It came and went

I just looked at the calendar this morning and realized that Polly's stroke date, October 17th, came and went this year. It's been two years since she had a stroke and was diagnosed with Moyamoya disease and underwent two brain surgeries to combat Moyamoya's nasty artery thinning abilities.

 Polly after her first brain surgery for Moyamoya in December of '09

Last year, my body sensed the date coming. All that week I walked around the house with my shoulders pressed upwards towards my ears from stress. This year, instead, I've been thinking about querying agents for the book I wrote about Polly, and about Evie's birthday coming up, and about buying candy for the weekend and catching up on laundry.

I didn't think about the stroke day. Not once.

Moyamoya will always be a part of our lives. Another stroke could pop up at any time.

But I am so thankful that Polly is here, today, stroke free, probably raising cane right now in her mainstreamed kindergarten class.

I'm thankful for her health and that at least this year, October 17th was just another date on the calendar.

Polly this year on her first day of Kindergarten

Three Years

We moved to Chicago three years ago fourth of July weekend. This is a picture of the girls that year. Don't they look little?

I'm surprised to still be in the same place. At Thanksgiving I marveled at the crisp deep red leaves outside my window on the Japanese Elm. At Christmas we added more lights, stringing them around the door frames and on top of the bookshelf. I knew where everything should go; the stocking nails were still there from last year. And then the birthdays, Sergei, me, Zoya, Polly, all one after another shooting me out to Target every other week for presents or supplies like a little metal ball in a pin ball machine. The end of our string of birthdays welcomed spring and now here we are smack dab in the middle of summer.

Fourth of July.

Polly (with my help) waved around her first sparkler tonight.

Three years ago Sergei and I were here on our own. We spent the weekend scrubbing down the kitchen and bathroom with bleach in ninety degree weather while Elaina, Zoya and Polly played in Grandma's back yard in Michigan.

Tonight we visited with neighbors in the alley (city life) and watched dads light up smoke bombs and fireworks and sparklers. I met a new mom, Ana.

"How long have you lived here?" She asked.

"Three years."

Three years. It's been a heavy three years; difficult ministry at first, kids acclimating to new surroundings, adoption paperwork, seven weeks in Ukraine, Evie's continued adjustment, Polly's stroke, Moyamoya diagnosis, two brain surgeries.

And yet through it all we've made this house a home, again, as we always do whenever we move. As a family we've never lived anywhere longer than three years. Sergei and I have moved eight times in twelve years.

All things considered, God landed us in a pretty good spot.

And I think we may actually break our three year rule and stay here in Chicago a bit longer. Which sounds nice, and settled.

Just what I need.

Writing, reading, yoga and friends

So... maybe a few of you have noticed my absence here recently. Although you're probably not frequenting this blog as much if there aren't new posts. It's all quite cyclical, isn't it?

Someone on facebook asked me about the lack of new posts. Besides the fact that it feels good not to have to post about adoption paperwork and pending brain surgeries, the answer is quite startling (at least to me). I've actually been been busy doing things in real life. I know. Altogether surprising! It's been at least four years (coincidentally, Polly will be four years old next month)since I've been involved in structured, out of the house, non-mommy (but really, can one escape?) activities.

On Monday nights I go to a yoga class at Hamlin Park down the street from our house. I was afraid of what the class would be like, envisioning that $40 for three and a half months would land me in a cold gym with a 'yoga' instructor named Butch, in sweat pants that need to give just a tad more, barking out orders for everyone to find their downward dog.

Pleasantly, the class is taught by someone who seems to know how to teach yoga and we meet in a theatre room transformed with a padded surface, warm lighting and floor heaters. I usually get a place near a woman I've deemed 'the Darth Vader of yoga.' She breathes in and out so heartily, at first it was annoying. Then I realized she's actually relaxing, something I need to work on. Upon this discovery I've become her rebel soldier, learning from the master how to breathe deep.

On Thursday nights I go to to The Writer's Loft, a writer's workshop just minutes from my house. It's been wonderful to learn more about story craft. I always change my shirt right before leaving the house, insuring there won't be any left over dinner fed to the girls or spit up on my writer alter-ego. I try to act very non-motherish in class but it's a challenge. The first week there weren't enough chairs for everyone. It worried me greatly. I kept offering my place to a paper thin woman on the floor in front of me, practically threatening her at the break to PLEASE TAKE MY SEAT. This young woman did not come back the next week but it can't have anything to do with me, right?

Then last week someone left a credit card in the bathroom. That would not do. I went around the group asking whose card it was until I found the owner. I think now everyone there knows I'm a mom. If there is only one tea bag left during break I'll go without.

The class inspires me to make more of a priority to write. I'm working, once again, on Polly's project, a story (if I ever finish) about Polly's birth in Ukraine etc. I'm also playing with a short story (well, it's short for now but may morph into something else, I'm just the person holding the pen) about a middle-aged man grieving the loss of his marriage and family after his daughter dies. Happy stuff, I tell you.

And then there's the absence of television during Lent which allows plenty of time to read and hang out with family and friends. I am meeting a friend tomorrow and some more people on Thursday. Last night my friend Amy from church came over for a few hours. It's been very good for me. Very mind opening, I feel like I'm engaged more day to day. (and yes, I'll probably resume my television stupor on Easter right after the celebratory service).

