, and for many Compassion families, this support makes the difference between a family staying together and a family having to fracture to survive. That's part of why I encourage friends to consider Compassion if they're interested in sponsoring a child in need.

But it's more than that. We're comfortable supporting Joselin through Compassion because we know that our $38 each month goes toward more than just her physical and educational needs. Compassion is unashamed about presenting the gospel. Some other programs that allow the sort of financial "adoption," if you'll permit that word here, refuse to emphasize the gospel. Compassion works exclusively through the local church in the countries they operate, and they share Christ in their words and actions.

That matters a whole lot to me. In fact, when Lee and I consider ministries to support financially, we look for how they partner with the local church and how they share the gospel in word and deed. It's a deal-breaker for us if a ministry refuses to partner with churches or share Christ with those they serve. Yes, meeting earthly needs is important, but it's futile if we neglect the eternal need of each person to know Jesus. (On the other hand, we have never supported a church or ministry that isn't concerned about the earthly needs of those they serve, because it's disingenuous to say we care about your soul but not your body.)

So we support Compassion. And occasionally, I blog about it, because anything that's worth supporting with my money is worth supporting with my words as well.

If you'd like to know more about child sponsorship through Compassion, here's the link where you can see children in need of support. And if you already love Compassion and want to contact to their blogger network, here's the place to do it.

As for my kids, we pray for each of them - Jocelyn, Robbie, Zoe, and Joselin - each night. Because all four of them are worthy of - you guessed it - compassion (and love. and a family).

As is the child you see below.


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