So how is Peter?

The short answer is “good”, but of course that won't be much of a blog entry considering how long it's been since I've written.

Peter has been completely off supplemental oxygen for a couple of weeks. This allowed some doctor's appointments to be canceled. Yeah! We still have to hold onto the equipment for at least three months in case he gets a cold or something and needs the oxygen. It was all shoved into the closet the same day we found out he didn't need it anymore. The closet is the most spacious room we have in our flat anyways.

We did have a concern about Peter's eyes. Randomly, Peter's eyes began to jiggle vertically. This is called a nystagmus. We got an appointment with the ophthalmologist that did the surgery on Peter's eyes while he was in the neonatal unit. The ophthalmologist examined Peter's eyes and said that physically Peter's eyes were great, perhaps a little nearsighted, but fine. He referred us then to a neurologist who had Peter get an ultrasound of his brain. It looked like there might have been too much fluid in his brain that may have been caused by a blockage in the ventricales, fluid, of the brain. This can happen to a premature baby because some bleeding in the brain happens at a premature delivery. This blood can cause a blockage in the flow of the fluid in the brain. This type of blockage could have caused the nystagmus, but could also lead to worse things. They talked about the fact that Peter may need a shunt from his brain to his stomach to drain the fluid. After an MRI, which is much clearer than an ultrasound, it was discovered that there was no blockage and no unusual build up of fluid in the brain. His head will continue to be measured for unusual enlarging and we will continue to have check-ups with the neurologist. All this to say that they don't know what is causing the nystagmus, so they need to wait and see what happens. As of the writing of this blog, the nystagmus has become less frequent and we are very confident that it isn't effecting his vision substantially.

According to the check-ups Peter has had, everything from his heart to his growth is all very good. He is catching up to the size he should be and he has a great appetite to help. We have introduced him to baby food according to his birth age as we were instructed. Since developmentally he isn't as far as a normal baby is when eating the first time, like in sitting up and developing teeth, we are staying with smooth food for a little while. Developmentally he is progressing according the his gestational age (his due date age). He is a little ahead in the use of his hands and how much he babbles, but slightly slow in holding his head up. This is not unusually for even a term baby, but the doctor's are kind of holding Peter under a microscope looking for the first smallest sign of trouble.

Other than all the doctor's appointments, vitamins, and strange developmental timing, Peter is just a normal baby...sort of.

Linlithgow Palace

How conflicted must the man have been
Who, posted high atop Linlithgow's tower,
Would daily scan the placid, verdant glen
For any sight of opposition's power.

The loch below, on clear and sun-filled days
Would gleeful play with cooling gusts of air;
The multiplex, refracted rainbow rays
Were dancing, rapt in the Creator's care.

And even through a damp mid-Lothian mist
The guard would look about at gentle slopes
And wonder how the present world had missed
Its true and peaceful Avalonian hopes.

Instead, he knew the harshness of that state
That all around him called reality.
“For anger, lust, deceitfulness and hate
Is all there is or has been or will be.”

Perhaps the guard would dare imagine, with
A disbelieving grin, a time and place
When one could stand up here (it is but myth)
To merely wonder at Edenic grace.

Then shaking peaceful thoughts out of his head
He deems mere idle dreams, he looks again
Upon the far off hill; from there his dread
Will any moment come, his violent end.

Time Management

Having Peter at home is so much cooler than having him at the hospital. Obviously, Peter's presence 24/7 demands an immense (though not entirely unexpected) amount of time, but if all I had to worry about was Peter, who cares about the time commitment? And, let me give a tremendous shout out to Lara who spends more time with Peter than I do and still manages to be surprisingly productive, though she doesn't see it that way. The problem is not Peter, it's all these other things I'm supposed to be doing, most especially a little thing called a doctoral dissertation.

The way the PhD program at New College works is that your first year is technically probationary. After nine months or so in the program you go before a review board. For that review board, I have to submit an official dissertation proposal, a sample bibliography, and a sample chapter of around 7000 words. My review board is June 9. I knew back in February as I was looking ahead to the coming year that March would be very busy with Peter related things, and that we would have visitors in May, so I expected to have a busy April working on getting ready for the review board. Fortunately, I've managed to produce something that I am actually satisfied with. It's not really related to what I thought my dissertation would be about when I first got here, but it's good work, I think, and I've learned a lot doing it.

What's really surprising, despite the fact that every time I've tested it its proven true, is how the more I have to do the more I am able to do. This was always the case in undergrad, where my worst semester was the one where I did not take 19 or more credit hours. All the extra time strangely drained my general productivity. The same appears to be true now. Not only do we now have Peter at home AND I have a hard deadline in front of me, but I've also continued to be involved in soccer and church, joined the church's men's choir, started attending an OT reading group, worked on my increasingly glitchy desktop computer (AARGH for defective motherboards), read at least one novel a month, played a lot of Nintendo and Super Nintendo games on my computer (via emulator), and begun two new online MMORTS games to the two I was already playing regularly. All this AND I wrote a chapter that was too long (the unedited file for my 7,000 word chapter originally had around 20,000 words). I trying to figure out what I've been neglecting. Oh yeah. This blog. But I did post the two poems.

Ok, so I really want to tell everybody about this MMORTS game I'm playing called Lord of Ultima (MMORTS – Massively Multiplayer Online Real Time Strategy, for those not in the know; though it actually looks like some sort of Mars candy, maybe like chocolate-covered fruit-flavored M&M minis). It's a city/empire builder where the construction times and army march times take longer time than a standard single-player real-time strategy. There are no NPC (non-player character) cities. Every city on the map is (or was; many are abandoned) operated by a real live person who might very well live in an entirely different country. So when you raid a city, somebody on the other side of the world curses in a different language. I love cultural experiences!

The “Ultima” part of Lord of Ultima is familiar to those who have experience in RPG's (role-playing games) going back to the 80's. The Ultima series is classic, and the foundation for Ultima Online, the grandaddy of MMORPG's (Massively Multiplayer Online Role-Playing Game; this one just sounds like a Borg whose circuits got crossed: “Serstistance is fulty!”). Admittedly, Lord of Ultima's connection to the Ultima game series is thin, but it's still kind of cool to see some familiar monsters, dungeons, and place names. Plus, the graphics are among the coolest I've seen for MMORTS's (though it would be even better if the buildings changed as they leveled up, like in Kingdoms of Camelot).

So as you can see, I've been spending my time well. Seriously, in actuality, as I've filled up my schedule, my productivity has increased more than accordingly. I find that having a game or two (or three) to check periodically throughout the day helps my concentration when working and increases my research/writing stamina. This welcome paradox has been very fortuitous (or, should we say, providential?) recently, because I have not been able to dedicate five days of any week in the last three months to research because of either Peter's doctors appointments or computer troubles. Fortunately, the three to four days per week that I can dedicate have been doubly productive.

Instead of a haiku of the week, I will try to post a haiku or some other poem at the end of each blog post.


Squeaky noises mean
That Peter is sucking on
An empty bottle.

A Haiku by Kerry

A Haiku in the style of Robert Burns, dedicated to all true sons and daughters of Scotland

If ye cannae do

Wha e'er it is while it rains,

Ye are nae a Scot.

Peter's Tummy Ache

I know it hurts, I've been there, too,

the pain that swells inside of you.

But it will pass, I promise it,

It won't be long before you will forget.

I fear there's little I can do.

This hurts me worse than it does you.

My hugs and kisses cannot send

This cursed discomfort to a hasty end.

So I'll hold you tightly to my chest

And pour my love into each step

I'll kiss your fuzzy head and pray

That God will make your tummy ache go away.

Finally Home!

OK, so I haven't blogged in a while. The last six months have held some of the worse experiences of my life. The last two months have tested me in ways I never imagined, but in the end, I am so glad to have Peter that I would go through it all again if I had to.