Amazed

All four of my daughters are soundly sleeping in bed. The house is quiet, the hum of warm air pushing through old, cold pipes the only sound.

It soothes me.

I can't believe that Polly completed her second surgery this week. She came home today and after dinner was already 'shopping,' walking at the speed of a jog with plastic bracelets jingling on her wrists and a Blues Clues purse swung over her shoulder. Along the right side of her face from her ear up to her temple a sewn crimson incision is stitched with fine thread. The healing process already in full swing. Eventually it well match they faded scar on the other side of her head from the first surgery.

Two days ago my daughter was put into a deep sleep while a capable surgeon sawed through her skull. He found healthy arteries to replace those that had thinned and attached them to her brain to create new blood flow, stuff that will help her to think; to learn her ABCs and how to do math, as Sergei and I ate salads in the hospital cafeteria. The surgeon tonight, the guy with a firm handshake, the one I trusted to help my child reach out for her potential, in all likelihood is having a late dinner with a loved one or watching a mindless movie with a drink in his hand.

And Polly's smile is back. She became more and more herself at the hospital today, asking after her sisters and apologizing to the sweet nurse for crying when her IV was removed.

On October 18th Polina had three seizures and a stroke. On October 19th after a day of testing; an MRI and an MRA, an EEG, no food, no sleep, we learned that she was not only born with Down syndrome but also with Moyamoya disease. A syndrome that thins arteries in her head to the point of strokes; if untreated, a debilitating disease and scary as hell.

Today Polly is home. With God's help, a ton of prayer, baked Ziti from friends and play dates for the other children, the gift of modern medicine and a renown hospital ten minutes down the street, Polly not only weathered the storms of two brain surgeries and what they entailed but she treated it all as a mere vacation...a time to get away from every day life and catch up on back to back Caillou episodes, cuddles with Mama and Papa and all the apple juice and pizza she could stand.

Tonight as she sleeps I feel like my recovery is going to take longer. I have to process God's provision, his unbelievable care for his children, being in the right place at the right time for Polly's distinct needs to be met. And other, more subtle things like my own mother who gives up her life for weeks at a time to come and fold my underwear, love on her granddaughters and wash the kitchen floor on her hands and knees and my husband, who does every night shift at the hospital so I can have a good night's sleep in my own bed because he loves me. Friends calling just because they care and our girls, those amazing creatures who get upset about the wrong cereal bowl and pull each other's hair... girls who are being molded by these experiences, God-willing, into people who not only understand the gift from God in Jesus, but who actually believe it for themselves and not just to please their parents.

I'm not sure what people without faith in God do in times like this? I suppose they muster up energy and ability and focus all the good vibes and thoughts they have towards a positive outcome.

I myself am so unbelievably thankful that stuff like this isn't left up to chance or to my own strength.

My daughter is sleeping soundly in her bed at home tonight.

I am amazed.

We have lift off

I'm sitting in the surgery waiting room at Children's Memorial Hospital. Polly has been in surgery for a little over an hour and a half. The whole procedure should be about three hours. After we saw Polly off Sergei and I got some lunch in the cafeteria. I always stare at other seemingly parents and wonder what their kids are in for. I can't help it.

When you hand your child over for a major surgery (or any surgery, for that matter) it's like lifting off in an airplane. Things are completely out of your control and as a mother you've just got to breathe out a prayer and trust the pilot.

I did ask Polly's neurosurgeon this morning when he stopped in to see us if he had a good night's sleep.

Apparently he did.

Will update later.

Magic

In the midst of washing throw up off the living room walls, in between drop-off and pick-up at two schools and four different classrooms, in spite of brain surgery scheduling, canceling, rescheduling, figuring out how to apply for a social security card, Wii tennis matches, tears, prayers, and Monday night meatloaf, something else has been happening.

Evangeline is starting to get a spark in her eye.

I'm not going to lie. I had started to doubt.

But something new is budding in my relationship with our youngest daughter. Evie is initiating eye contact not only at home but also in her classroom. For over a week now she comes to me at least once a day for a long cuddle. She laughs when Sergei walks in the door and goes to him for a kiss.

Interestingly enough, due to living conditions outside my control and my inability to stay on task, our usual routine with Evie regarding her therapy (joint compressions, brushing, swinging, bouncing on a ball, etc...) has fallen by the wayside lately. The only thing I've had enough time or energy to do is love her.

I didn't want to write about it because it's new and so incredibly encouraging to this frumpy, frazzled and tired mother (who overheard her oldest daughter tell someone she was turning 45 in March instead of 35...ugh). But I know that I must share this, regardless if it will disappear next week and she goes back to rocking off to the side by herself all day. If I'm going to write about the struggles in our adoption process I must let you know about the joy too.

And recently in all this craziness known as my life, Evie's heartfelt smile at me is proof of redemption; that God is doing what he promised by taking two strangers and molding them into a mother and a daughter with all their delays and faults and failures and happiness; the actual instruments in the conversion.

Sometimes I get mad at Sergei because he doesn't have 'therapy play time' with the kids. In an effort to defend his honor (and to make an excuse for not paying attention to therapy goals) Sergei insists his focus is on 'love' therapy (i.e. sitting on the couch and doing nothing but hugging your kid).

I'm safe to admit it here because I know he doesn't read my blog regularly. Dang it, I think he's right.

I can swing Evie until the cows come home but what seems to be working the best is just being there.

And the real magic is she's there too...