My New Friends

One of Sophie’s first nurses…Ryanna.  

In case you haven’t heard the whole story it’s rather long.  So I’ll sum up.

Child sick in Astoria, Oregon.

Exhausted medical resources there in 3 days.

Transported to Portland – Doernbecher Children’s Hospital.

Moved RV from Hammond, Oregon to Jantzen Beach RV Park on Hayden Island…right underneath the exiting flight path from the Portland airport…and beside a major shipping channel…and very close to a set of railroad tracks…that go over a railroad trestle…clickity clack, clickity clack, clickity clack…etc. etc.  (And that’s the abridged version)

After two weeks of hospital stay, a diagnosis of an acute allergy to soy and dairy proteins (most likely…let’s pray there are no other food allergies!), much barfing…I mean, emesis after emesis after emesis, several trips to and from the RV in south-bound 405 morning traffic (holy-highway-engineers-on-acid-Batman!  I swear that person or peoples designed that freeway system just to piss people off), muchas deniro spent on cafeteria food, and so much more, we’re back in the RV.  My (Sweet) Sophie is out cold in the pack-n-play, my dear bride is sleeping soundly…in between airplane take-offs and choo-choo trains, and I am typing as quietly as I can so as to give the deepest-felt thanks I have for any group of people I’ve ever met.

Panda Team member, Sara(h?) brought Sophie to Portland from Astoria. We were grateful to see Sara(h?) on our last day, just before discharge! She’s pretty cool. All because she’s from Michigan and she’s as full of life as a cardiac defibrillator.

Doernbecher Floor 9 South staff.  Freaking awesome.  I met Mr. T once on a plane to LA.  Doesn’t even compare.

I can’t begin to fully articulate my gratitude to all who helped.  There’s a few who aren’t pictured, like CNA Allie (AKA MS. I-Can-Make-the-Sun-Shine-on-Anything), and so many other nurses that a better pastor with a better memory would be able to name here.  Even our lead Dr.s from the get-go deserve a standing ovation…And a hug…And a bag of chocolates…Swiss ones.  Then there’s the Panda Team who did everything from a two-hour transportation to finding a vein to draw labs from Sophie in short order.  Sophie was particularly difficult for your average phlebotomist who would draw more infant screams than actual hemoglobin.  I can’t forget the PICC team who effortlessly inserted a PICC line, which resulted in a near absolute turn-around in Sophie in warp-speed time.

You see, when your little child is in the hospital with God-knows-what the parents are typically helpless as…well…a new-born baby.  We were thrown into emotional chaos having to be constantly bed-side and wait for our little cherub to turn the corner.

This was hell for us.  I’d cry at the RV.  Melissa couldn’t contain herself either.  I imagine no caring parent could.

The day Sophie turned the corner after a PICC line with a giant bladder of TPN was being pumped into her bloated little body was like a certain palestinian dude from a couple thousand years ago turning water into wine.  Nothing short of a miracle.

All these hands…all these brilliant minds.  Wow.  I can’t begin to articulate my gratitude.

Our Nutritionist, Jessie, and her office mate have a competition to see who can have the cutest photo with a patient. WINNER!!!!!.

So, instead, I’ll tell a little story about a wedding a couple thousand years ago.  This story helped formed a little of who I am today.

Back then weddings lasted days.  Caterers would never carry enough wine to please the masses for that long of an affair.

At this wedding, the wine ran out.  Oops.  Party blunder.

One rather important character seems to give the charge and change the rest of history all by himself, saving the party from a total YouTube blunder to knocking the sweet socks off the guests with wine seemingly imported from France.  It was good stuff.

Now, many people have this idea that this main character does all the work himself, that this little miracle is chalked up to the one-and-only Jesus de Christo.

Not if we read the story carefully.

Jesus never leaves his seat.

He makes a request of the servants to first fetch the large, clay cisterns, each can carry about 30-40 gallons, and then asks them to fill said cisterns with water and, lastly, bring them to the chief steward, a 2000 year-old Chef Gordon Ramsay – if this doesn’t work, consider yourself canned.

At this point you’d think the story is complete.  But it’s not if you don’t ask one simple, hypothetical, nearly-rhetorical question that makes this story come alive.  What if those servants had said ‘no’ when Jesus commanded them to do those things?