Peter has done well though out his short four month life. Everything that was asked of him he did well from breathing to enduring tests and even an eye surgery. In the last month, as the time for him to come home drew nearer, the stress level seemed to grow exponentially. Things stopped being clear cut. It used to be that everything was measured and had a prescribed treatment, but then it turned into a free- for-all on opinions about how to raise a baby. One nurse would tell me I need to breastfeed because it would protect him and prevent illness. The very next day a nurse would say we need to give him formula because he isn't growing fast enough. One specialist would say don't ever give him a bottle because then he won't breastfeed and he really should breastfeed. Instead he should begin a tiny cup. Then a doctor would meet with me as though I was being difficult because giving him a bottle would help him get off the feeding tube faster. One nurse would write a feeding plan for when I should feed him then the next day I am told that I will over tire him by following that plan. I would call the hospital at night and be told Peter was settled and fine. The next I would be told that he was screaming and I need to try to spend more time at the hospital. Finally I was asked to stay at the hospital over night. I was excited because I thought that some consistency would occur. None did. Finally after weeks of staying at the hospital on and off and try every feeding method and technique under the sun, we were allowed to take Peter home.

Peter came home on March 13th. We have a machine in our apartment that pulls oxygen out of the air and sends it to Peter via a plastic tube that has prongs that stick in Peter's nose. We also have five oxygen tanks. One is a back-up to replace the machine if we were ever to loose power or if the machine broke. The other four are to use when we go out with Peter. They are about the size of a fire extinguisher and fit in a book bag. This constant leash attached to Peter it not as bad as the staff seemed to thing we would be worried that it was. The they were constantly trying to reassure us when we were just thrilled to get Peter home no matter what it involved. Peter seems to be more annoyed at the oxygen than we are. He constantly pulls the prongs out of his nose. The staff gave us various types of tape to try to hold it in place, but with Peter's determination the tape just served to pull his hair and get the prong stuck in odd positions. We have stopped using the tape and just adjust the tube to fit around his head snugly. We continue to place the prongs back into his nose the same zillion times a day we were doing before.

Peter also has an apnea monitor that we can use when ever we like. It has a probe that tapes to Peter's chest and alarms if Peter ever stops breathing. The nurses said we don't have to use it, but most moms use it all the time at first. I found it to be a horrible waste of machinery. First of all, to actually get the probe to stick to Peter you have to use a type of tape that peels Peter's skin if you try to remove it without drenching it in lotion first. Even though this industrial strength tape sticks to Peter wonderfully, it doesn't stick to the probe. Instead of giving us peace of mind, the dumb thing would get stuck to Peter's shirt, go off, and scare us to death at random times in the middle of the night. Eventually we just put the device away.

Other than those two devices, Peter has multivitamins and iron supplements he takes once a day. He is mostly breastfed with a bottle of prescription preemie formula once a day that has extra calories to help him grow faster. He also has about two doctor's appointments or check-ups each week.

Even with all this extra stuff, Peter is a pretty normal baby. He development is supposed to follow his gestational age (which would make him one week old developmentally), but in reality, he tends to fall somewhere in the middle of his birth age and his gestational age. Another words, he acts like a typical 2 month old baby. He cries, feeds, plays, and interacts with us completely normally. For this we are very grateful. It is so much fun to see him interact with the world and I love dressing him, bathing him, talking to him, and just holding him. The tiredness of feeding him multiple times a night is just physical. The tiredness that came from worrying about him has pretty much gone away.

Peter still has to be continually tested until he is off the oxygen. He will also have a hernia surgery in a month or so. He isn't quite normal and that has given him a unique personality. He is our little miracle and I look forward to everyday with him.

The Beginning of an Era

Peter comes home tomorrow. Lara and I are both agreed that this is going to make our lives immeasurably easier. We've been parents now for 3 1/2 months (longer, I realize, if you count from conception). Still, it feels momentous. From now on, "we" means three of us. I think Lara is more in that groove than I am: she has been at the hospital with Peter far more regularly than I have in the last two months. In the last two weeks, she's spent more nights at the hospital than at home. This much time alone has enabled me to consider our situation, and my dedication to this family, more closely. It's also enabled me to watch some movies Lara doesn't like.

In the last month (it's been a month since I posted last), I celebrated my 30th birthday. This seems like it should be more important. I mean, the 10's digit changed. That's big time. At numerically significant moments like this we humans have a sacred tradition of overreacting. When I turned 10, it was a big deal because I was a whole decade old. Turning 20 was more important to me than 21 because it meant I was no longer a teenager and I wasn't planning on going out and getting drunk. Often, people who have grown up with an unreasonably young concept of where "old" starts get depressed at 30, possibly because they can't think of any other reason it's important when it seems like it should be ("OH NO! I'm THIRTY. I'm soooo oooooold!" - at which point I would like to poke this person in the eye). I've never really felt like "old" started until somewhere around 60, and even then it wasn't "old" as in past the point of usefulness, but "old" as in some parts don't work the way they used to. For me, "old" has never been something to dread, it is simply something that is, and it's only necessarily something that is on the outside. I feel sorry for people who get old on the inside.

Even so, 30 felt significant to me, I think, because it sounds like the point at which full adulthood, along with the associated furrowed brow and weight gain, truly begins. But you know, I still can't really identify with that overly serious worldview that seems to be part of what most people mean by "grow up." If adulthood is anything other than 90% play, I can do without it. I like smiling, running and jumping, playing games, laughing, teasing, and making faces. I still chew bubble gum in order to blow bubbles. I still tend to like cartoons better than anything else. Ice cream is the nectar of the gods. Sure, I fall victim to worry, especially recently. The most tragic thing about worry is how it blinds me to the wonder of the moment. Recently in prayer, I have been frequently feeling the impulse to look around me in child-like wonder. Look! Realize that you're in Edinburgh! Look at the buildings, the roads, the walls and fields. Feel the crisp air and breathe it in! Listen to the sounds! Smell the ... hops (yeah, for those of you who come to visit, Edinburgh has a pretty distinct smell that comes from local breweries). Okay, don't smell the hops, but you're alive, in Scotland, with a wonderful church, getting your PhD, together with your wife, and you have a son who shouldn't have survived the first night! Worry and anxiety, which it sometimes feels is the demeanor expected by small-minded individuals who take themselves way too seriously, shut all that out.

The feeling of significance, of entry into adulthood, may also be exaggerated because this was my first birthday in which I am a parent (which sounds like it should be antonymous with invisible). But the immutably young part of me, the Toys R Us kid, sees that what I've gained with Peter is a new playmate, somebody who will eventually find all my gags fresh and funny (for a while, at least), somebody who will like puns and what I call time bomb jokes (the kind that I throw into a conversation not expecting anyone to get it until later; they're really more for my own amusement). So what is so inherently significant about 30? Absolutely nothing. As I've noted elsewhere, if our numbering system was not based on tens (but on, say, powers of 12, like the Sumerians, or powers of 16, as in hexadecimal numbering in computer engineering), this birthday wouldn't be even have the illusion of significance. What is significant is that here I am at 30, embarking on a totally new journey to a destination I cannot see and have never seen (dangerously overused metaphors acknowledged), and I could not be more optimistic about our lives only getting better and better. God is driving the current and I'm along for the ride. Tomorrow, truly, is the beginning of a new era.

Thursday Football

Thursdays have come to be one of my favorite days of the week. Perhaps interestingly, the reason has nothing to do with the University or Peter or Skype time with family overseas. Rather, my peculiar good will toward the penultimate day of the work-week derives from a source unconnected to anything causing my sojourn in Scotland or directly resulting from it. Thursdays are soccer days.

Come sing the glories of that sport,
That game divinely blessed,
Whose single rule is “hands no touch!”
(Or if so don't confess).

Come dance on pitches green and smooth,
With some lines painted, too,
On which one ball is passed and struck,
Past a keeper to put through.

Come score a goal with head or feet,
Or buttocks if you want'er
For there's no manlier sport than this:
Football (that is, soccer).

For the last five years I have had little to no contact with the game that has in no small way defined most of my life since I was five years old. This is because adult recreational soccer in East Texas is almost non-existent unless you want to play on Sundays in Tyler. Going to church in Longview kind of put the finishing touch on an already logistically difficult idea. I had vague hopes of renewing a regular involvement in soccer of some sort when we were planning on moving to Scotland, because I know that the sport has a much bigger role in society here. It's a rarity for a group of guys to get together over here to play basketball; baseball and american football are pretty much non-existent. But people here are fanatical about soccer and rugby, the first full match of the latter of which I had the pleasure to watch the night Scotland won an upset victory over international powerhouse Australia for the first time in a generation. Professional soccer, or football as they call it pretty much everywhere else in the world except the USA, has the sort of drama and larger-than-life personalities in the UK that one expects from the NBA or the NFL, the connection with national identity of MLB, and the fanatical fanbase of the NHL. I like it here.

The first Sunday we attended the church we ended up making our home, Buccleuch and Greyfriars Free Church of Scotland, I was quick to observe that they had a group of guys who played soccer on Thursday nights. I'm afraid I have to admit that this was a major factor in my decision to keep attending Buccleuch. Obviously, my attachment to the church is much deeper than that, but soccer on Thursday nights was a catalyst like a pretty face in beginning a deeper relationship. In other words, it was love at first sight.

The only way it could be better, in my opinion, is if it were a full 11 on 11 on an outdoor pitch for 90 minutes. Instead, we play 8 on 8 on an indoor 7 on 7 field for 60 minutes. Until recently, the shorter game length was critical for my survival. The first several games were positively embarrassing. I played okay, but my muscles quickly tired, I wasn't very quick to a contested balls, my cardiovascular conditioning was pathetic, and I even had trouble chipping the %*&$# ball. I knew I was in bad shape, because the last time I had even kicked a ball with my sister I had pulled a hip flexor, which is not fun to say the least. But I stuck with it, because despite my poor conditioning I felt like a part of me that had been missing was back. Part of my reason for getting involved in ballroom dancing was to find something physical to do to replace soccer. Unfortunately, all it ended up doing was creating a new favorite and irreplaceable physical hobby. Joy is starting to get expensive.

Beyond my expectations, my physical conditioning has returned in what appears to be full force. I don't know if I am as fast as I used to be, because the field is small enough that I haven't had a chance to get up to a full sprint yet. But my leg muscles appear to be close to as quick and strong as they used to be. My ball handling skills are returning (and with them the confidence that enables one to see the field creatively), sometimes surprisingly well. My left leg (the weak one) is at least as strong and accurate as it was in high school, maybe more, which is shocking. And best of all, last Thursday when the game ended I was stoked to realize that I felt good enough to go another hour, and that is not an exaggeration; it is an honest assessment of my leg and lung condition.

I honestly think that this opportunity to play soccer on a regular basis is an intentional and multi-faceted blessing from God. The physical exertion has been instrumental in helping me to be physically and emotionally in good health during what is in many ways the hardest time in my life. I feel and look better, and the stress relief helps me to think clearly, and thinking is a huge part of my job description right now.

Perhaps even more importantly, it helps Edinburgh feel like home, a feeling which, I've come to realize, is not actually tied to a particular place. Anyone who has moved somewhere and grown can tell you that even though you return physically to the place called “home”, it's never really the same. Those nostalgic memories instead become a set of ideals, a vague sense of safety and happiness which we call home, but which we seem unable on our own to recover. I know the sad reality of the saying that “you can never go home again.” But God is good. Sometimes when you leave “home” for his sake, true home finds you in the strangest places.

Justification by Faithlessness

One of the most significant contrasts with my previous experience that the city of Edinburgh has presented to me is the presence of beggars. Let me hasten to qualify what I mean. I am no stranger to the sight of men and women who stand on the street corner in the U.S. and hold up signs that say, “Need food, God bless”, or something like that, though I must say that I have never personally aided someone in that particular situation. I like many Christians have bought into the notion these people aren't really as desperate as they claim, that they are professionals who prey on the sympathies of good people, etc. I've only once picked up someone on the side of the road to help them because in the the back of my mind I hear the voice, panicked without experience, that says that hitchhikers have guns and are going to kill me and steal my car. It would probably do us middle-class, white Christians some good to be forced to hitchhike for a little bit.

Nevertheless, I have at times bought food or gasoline for, or even given money to, people who approached me on the street or in a parking lot and asked me for it. Lara and I helped a man buy a train ticket our first weekend here. We witnessed to him, prayed with him (he was in tears; no one's going to convince me that he was faking, either), and gave him most of the money he needed, which wasn't really that much. I honestly feel that helping people I don't know is an essential part of what it means, at least for me, to be a true follower of Christ. It doesn't matter if some or all of these people took advantage of me. It is my responsibility to be vulnerable, to not look out for number one, to let God be my vindicator. So I say, but my implementation of this principle has been very selective.

Up until now, however, I have justified this selectivity in two ways. First, I have tacitly believed that the Spirit of God would alert me when I came across someone who really needed my help, and this I still believe. I think we have to be sensitive to the possible direction of God that would counter our normal pattern of living. On the other hand, in situations where I did not help someone, my conscience was generally let off the hook before I turned around and helped someone because my mind works surprisingly quickly to fabricate a justification for acting out of fear. Or laziness. Traveling at 45 to 70 mph aids the justification process, because the more quickly out of sight, the more quickly out of mind, but being on foot in Edinburgh has put a face to the cultural phenomenon of begging.

That there were regular beggars who staked out particular places on the streets was something Lara and I noticed our first weekend in Edinburgh. The regularity of these people struck me as odd. I had not personally encountered someone sitting on the street with a cup, asking for change, apparently sleeping in sleeping bag in that very spot, even on the coldest of nights. My first reaction to it was to dismiss them. These were professionals, I said. There are too many government programs (another wretched justification for Christian inactivity in the U.S.; if conservatives are going to truly not be hypocrites, we cannot use government for stinginess at the same time we vote for the elimination of those programs which support our stinginess) for these people to really need to be begging. They were choosing to beg.

The first beggars were easy to forget because we didn't stay in that area for very long. But after we moved to Buccleuch Place, I have come to be able to recognize the local beggars by sight. There is one lady in particular, overweight, mildly hooked nose, looks to be somewhere between 35 and 45, who stakes out several places on Clerk Street. A particular man, slight of build with ordinary features is often located right next to the entrance to the Tesco we shop at. They are not aggressive, hardly even vocal unless you look at them. I've tried to appease my conscience by smiling at them and greeting them, but they always replied by asking for money. I stopped looking at them.

Not giving was also easier for me to justify at this stage in our lives because, frankly, we don't have an income. God has provided in miraculous ways, but I don't have a dependable income, and I feel a slight (perhaps manufactured) twinge of guilt at the idea of using gifts or loans to give money to beggars. I have not really been able to contribute to our local church except by contributing some time (and not much at that). We are in the process of fixing that problem.

But today, as I was walking to Tesco from the Elephant House, where I had purchased a latte for £1.62, and was thinking about playing soccer tonight (which involves a bus fare of £1.20 and £5 to help with renting the field), I was caught off guard when I saw the beggar at the entrance, not the usual fellow, but a girl, probably in her twenties. She could be pretty, but she looks beaten down and was not attractive. My heart went out to her. She didn't hardly look up as I whisked around the corner into the store. My decision was made at that point to give her some change when I left the store.

After a shopping trip where I bought everything I needed for several days' worth of lunches and breakfasts for less that £13 (and this was one of my more expensive shopping trips; grocery shopping over here is actually rather inexpensive compared to my experiences in the U.S.), I fished out a £2 coin and put it in the girl's cup as I left the store. She looked up, appearing to be mildly surprised and said, “thank you,” in such a way that I was certain she really meant it. I smiled back and left. It is customary for me to reflect on events like that and evaluate them afterward, trying to understand how they fit into a larger and more comprehensive approach to Christian ethics. I felt good. I felt like I had heard the voice of God and done something pleasing to Him, and I still think this is the case. But as I approached the crosswalk I would take to return to my flat, I spotted the overweight beggar woman with the hooked nose down the road just a bit at the bus stop Lara and I use to go to the hospital. It was then that I realized that the reason I had been open to helping the girl was because she was younger and prettier. That was it. I am disgusted with myself right now as I write this. I do not mean that I was sexually attracted to her. That was not at all a part of the situation. The only masculine motivation to my actions was general protection and aiding. But the fact that she was a young, prettyish female made it possible for her to break past the wall of faithless justifications I had built around the insignificant change in my pocket. I had judged her less likely to be a professional con artist and more worthy of my donation than the overweight woman simply based on the way the two women looked. I had been selectively vulnerable to the world around based on the meanest of foundations for judgementalism. I don't know what any of these people have been through. I don't know if they are mentally disabled, if they are forsaken by their families, if they are asking God for some sign of his love for them. I can't know what they've been through until I know each individual. How shallow have I been that I have profiled people on the street based upon what other middle-class, white Americans have said.