Nurse Meghan prompted the most smiles out of Sophie during her shifts. She’s also pretty witty. And there’s no way she’s as old as what she says she is… she’s lying. I just know it. Guys, if this girl is single you are all WAY behind the 8-ball.

The answer is also simple.  There would be no miracle.  There would be no story worth telling again and again.  Had somebody recorded this on an ancient iPhone and uploaded it to YouTube it’s be a colossal, viral video fail of Biblical proportions.  Really.

There’s one answer why my daughter is sleeping soundly in the other room in the RV tonight… Because all these brilliant minds said a resounding “YES!” when they were called upon.

That’s how miracles happen.  That’s how water changes into wine.  There’s a call to do…and an equal response to get it done.

You know, the world would be a lot better (putting it mildly) if we all answered a call to do a miracle every once-in-awhile.

People dream of world peace.  It’s not that it’s impossible as much as the task to accomplish seems so daunting.  But there’s a call out there to do it.

The people on 9 South are these kind of people that want to make the world a better place.  A better place for terrified parents like we used to be a little more than a week ago.  They made our world full of peace.  That’s a miracle in and of itself.

For my wife and especially for my 19-week and two-day old baby…the world is much better.

Thank you Doernbecher 9 South staff.  This would not have happened if not for you.

I love you all.

 

p.s. – LOVE WINS.

(Enjoy the rest of the photos of some of our new best friends…They’ll be in my heart for years to come – and you can bet my daughter will learn to love them, too.)

Is there a speech-therapist guru like Steve anywhere? I think not. Unless you count his students, who are likely to be as guru’d as he is. Love these people!

The Captain of the Starship 9 South is office manager Barb, here with one of our CNA’s, Melinda, who both took great care of Sophie AND the both of us. Over and above the call of duty.

I couldn’t possible name all of them because I’m lousy with names…But here goes… STANDING, From L-R: Dr. New Guy, Dr. Awesome Shoes, Dr. Tim, Mrs. Happy Momma, Dr. Megan, Dr. I’m-there-every-day-they-never-give-me-a-day-off-and-I-deserve-one, Dr. Lance (I only remember his name because my favorite baseball player growing up was Detroit Tiger Catcher, Lance Parrish) KNEELING, L-R, Dr. Sara, and Dr. I-have-lunch-with-Tim. THAT’S how good I am with names, folks. Melissa will make me edit this later… She’s got the memory of an elephant.

To be honest, I think Sophie is going to miss this guy…and so will her parents.

The student Dr. attending to all Sophie’s needs – Dr.. Tim – This guy will make a GREAT doctor someday. I might even have to move to California just to have this guy as a Doc.

Happy Sophie = VERY happy momma.
THANK YOU 9 SOUTH!

 

ALL FOR ONE! (and It’s All About Me)

Disclaimer:

I’m not a Democrat.

I’m not a Republican, either.

In college frat terms I’m a GDI – (PG version:  Gosh Darn Independent)

Another Disclaimer:

I believe people have the right to bear arms.

I also believe some people shouldn’t be allowed to bear arms.

I believe all have the right to happiness perhaps through childbearing.

I also believe that some people shouldn’t bear children.  Honey Boo Boo?  *eye roll*

For the last 15 days I’ve had to reconcile the best laid plans and Murphy’s Law about those same plans.  And, admittedly, it sucks.  I read an article the other day about a woman who thought having kids was the worst mistake she’d ever made.  She said, “Like parasites, they took from me and they didn’t give back”.  My inner voice does not resonate with this tackless outburst from this parent.  Matter of fact, my love for my little sickling has grown exponentially (geometrically – just for Jeff) over these past two weeks, like I’ve never imagined it could.  The feeling I have for my near 19-week old daughter-with-the-feeding-tube-but-getting-better-slowly far outweighs the meaning of a simple faaaantastic.

Yet I am disappointed at missing a good couple weeks of sabbatical leave.  Sabbath, a time for intentional rest, isn’t happenin’.  But, like I’d like to say to a some people I know, get over it, right?  Right.  Kind of like when people can’t wait for someone to show up to either finish or remove laundry from a dryer, so they just take it out and leave it an a damp heap on top of the dryer with their stuff running inside.  Nice. (I left a note…and the door to the dryer open, too.  Just kidding on the latter of the two.  An eye for an eye only leaves the world blind.)