This creates a dilemma for me. I can no longer act and think the way I have till now. Something must change. Either I must live fully by the principle of vulnerability, which I believe to be the very heart of the gospel, or I must harden my heart against every beggar equally. I choose life. Will God hold it against me if the money I give people is used to buy alcohol? I can't possibly know that it will or will not be used that way, so where does my culpability end? I believe it ends when the money leaves my hand. You buy gasoline from companies who exploit third-world countries. The crude oil form of that gasoline is just as likely to have come from Saudi Arabia as anywhere else, and let's not fool ourselves by saying that there is not significant funding of terrorism going on with oil money. Does that mean that driving your car is immoral? No. This is the problem of corporate sin, a concept with which we in the West are not intuitively familiar, a problem which is dealt with by the cross of Christ. I believe in spending your money in a moral fashion, like supporting fair trade agriculture, but who else is being taken advantage of in the chain of commerce that links me to the fair trade coffee bean? God forgive me, for the evil my money supports, and for the evil in me which uses that as a justification for stinginess, for greed. No, I will not be deceived into thinking that I am culpable for the money I give in obedience to Christ being used for the perpetuation of sin. I choose to be willfully vulnerable in totality, not in part. Jesus deserves that much. I don't know, yet, what this will mean in its entirety, but I do know that now, whenever I go over to Clerk Street, there will be just a little insignificant change in my pocket. I can skip the latte.

Watching the Grass Grow

I haven't written in a while because while a tremendous amount has happened in the last month, it is difficult to organize those events or the feelings surrounding them into a short, coherent blog entry. Also, I just haven't felt the energy necessary to write one of these. It takes a surprising amount of energy for me to write one of these, because I really try to pour myself into it. The purpose of this blog to begin with was to chronicle our experiences & feelings and God's faithfulness so that it would be a lasting testimony and a future encouragement to others. Therefore, I feel it incumbent upon me to bare myself while writing. Don't worry - I always put my clothes back on afterwards.

I have a son.

It's a very short sentence, and it seems pretty straightforward in its meaning, but it's not really. Within those four words are packed an immense amount of emotion, history, and future. I don't even fully know what it means. At a very basic level, I know that there is a new human being who emerged a month and a half ago from Lara, and who shares with me 50% of his DNA. I know that my sense of well-being is now very much wrapped up in this new human being. I know that he is very small, but that his personality is very big. At times I am overwhelmed by emotion when I even think of him, and at other times I feel completely numb when I am sitting right next to him. I know who he is as well or better than anyone else in the world, except perhaps for Lara, but I don't feel I really know him, yet. He is like me, but he is also not like me. He will surprise me countless times in the future as he shows me how much is like me and unlike me.

I feel so attached to him, but it's difficult to feel the full depth of the emotion, because so far physical interaction with him has been very limited. More recently, we both have had the opportunity to hold him, and we can reach into the incubator pretty much whenever we want. We've been able to change his diapers and feed him regularly. Still, I can't wait until he doesn't need the incubator and CPAP anymore when we can hold him without a time limit. Then, I think, I'll start to feel like I can begin to express to him what he means to me. As it is, most of my affection is expressed through staring at him.

I have to be honest, though. I get bored watching Peter sleep for five hours. I love him more than anything, and I am thrilled everytime he moves or opens his eyes. Just last week I heard his first actual newborn “wah, wah, wah.” He was irritated that the nurse had put him on his stomach, which is where he has preferred to be up until he threw this particular fit. He settled down once he was on his back again. These little things are amazing and wonderful. But watching him sleep is boring.

So I bring a book and sit there next to him for a couple of hours reading. But then I think to myself, “Why am I here, if I am just reading and not looking at him?” I can read just as well, better even, somewhere else. Many days, when Lara and I come to the hospital together, I spend about an hour with Lara and Peter, then I go downstairs to the hospital restaurant where I can concentrate (which is where I am as I write this) and read or write or whatever I need to do to feel like I am going somewhere. I'm there until a little less than an hour before we go home. Then I head back up to the neo-natal unit, watch him for 45 minutes or so, then leave. I've started wondering why I come even on days like this.

But if I take too much time away from Peter, I begin to feel guilty, like I should feel like I'm missing something. I came in today after having taken two days to stay home and work on research to find Peter having clearly gained weight since Monday. I can't really say that I feel bad, though. I just feel like I should feel bad. I actually feel that I have begun to discover a balance in my time spent here at the hospital. Two to three times a week max is sufficient for me to feel like I'm getting stuff done and seeing Peter enough. I don't feel guilty about that at all, but I feel guilty for not feeling guilty. I think I would feel guilty otherwise.

I'm not really as conflicted as it sometimes sounds. I think our current existence, while difficult, is actually rather fun. I mean, when is life ever ideal? It hasn't ever been for me, except for scattered five minute spurts when I can focus on only the good and ignore the hard. I want to cherish this time for itself, because how many people get to experience the amazing joy and relief of having an extremely premature baby who survives and thrives? I love having unique experiences. They are what define my life as opposed to anyone else's. If that sounds existential, it's because it is. Who is Kerry Lee other than the choices he makes and the things he experiences? The only appropriate ideal against which to compare this is the hypothetical plan of God, but how do we know even that outside of experiencing life as it comes to us? We've been on an adventure with God for a long time. I don't want to start being a party pooper now, especially now that I have a new partner in crime.

The Neonatal Unit and More About Peter

I get most of my subject matter for these posts from questions that I receive. I also get the source of my questions for Peter's doctors from questions I receive. Since Peter has been born I have had cotton in my brain and have not been able to think of these things to ask myself. So continue asking me stuff, so that I can ask and feel more informed.

Well, the neonatal unit has become somewhat familiar to me in the past month. I have found that it has three areas: the intensive care area, the high dependency area, and the special care area. Peter has been in the intensive care area since he was born. This area has about ten beds split into two rooms. One nurse is assigned to each baby and only the very sick, very small, or very premature are in this area. Once Peter is almost or all the way off the CPAP and is needing little intervention, he will be moved to the high dependency area. This area has room for nine babies and one nurse is assigned to two babies. Finally, when Peter is pretty much only on the feeding tube or on nothing at all, he will be moved to the special care area. This area is like a typical hospital nursery with open cots and more freedom for the parents to handle their babies. Often babies go here for a little bit of light for jaundice, or minor care that can't be done at home or in the maternity ward. Most babies are kept with the parents in the maternity ward when born, so this area is a little more specialize than a typical nursery. Peter will be move here to be watched and get bigger before going home. Because he was so premature, he will have to be completely free of any assistance before he can go home. Other babies may go home while still needing a feeding tube or a little oxygen or a heating pad, but there are too many factors and risks to do that with Peter.

Since the last time I posted, Peter has continued to make progress. We were told by the doctors that they would wait a while before trying to take Peter off the ventilator again so that he could grow and get stronger. Peter had other ideas. On Christmas morning, as the doctors were making their rounds, Peter pulled on his ventilator tube and dislodged it. Instead of replacing the tube, the doctor decided to put Peter on the CPAP to see if he could stay on it for a few days. That was over twelve days ago and Peter is still on the CPAP. The CPAP is a little mask that goes over his nose and gives him oxygen. The ventilator was a tube that went down his throat and helped inflate his lungs while giving him oxygen. This is a huge step forward.

Also, at this time, Peter does not have any lines in him (like an IV or such). He still has an oxygen monitor strapped to his foot, a body temperature monitor that he lays on, and heart monitor stickers on his chest (which fall off pretty often when he wiggles, but he hasn't had any heart problems anyways). He also has the feeding tube still. He will continue to have the feeding tube until he reaches what would have been 34 weeks gestation because until that point he will not have the ability to suck, swallow, and breathe at the same time.

Peter's eyes have also opened finally and he is actively looking around even though he can't see much yet. At six weeks old, an eye doctor will come and look into his eyes to see if they are developing properly. In extremely premature babies there is the tendency to develop to many blood vessels in the back of the eyes which impair vision kind of like a cataract. They can fix this pretty well with laser surgery.

The main focus is for Peter to continue to gain weight and mature. This will help him to regulate his body temperature well enough to get out of the incubator and onto a heated cot. They had to switch Peter to half breast milk and half formula so that he could get enough calories to gain weight. As of this post, he is eating 7ml of milk/formula every hour and weighs 2 lb 7oz.