I’m wrestling like Jacob with this sabbatical angel who really wants to know my name…who I really am.  I’ve begun to say that name, and just like Jacob, I’ll walk away with a little gimpy.

So life doesn’t circle around me as much as it used to.  Having a sense of this fact has helped me get a grip on my emotions for cancelled plans – two MLS soccer matches, two RV parks in Washington, one in Montana, and a whole 1,400 mile re-route yet to be finagled.  Water under the bridge.  Unless you’re in Grand Rapids, Michigan, right now where water flows over the bridges.

Interesting… Very interesting. Gun permits before ownership? What a novel idea.

In all of life we see similar instances of injustice on the self, only to be awakened to the reality that our own ego doesn’t like what’s happening to us.  For example, this whole debate of gun control is out of control.  It’s gone from understanding what it means to care for others to preserving the self…out of fear and in the face of all whose lives are fragmented by the devastation lack of gun control has left in its wake.  See photo to the left.

Having lived in an area for nearly 6 years which has little control over who buys and has access to guns and having seen, as a Volunteer Police Chaplain, the suicides committed via guns, I’m even more convinced that people are more concerned about being right than being safe.  After all, getting what I want, over an above the needs of others that live in this same world, makes sense to me! (Last sentence laden with heavy sarcasm.)

Gun control also bleeds into a form of religious control.

Hypothetical question:  “Can I make you angry?”

Now, the italics should give you the correct answer.  Truth is this – I can’t make you angry.  Having said that, I can sure push your buttons and provoke an answer out of you that would please me if I were that kind of a person.  Vise versa you can not make me angry.  Something you do or say I may choose to become angry with, but that my choice.

This is where religion loses its relevance.  If I’m unhappy with a pastor, I can simply get up without a word and go to a new church, perhaps one that reflects my beliefs and not those of a well-studied, even scholarly minister.  After all, my needs are more important than the rest of the world’s and that makes sense to me!  (Again…sarcasm)

Sadly, the line that begins, “A deeply religious…” speaks volumes.  Even sadder, Grand Rapids, Michigan is my home town.  No one should ever have to feel so bound by an errant view of “biblical marriage.”

So what happens if a pastor may have a different opinion?  What happens when a preacher goes into a church and, heaven forbid, asks them to act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with (their) God when all they want to do is worship the organ, the hymnals from 1957, the un-padded pews, the memorials most everybody walks by without reading?

They leave.

What happens when a pastor preaches and encourages his/her members to work for justice for the marginalized, even though the sight of these people may make a majority of them squirm?

They leave.

All to easy any given member can get up from the pew, head to the nearest exit, and then bitch (because I can think of no other diplomatic word than the verb to bitch) to everyone in the neighborhood about how their pastor sucks and is a “false man of God,” because they know this for fact and they’ve all been through the rigors of an accredited theological seminary.  Oh, the pettiness of the Church.

Of course, I realize it’s horribly difficult to place an accurate meaning on scripture when it’s been so heavily scrutinized under a microscope for eons.  Still, Jesus’ prayer in John 17 paints a bigger picture – so that they may all be one.  Perhaps the writer of John left out that line filled with righteous indignation.  You know, the one that completes the verse with, “…unless you like guns, hate the preacher, dislike gay people…etc.”  But then the writer would have had to leave that out three times in the same passage.  Highly unlikely.

This two-week and one-day endeavor in hospitals has left me with a foul taste in my mouth.  Most of it from the pricey hospital food.  The rest of that foul taste is me getting over it.  And I will.

There are many things that life tries to teach us if we stayed and listened.  In this case, I don’t know what they are yet.  I’m not a big fan of the whole God-does-everything-for-a-reason theology.  If that’s the case, I think we’d have billions more atheists.  (Although, we are working in that direction!)

This face. I LOVE this face.
LOVE WINS.
(being in the UCC, I believe that is the only place a punctuation period should exist.)