You may wonder what I do all day at the hospital. When I first get there, Peter's nurse updates me on how he did last night, what the doctor's plans are for him, and if there was an increase in his food or oxygen, etc. Then I will sit by his incubator and talk to him or just watch him or read until something comes up. Every hour, I get to feed him with a syringe on the end of his feeding tube. Once every six hours, more or less, his nappy/diaper is changed and I am allowed to do it when I am there. I can also rub his skin with coconut oil when it looks dry or give him a pacifier/dummy. Usually about twice while I am there I will go to the “humanlactor room” to express milk. I sometimes get to see various tests that they run on him or get to talk to his doctor. Many times I will get into a conversation with his nurse and find out more information, though sometimes the information alters slightly depending on the nurse. Recently Kerry and I have been able to hold him. If he continues to be stable on the CPAP, the opportunities to hold him should increase. Of course, I also take pictures any time some thing new happens.

So there you go folks. Feel free to post any questions because it gives me things to ask about.

Christmas and New Year

I thought I would take a short break from the Peter updates to talk about how Christmas and New Years differs in Scotland than in the US. Kerry and I were able to celebrate both holidays with friends who are from here and so we learned a few things.

Christmas day does not seem to be dominated by the gift giving frenzy so common in the US. Gifts are still a major element in Christmas here, but there is a lot of focus on the Christmas dinner as well. The Christmas dinner is traditionally a turkey centered feast much like our Thanksgiving dinner. Cranberry sauce has even been imported for this purpose. It seems, once asking around, that goose may have been traditional in years past, but the American turkey has become king. Along with this meal's varied sides , it is required traditionally to serve brussle sprouts, Christmas pudding (which is a fruit bread), Christmas cake (similar to fruit cake but with frosting), minced pies (which does not have meat, but a dessert pie with dried fruits), mulled wine, and chocolate truffles.

During the dinner, those around the table will open the “crackers” at the same time. These tootsie roll shaped little packages are held by two people sitting next to each other while crossing their arms and holding the package on the other side of them to make a circle around the table in which everyone's arms are crossed and each person has the end of two packages, one on each side of them. Everyone then pulls the packages apart at the same time. These packages make a pop sound as they open and reveal a small trinket, a joke, and a paper crown that everyone wears. Also on Christmas day, the Queen give a little speech on TV that most people watch.

That pretty much describes the differences. From Christmas trees to Christmas cards, the rest is very similar. I have have to say that the lack of materialism in the holiday here was refreshing. Decoration did not ooze from every corner and annoying blow up statues are not in the yards (wherever there was a yard), but the potential for that option was still present.

Oh, and unlike the US, Boxing Day (the day after Christmas) is a national holiday. That day is still celebrated much like American's by spending the day shopping.

Now New Years Eve and Day is a much bigger holiday in Scotland than in the US. In fact, the holidays are seen to be almost equal in importance. On New Years Eve in Edinburgh, a section of the city around Princes Street in closed off for a huge street party. Ticket paying partiers come from around the world and dare to cold for a night of fun (which I am not sure what all that includes). Then at midnight, the cannons from the castle shoots and fireworks are lit from five hills around the city for a spectacular show. Then people are supposed to go visit friends' and relatives' homes bearing a gift for the first house they enter. On New Years Day there is a another great dinner. Traditionally, this dinner is steak pie.

Well, that is a summary of the holidays as I saw them. My friends from the UK can feel free to post comments correcting any misunderstandings or omissions that may have occurred. I hope I did both countries justice. Happy holidays!

Peter and Family Update

In the last blog I explained all of Peter's equipment and the condition he was in. Since he is now 15 days old, I am going to give you an update on his condition.

Currently, he has less wires around him than he did before. They had taken both of the lines out of his umbilical cord so that the cord could fall off and he could get his belly button. They put a line into an artery in his arm for about a day and decided he didn't need it unless his was sick. To keep that working they would also have to run none nutritious liquid through it and it was another potential source for infection to enter his body. His heart has been good so he didn't need the blood pressure gage that was on it, so they just took that line out completely and didn't replace it.

He was weaned from his supplemental nutrition and is taking in exclusively breast milk. He is up to 4.5 ml per hour. They also give him a liquid multi-vitamin and vitamin D. When he gets to be 6 weeks old, he will get iron supplements as well. They were able to do this because he is successfully have normal dirty diapers. One nurse said “he is pooping for all of Scotland!” which seemed to be a strange saying, but at least it means he is doing good.

He was able to be off the ventilator for 3 hours and on a CPAP which just blows air up his nose. This was really good and they are hoping to try again next week.

He has stickers on his chest for a heart monitor and a temperature monitor strapped to his foot. He also has a light that measures his oxygen levels strapped to his arm and an IV in his other hand they give him antibiotics and blood transfusions when he needs them.

We have learned a lot about the human body such as hemoglobins are the red blood cell count (and the main reason Peter needs blood whenever he does). This count gets low when blood is taken for blood tests a lot. His body is a little slow in renewing this. This also effect his oxygen saturation which can cause them to have to turn up the amount of oxygen they give him in his ventilator. Everything effects everything!

Overall, he he is progressing and doing well. They have done a chest x-ray and a sonogram of his brain and both come out fine. He is just moving along little by little.

Kerry and I have been visiting him from noon to 5:30 p.m. everyday. Some kind people from our church has given us a ride, but if wee needed, there is a bus that goes directly there. The hospital is just under 2 miles away so that it is not too difficult to get to. The nurse there have also been very good. They answer our questions and keep us updated about Peter. We are also encouraged to call in to find out how he is doing is we feel concerned. The hospital is called the Royal Infirmary and they have one of the best Neonatal units in this area of the country.

Except when we are sick or if Kerry needs to go to college stuff, I imagine we will continue this routine. I expect that we will most likely visit on Christmas as well.

Kerry and I are doing well. It took me awhile to allow myself to recover from labor and delivery, but I am doing good now. We both get tired though emotionally from watching Peter and worrying about him. There is this hovering parental nature that seems to have taken over. We go through our day doing chores and getting tasks done, but our thoughts are with Peter. It makes for a strange torn life. We spend a lot of time with him, but somehow it feels like its not enough at the same time it feels like it is the majority of our day.

When we go home, I no longer feel like Kerry and I are enough. There is a huge facet of our family that is missing and I don't feel settle without Peter here at home. I also feel dazed trying to figure out what I need right now and what will we need when he comes home. The whole progression of events in our lives have been interrupted and turned upside down. Finally, everything we had expected to happen over the next few months has been re-evaluated and resorted out into a new progression for our lives.

Of course, in the end, it will all turn out just right.

Peter in the Hospital

There have been a lot of good questions about Peter that we have been asked that I felt need a longer forum than facebook to answer.

Peter was born at what we thought was 23 weeks. I had two sonogram to date the pregnancy at the very beginning because of my PCOS (poly cystic ovarian syndrome) because my cycle was very irregular. It is very unlikely that these scans at 6 and 7 weeks could be very off, but Peter was born looking two weeks older. This increased his chances of survival significantly. He was 1 lb 9 oz and about 13 inches long. He had to be resuscitated immediately after birth and place in the neonatal unit.

There Peter now has a ventilator which is a tube going down his throat that forces his lungs to breathe. This at minimal levels. He has a tube down his nose into his stomach that they use to feed him beast milk every hour with a syringes. He has an IV in his hand that they can use to give him blood transfusions or medication. He has a line into a vein in his umbilical cord that is also for blood transfusions or medication if needed. He also has a line into an artery in his umbilical card for taking blood samples so that they don't have to prick him all the time. From this is also a monitor for keeping an eye on his heart rate and blood pressure. He then has a monitor strapped to one feet for monitoring his temperature and a monitor on his other foot that checks his oxygen levels. These monitors on his feet are switched every six hours to keep them from bruising him. He is in an incubator that is kept very warm and has high humidity to keep his skin moist. This is also why they do not have clothes on him at this time. Our skin tends to be 12 cells thick, but his skin was only about one cell thick because he was so young. This means he could loose a lot of water through his skin if they are not careful. Also his skin is very delicate and so they treat him very carefully. He should develop normal skin thickness within a couple of weeks. At that time his skin color will not be so red and plastic looking.

All of this seems like a lot, but for Peter's gestational age, he is doing very well and is very stable. They are often testing his blood and checking everything possible because preemies are in high risk of infections and they want to catch any sign of it as early as possible. Even though he he is doing very well, he is not expected to go home until close to his original due date. This is because there is just a lot of growing he must do. For instance, they are having to tweak various things for him. One day they had to give him just a little bit of insulin, another day they put him under a light for jaundice. Sometimes they give him just a little bit of blood to help his hemoglobin levels which tend to go down with all the blood they take for test. These little adjustments will probably continue for a while.

They tried to take his ventilator out and put him on a CPAP (air blown into the nose) about two days after he was born but his brain would not tell him to breathe often enough. They put him back on the ventilator for a little while and intend to try again in a couple of days. This is OK because they needed to see how much they could push him and make him exercise his lungs. He maybe on and off the ventilator periodically until he his strong enough to stay off.

For food, he was first given a liquid through his umbilical cord that had amino acids and nutrients, but they are slowly weening him off of that and progressively giving him more breast milk. Breast milk is the easiest thing for his stomach to digest and it gives him a lot of help with his developing immunity system. He has been doing very well with this and is having plenty of wet diapers. They change his diaper once every six hours so they do not have to mess with his sensitive skin. They are just now waiting for him to have a bowel movement, but it may wait until he is taking in more milk.

I wanted to do research on the issues preemies deal with, but these issue vary greatly and can be discouraging as a statistic. Peter is doing very well and has been really blessed by God with very few of the problems that preemies can deal with. He is still very delicate and we are told to expect good and bad days. Even so, with prayer and patience, we feel that he will continue to do well. Thank you all for your love and concern. Please continue to pray for him. He is my strong little man, but he also has a long journey to travel.

Black Friday

Starting insanely early in the morning on this day, shoppers all over the United States were rushing with maniacal intensity to store-shelves stocked with merchandise on sale. In a no-holds-barred (unless you get caught) battle royal strangely reminiscent of UFC and WWF, housewives, soccer moms, and dads in search of discount electronics were shouldering and elbowing their way through all these other dopes (probably thinking how stupid these people are for getting up so early), making a path to the prize whatever. At times, this stampede has even proven dangerous for some poor employee. Consumers depend on it for their Christmas budget. Retailers depend on it for their annual sales. Somewhat melodramatically, we call this day Black Friday.

About the same time, a drama of a different sort was going on in the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary. Lara was nearing the end of the effective time of her last dose of diamorphine, and the pain was reaching a climax again as the contractions accelerated and intensified. It was way too early for our baby to be born, and Lara was heroically trying to hold on for another couple of days to give him as much of a chance at survival as she possibly could. The doctors needed to consult as to whether it was safe to give Lara more, but they eventually did, and the pain gradually became manageable again.

As an extremely interruptive side note, diamorphine, I've just learned, is also called heroin. Heh heh.

In the early afternoon, Dr. Stenson, who had consulted with us the night before, arrived and spoke with us again to answer any questions we might have since our last conversation had been necessarily brief. We learned a little more about the baby's chances for survival. The best estimate we had for his gestation was 23 weeks, close to the end of the second trimester. According to Dr. Stenson, the survival rate for babies born at 22 weeks was 0%. The survival rate for babies born at 24 weeks was near 50%. The 23rd week was critical. Everything that could be done to increase the baby's chances was being done. They had given the baby steroids (by injecting Lara) to help with his lungs, and another dose would be given at midnight if Lara held on. Dr. Stenson, however, was very pleased that the birth had held off as long as it had, since he had been expecting a delivery the night before.

At this point, our hopes went even higher. We had gone from hopeless to having some hope in a one-in-ten chance to now feeling like our baby had perhaps a 50/50 chance. Based on a 23 week gestation, Dr. Stenson expected the baby to be about 8 to 10 inches long and weigh about one pound (500 grams). The baby's lungs would not be very well developed at all and would need significant help to provide enough oxygen for the baby. Nevertheless, the baby's chances were steadily improving the longer Lara did not deliver.

Lara, meanwhile, was providing me with some comic relief, largely on account of the nitrous oxide she was sucking on rather regularly, and probably partially on account of the heroin, I mean diamorphine. It started with a stray reference to her flowers on farm town. In the context of talking about the pain, she said, “The roses are planted next to the lilies.” I, slightly confused and very amused, asked her to clarify. She frowned and said, “That didn't make much sense.” Then she mumbled something about how the pain looked like lilies to her. Ah. That explains things ... I think. These comments became increasingly frequent as, apparently, the nitrous oxide had a cumulative effect. She said something at one point about putting on a cape, and I thought, if she tries to fly I'm tackling her.

In the later evening, Lara was talking with her dad when she suddenly said, “Oh! My water just broke!” Then I heard the trickle which, honestly, sounded like a distant small waterfall one might encounter in the forest. At that point, we knew it was a matter of hours, not days, and the hope was to make it to midnight so that one more shot of steroids could be administered.

But delivery was not going to wait. As Lara became less and less coherent, the situation became more and more serious. What at first looked like what might have been a totally normal amount fresh red blood increased to a concerning point. We later learned that Lara lost a liter of blood during that time. About 9:00 pm, the new midwife Vivienne, who had just taken over for Emma, Lara's midwife for the last twelve hours, began to listen for the baby's heartbeat. It was difficult to find, and when she found something, it was dramatically slower than it had been just a few hours before. Vivienne's face looked grave, and I was thankful that Lara was not really mentally with us. Vivienne made the decision that we needed to go ahead and deliver the baby, and Lara needed to start intentionally pushing when the contractions came. At this point, communication with Lara was next to impossible because the contractions had been getting more intense, reaching a new level of pain, and only one in ten breaths she breathed was not from the nitrous-oxide-darth-vader-hair-dryer-gun thing. She kept telling us that the baby was coming down and she couldn't stop it. We would assure her this was okay and exactly what should be happening, but she didn't seem to hear us.

Around 9:15 the pain reached a new level and Lara began to weep. I tried to comfort her, but I felt monumentally irrelevant as all I could do was kiss her forehead and speak encouraging words. Suddenly, Vivienne said, “There's his head.” I looked and there was the top of a tiny head. Lara pushed as a contraction racked her abdomen, and out came his entire head. Just seconds later another contraction came and Lara pushed. Then emerged before my eyes a bluish skinned, impossibly tiny, perfectly formed baby boy, and the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

But he wasn't breathing, and I only saw a tiny bit of movement in his right arm. During the delivery a doctor and another midwife had entered the room, and the three medical pros rushed our baby, named Peter Kerry Lee whether he survived or not, into a nearby room to resuscitate him and stabilize his condition. Following Peter out of Lara's womb was a very large blood clot, lots of blood, and the placenta, apparently already detached. Vivienne was very serious: “I'm not sure what we can expect, dears.” What appeared to be his slow heartbeat, now that we knew the placenta had detached early, could have indicated that he was not getting oxygen for an unknown period of time, and his chances hadn't been that great to begin with.

For the next while of unknown duration we waited, intermittently praying and talking, nearly crying and feeling numb, jumping at every movement of our room door, seeking some indication on the face of the entrant as to whether Peter was okay or not. Finally, someone came in and told us that Peter was stabilized and they were wanting to bring him into our room so we could see him before they took him to neonatal to place him in the incubator that would be his womb-away-from-womb for next several weeks. The excitement of hearing this was only surpassed by the moment he was wheeled in on a table, wrapped up so completely that you could only see his beautiful face, being assisted in breathing by a hand pump operated by Dr. Stenson. I have no idea what the conversation was at that moment. My son was alive, stable, and doing well. Eventually he was taken away, and we were left alone for a moment. I sat in my chair next to Lara, who had long ago become completely coherent, grabbed her hand and, laying my head on her chest, wept uncontrollably.

The story afterward is probably known to most of you readers by now, and it primarily consists of normal post-birthing things. It turns out that he was bigger and more mature than we had expected. He weighed 700 grams (1 pound 9 ounces) and is about 13 inches long – more the size of a baby at 25 week gestation. Regardless of how old he actually is, God is responsible for his survival to this point. Who knows what is ahead, but we have this moment right now when I can see him alive and touch him and try to express somehow to him that he has a dad who loves him very much. For this moment at least I have a baby son.