Let’s start with love.  Love is a good starting point when trying to sift through life’s crap.  As Miracle Max said in the Gospel of The Princess Bride, “Sonny, true love is the greatest thing, in the world-except for a nice MLT – mutton, lettuce and tomato sandwich, where the mutton is nice and lean and the tomato is ripe they’re so perky, I love that.”

The Apostle Paul follows that with, “If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.  And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing.  If I give away all my possessions, and if I hand over my body so that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.  Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth.  It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” (Italics and bold are my own.)

Love is patient and kind.  And it endures.  To endure means you’re in for the long haul.  Are you?  I am.  Because it’s not all about me.  There’s another 600 Billion I think about.

 

Love Me a Good Roller Coaster

I love a good roller coaster.  I lived in eastern central Florida for four years, close enough to enjoy the amusement parks and their entry fees and long enough to realize you’d need to visit all the theme parks in Florida to equate to one in the midwest – Cedar Point.

Don’t blow your top.
A view of Mount St. Helens from the Hospital.

Universal Studios Island of Adventure has one or two.  Sea World has one.  Disney World has one or two.  Busch Gardens has beer… I mean, two or three good ones.  But Cedar Point is the end all, be all of roller coaster, puke-your-guts-out glory amusement.

I took a group of Coloradans to Cedar Point.  Meh, they first thought, we have Elitch Gardens!   I told them to just wait and see.  On the ride home from Cedar Point they wouldn’t shut up about how lousy Elitch Gardens had just become.  Cedar Point, HELL YEAH! became the motto for the rest of the trip.

Life presents itself in a variety of roller coasters.  Some are kiddie rides – boring, unless you’re 5 years of age when 30 feet in the air seems like 30,000.  Some are tilt-a-whirls – eat before you ride and you’ll be sure to lose your lunch.  Some are the heart-in-your-throat rides that you are glad you just had the chance to get off…until later, when you want to ride it again for the sheer thrill of it or the line is only 20-people long.  The others are like that except you don’t ride them ever again.  Cedar Point only has one of those for me.  That wooded one in the back.  The one that gave me an instant headache from the incessant shaking – like those machines that mix up paint.  I haven’t ridden that one again.  I don’t plan to, either.

I’m on one of those right now.  After 11 days in two hospitals and a doctor telling me there may be yet another week of hospital stay, I’ve got that headache that tells me I’m pretty much done with this ride.

If a lot of lava and ash was under St. Helens, what’s under the Hood? (Did you catch that one?)

Stop the ride.

I want to get off.

I’m going to vomit.

Of course, this is my own bowl of pits I’m spitting into.  This roller coaster of life hasn’t dealt me a blow like this before.

With all the serene beauty of this region and everything I’ve seen and experienced in this life, this little “kiddie ride” isn’t going to get me out of the amusement park.  There’s too much salt water taffy yet to be eaten.

My little girl is making baby step improvements.  For an impatient father, this isn’t going fast enough, indeed.  I’d like the doctors to prescribe something that propels healing into hyperdrive like the Top Thrill Drag Roller Coaster.  The ride lasts a whole 20 seconds long.  0 – 120 mph in three seconds.  ORDER UP!

What has helped keep me moderately calm are the virtual prayers, the family support of hundreds of immediate and distant relatives (hell, we’re all distant relatives, just ask Kevin Bacon), and the flashes of brilliant smiles my little girls shows here and there.

I keep thinking of the movie What About Bob? and baby steps.

Baby steps.  

Baby steps.

Cedar Point is big and the lines even bigger.  To wait sometimes 2 or more hours for a 20-second ride isn’t exactly efficiency, is it?

So, too, is life.  The thrill I’m seeking will come.  I do have to wait a bit, but I can handle it.  There are people all around me making sure I do handle it.  Holding my hand, praying, simply talking or listening.  They are all around.  Besides, Portland is a beautiful place.  Lots of great people and scenery to pass some of the hardest times, as you can see from the above photos.

Yeah, I’d like to get off this ride for its made me a little sick.  There are other ones I’d like to try.  Soon enough.

Soon enough.

(P.S. – for Portland roller coasters, simply attempt to drive the Portland area freeway system.  I understand building anything on the side of a mountain is difficult, but, holy crap, these engineers were either on acid or roller coaster freaks.)