So at 9:23 pm on the day after Thanksgiving, while it was mid-afternoon in retail stores across America when most of the crazy sales were over and the more relaxed shoppers were filtering in to see what they could scavenge, Peter Kerry Lee, the firstborn son of Kerry and Lara Lee, was born at the Royal Infirmary in Edinburgh, Scotland. For me, the meaning of Black Friday has been forever altered.

Pre-term labor

9:30 am November 27, 2009

Well, communication from me dropped off for a while, and my friend JDD can tell you that this is not surprising. After Lara's mom passed away, I had little trite or clever to say, and my time here has been spent in one of two pursuits: coming to a viable dissertation topic during the day, and finding a way to spend time with family online that a number of people could and would participate in. Neither has been simple. Perhaps someday I'll tell you about it, but as of right now I am sitting in a hospital deli while Lara is upstairs at the maternity and delivery section of the Royal Infirmary in Edinburgh, hoping that our baby will hold on for a few days or even hours more before being born.

On Thanksgiving, 26th of November, we were at the house of some friends from church having just finished eating a very fine supper. Lara had been uncomfortable all day, complaining of mild to medium lower abdominal pain. In fact, she had been feeling this sort of pain on and off for a few days, and I can even remember some days several weeks ago when she complained of the same sort of pain, but we thought (and probably correctly) that this pain was associated with stretching ligaments and perfectly normal. This night, however, the pain began to intensify and happen in increasingly frequent waves. After calling the NHS24 line (for medical advice) we decided to go the hospital, if for nothing else to get something for the pain.

After a brief (but thorough) overview of Lara in the emergency room, they whisked us up to another room where they began to inspect Lara specifically with regard to her pregnancy, including a quick ultrasound which revealed that the baby was head down. The baby was coming, and soon, at just over 23 weeks. Our initial response was shock and dismay. We knew that at 27 weeks a baby could have a decent chance at survival. All we could do, before and then, was to pray and call on the mercy of God.

We were then taken to a last room where we would be until after the baby was delivered. By this time the gas they had been giving Lara to reduce the pain was becoming increasingly unable to sufficiently deal with the pain at its worst. Some morphine fixed that problem right up. Both of us were still trying to process the information, varying between numbness and grief. But then a consultant from pediatrics came and spoke with us. He told us that 23 weeks is about as early as a baby can be delivered and have a chance at survival – a one-in-ten chance. Suddenly, “one-in-ten” became a life-preserver, something to latch onto and hope in. Even if the baby survives, he said, there would still be a strong possibility of some sort of mental or physical handicap. The point of this was that a decision needed to be made: given the likelihood of a lower quality of life, when the baby was born did we want them to do everything they could to help the baby to survive or not?

It's certainly much easier to glibly declare one's ideology when not actually faced with such a decision. In that moment I saw a future where Lara and I may have a child that is never fully independent, that may not live a full adult life, and I selfishly asked if I really wanted that. But I also asked myself if it was more selfish to bring a baby into the world and against nature help it to live a life that may be far from normal. Nevertheless, I am convinced this baby is from God, and it's my duty to, in another sense, help this baby, against nature, live a life far from normal. Lara was far ahead of me in this line of thought, answering politely but adamantly that we were aware of the possibilities, but we were committed to giving the baby every opportunity for life, and I agreed. Lara and I have discussed the possibility of a handicapped child and how we would parent such a child.

After that, it's been all about waiting. I tried to sleep in the chair, but that was definitely not happening, so I used my jacket to make a pillow and lay down on the floor, which was surprisingly comfortable at 4:30 in the morning. I must have slept pretty soundly for a little while, because the next thing I knew there were two people bringing in a pad for me to sleep on. Apparently, the midwife in charge of Lara had come in and seen my feet sticking out past the bed. After moving to the pad, I slipped into a coma.

This morning has been much the same as last night. As the time for the next shot of morphine approaches, the pain crescendos, falling back again after the shot. Lara sucks on her nitrous-oxide bestowing pacifier shaped like a hair blow-dryer and making sounds like Darth Vader. That combined with the morphine have provided for some rather silly moments, like when she tried to blow into the pacifier instead of breathing in from it, and then croaked a scary sounding guffaw when she realized what she was doing. An encouraging development has come this morning in that with the last shot of morphine the contractions basically stopped, and the baby was higher in the womb than it was last night when they searched for the heart beat. I'm not going to get my hopes up too much, though. No really.

I woke up woozy and slightly nauseous, but I wasn't really disoriented until I came down the elevator this morning only to discover that for some reason the ground floor looks completely different today than it did last night. I know there was a corridor here, but now there are three other corridors in different places leading in directions that make no sense. I was expecting to see David Bowie walking on the wall or something (hint: Labyrinth). And this brings us back to the hospital deli. I'm looking around thinking about the different things that bring people to hospital delies, and wishing I didn't have two recent and very personal insights into that query.

Guy Fawkes Day

“Remember, remember the fourth of November!” This rhyme was quoted by the those around us who celebrated the strange holiday of Guy Fawkes Day or Bond Fire Day. This uniquely British holiday celebrates this catholic dude who tried to blow up the protestant parliament and King James I (aka the initiator of the King James Bible). Guy Fawkes was unsuccessful and put to death. King James then proclaimed that this day should be remembered for the preservation of the King's life. Unfortunately, very few even realize that it has to do with the monarchy and only remember Guy Fawkes.

Kerry and I did not realize there was a holiday since our church was going to go play football (soccer in the US) like always and all the stores were open. We found out when Kerry received an invitation the watch a fireworks show at a nearby park. Since we already had confirmed the football arrangements, we declined, but we still were able to see some fireworks during our bus ride to the indoor sports complex.

From all that I can gather, not very much is done on this holiday since nothing else indicated their was a holiday. Perhaps it is like our Presidents Day in the fact that kids at school do things and the government sometimes does things, but most families go on with normal life. When I did a search about the holiday online, I found traditions that included burning a mannequin or kids standing by a mannequin that they made begging for “a penny for the Guy”. We saw none of these things.

It actually was very similar to the way Halloween was celebrated here. Supposedly the UK celebrated Halloween the same way we do in the states, but we saw absolutely no trick-or-treaters even though there are families in the flats around us. In fact, I could not find any candy in the stores to buy for trick-or-treaters until after the holiday was over. I did see costumes sold, but those, it turns out, are sold all year around for dress-up parties.

Looking back, I do remember fireworks being on sale at a few store before Guy Fawkes Day, but not enough to make me wonder. Of course, that could be because of living in Texas we have a fireworks stand everywhere year around.

All I can say is that I hope Edinburgh is not so dormant when Christmas comes around.

A Guide to Kerry and Lara's Baby Registry

It turns out that both baby showers and baby registries are American inventions. Luckily ToysRUs is located everywhere. So here is a guide and explanation to this registry.

Since we live in the UK, we registered on the UK version of the site. You may not find our registry if you just type in Google “ToysRUS”. You must go to “www.toysrus.co.uk” to find it. Then you will have to type in my email address to find the specific list. If you don't have my email address, you can email Kerry and he will send it to you. We registered in the UK so that shipping costs would be minimal and the confusion factor on the company's part would make the purchasing part simpler, hopefully. Either way double check the shipping costs because it may be better to buy things like baby clothes in the US and mail it that pay the shipping. You may also want to combine your order with others so you are only paying one shipping fee.

This now has caused a few more questions. Terms for some products are different. A cot is a crib, a nappy is a diaper, and so on. You will just have to click on the item and read the description. It is pretty clear in the description if it isn't from the picture itself. Also you may want to search the site and see things like a tens machine that is supposed to relieve pain in child labor or some of the other UK differences. It is kind of interesting. If there is anything you think we missed on our list, we can add it with little trouble.

There will be a few things that are noticeably missing from the list on purpose. This includes some furniture and a car seat. The reason for this is that we are living in a tiny furnished apartment. The second bedroom already has a dresser and a wardrobe (in place of a closet). We also don't have room to have a crib and then a bassinet or moses basket stand since we must keep the bunk beds that are in there. There is also nowhere to place a rocking chair no matter how much I would like one. If I could figure out where to put it, I will certainly add it to the list. We don't own a car and the buses don't have a place to put a car seat. We have observed many parents just holding their babies in their laps for the short trip. I would rather used a baby carrier (thanks Susan) than just hold the baby, but either way, there is no use for a car seat until we are in the US. The stroller is not for an infant because the bulky infant strollers would be harder to deal with on the crowed streets and up and down our stairs than just a carrier. When the baby is too heavy for the carrier, I will use the lighter stroller for longer trips. I also did not list blankets, because I received a great deal of blankets to put in my luggage when we flew here. They are wonderful and traveled well, but I will not need anymore. The top drawer of the dresser is already filled with them. I am certain I will use them a lot.

So why did I have the things that I do? In the UK, using cloth diapers is not as unusual as in the US. With us having a washer/dryer in our flat, it makes sense to try and save money if we can. Diapers are probably one of the biggest cost I have heard associated with having a baby. Also breast feeding is more common here as well. I have done my research and I do already have a few bottles in case, but I am certain I will breastfeed the baby. I also would have liked to vary the sizes of clothing I had listed, but I still do not know the gender of the baby so I stayed with under 6 months and mostly under 3 months. I included a baby tub because our kitchen sink is too small to work for a bath as many people had suggested. Even though most of you may not need some of these explanations, I just wanted to let you know my thoughts so that if you see something I had not thought of, you will let me know. I have done a lot of research, but I do not have a lot of experience. Some of you have suggested small things I had not thought of or read anywhere. Sometimes those little things make a big difference in saving ones sanity.

So that is our baby registry guide. If you have any problems with it from purchasing to delivery or even just some of the items, let me know. The prices may seem a little high, but it is pretty average to low compared to other stores around here. If you want to purchase the same item from ebay, I suggest looking at only those who will ship to the UK. Often they can ship it to me cheaper than you can from the US. I am not particular about brand names either though I wish I could have found more Winnie the Pooh or teddy bear stuff. Also, if you do buy something somewhere else, do let us know so we can take it off of the registry. I know that ruins the surprise, but it may save us the risk of having to return a duplicate object which would be a bit of a bus trip. Well, thanks to everyone and I hope the registry helps make things easier for you. It was fun to create and research!

Domestic Bliss

I thought I would lump together some of the observations I had of domestic life in Scotland. Since everyone speaks English and there are so many American fast food places, one could sit in Starbucks and forget you are in a different country completely. The main places to experience culture shock is in the grocery store. How can “real American hot dogs” come in a pickle jar? How in the world do they call it Mexican food or even label something spicy when I can hardly taste any black pepper let alone a chill pepper? These are a few of the surprises.

The main difference I noticed in grocery shopping is that I have to plan on carrying everything home. This limits most everyone to a hand held basket instead of our American sea of buggies or carts. This is also convenient since the isles and the store in general are quite small. This then gets to my next point. The choices of products are very limited. I do not mean that you do not have a choice of brand which is similar to the US, but that if you want pineapple it better be in season. Your choice of meat or produce will change regularly and if you are wanting to make a particular recipe, then it ought to have a limited ingredient list that is not to specialized. In general they have everything you may need if your cooking from scratch, but things like Ranch dressing and slightly unusual spices like lemon pepper seem completely gone. Some items are the same as in the US but just named differently, such as dish soap is called washing up liquid. Somethings are in one grocery store and not in another, such certain brands of potato chips (which they call crisps).

I also experience this sort of variance in shopping for home do-dads. For instance, many store have shelves of kitchen gadgets, but only one had ice trays. The department store where I was told were reasonably price were over ten times as much as the dollar store style stores. There is variance in the US, but not that much! To prove my point, Jenners, a large department store, sold duvet covers (pillow cases for the comforters) for 80 pounds while the Pound Stretcher sold duvet covers for 8 pounds.

Now why do I need a duvet cover? Here in Scotland, they don't use top sheets. You make a bed with a fitted sheet, a duvet or comforter, and a duvet cover. Nothing is tucked in or folded. It does shorted the time to make the bed to just straighting the duvet. I really like it.

While we are talking about the home, I should mention that there is a switch on everything! Every outlet has a switch and even the outlets for major appliances. I cannot say how many times I put something on the stove to find out ten minutes later I had never turned on the switch to power it. I also made the mistake of turning off the switch to the refrigerator and ended up with a puddle around it. Luckily, we had not bought much groceries yet. This switch fetish apparently derives from the super high electric bills. I have not received ours yet, but people are obsessed here about saving power. Many homes do not even have a dryer. People just hang their cloth in front of the heater.

We are still trying to figure out our heaters. There is an electric space heater in every room and no central thermostat. Kerry had I have to figure out which of the three awkwardly labeled knobs, a switch, a timer, and and two outlet switches to adjust the temperature. We then have to decide which of the heaters to actually adjust to begin with.

So back to cooking, the stove has two compartment where we usually just have a oven in the US. One is the oven and one is a grill. The tiny stove has done well so far, when I turn it on and when I remember it is labeled in Celsius. Luckily, we have not had any fire alarms go off. That would be too embarrassing.

Of course somehow this leads me to my recent observations about Christmas. Many stores have just put out their Christmas things, but so far the Christmas sections are quite small. They also have these things called crackers which are little wrapped gifts in the shape of tootsie rolls. Two people are supposed to pull each side and it give a little pop. Inside is a small gift and a paper crown. The one who got the largest side wins the gift and the crown in some people's versions and some people just give the gifts to everyone to pop open. These crackers are about as popular as Christmas cards.

Well, these are my observations for now, but I am sure there will be a continuation. So until next time, as they say here, cheers!

Reflection

I want to thank you all for your well wishes and sympathy during this time. I flew back to Dallas Friday, October 9, to be with my father, grandmother, and brother. Then on Wednesday, we flew to Florida with my mom's ashes for the funeral. Friday, October 16, was the funeral. My brother, Joe, being a youth pastor, conducted the funeral and I, my grandmother, and my cousin, Andy, also spoke some words. The service was a celebration of my mom's legacy and devotion to Jesus. Afterwards, everyone met at Olive Garden to eat, talk, and visit. For a funeral, it was as pleasant as can be. My mom's faith left us the certainty and comfort of knowing we would see her again soon. Again, I want to thank everyone for your encouragement during this emotional and difficult time.

A positive side of effect of this sad affair was that I was able to see family I had not seen in two years and able to talk about the coming baby. This was a special thing for Kerry and me. I have not had such nice family time in a long while. Of course, that is my fault because I am the one moving all over the place, but I can't say I would change a thing. Either way, I felt happy to reconnect with some of the most important people of my life.

During this century long week, I also have been able to spend time looking back to see if I have any regrets. My goal in life is to live with no regrets and at the end of my life to be able to look back and be content with all that I have done. During this time of reflection, I have decided that I would rather risk everything and fail than never reach for my dreams at all. I have no regrets. I wish some parts had been easier but I am content with everything I have done so far. My life is dedicated to Jesus and that gives me a bigger focus than how many cars we own (which is zero) or how many things we possess (which is surprisingly little). I see faith, friends, family, dreams, and experiences as the only earthly things that last. That is our legacy, and being cautious in the pursuit of thee things is the only way to guarantee that you will not succeed in these areas. In comparing my goals with the accomplishments of my mom that I admire, I see that one cannot pursue a faithful relationship with God or even human friends and family with reserve. I will need to work on that more.

In light of these thoughts, I am eager to go back to Scotland to finally get settled in our new home. Home is the center of one's world in which you are able to reach out to others. Without a satisfactory home situation, it is hard to pursue any other goal. Kerry went and got our shipment of things before joining me in the US. Most of our things other than the books, are sitting waiting to be placed in the spots I had envisioned when packing them. Things that turn a place into a home such as pictures, tablecloths, doilies, and art are so important because of the memories and comfort they bring. They are the physical reminders of the relationships and experiences that make a life feel full and complete.

In looking forward to this nesting instinct, I have struggled with wanting to take everything that I feel I might need with me. A lot of household things seem to me to be unreasonably expensive in the UK. these things are simple, dumb things like hangers, rugs, towels, washrags, and even kitchen utensils. I also feel the need to take comfort objects, objects that are really best classified in the junk group. I just feel a little insecure and want an identifiable teddy bear type object that makes one feel safe in the world at the moment, but I can't figure out what that object might be. Perhaps I am wanting things to replace some lacking in relationship time I feel at the moment. It doesn't matter, the practical side of my nature will keep it in check.

Finally, I have spent more time this week thinking about Baby Lee than I have at any time in my pregnancy. I have thought about what Baby Lee should call various family members. I have thought about how my mom raised me, and how we should raise our baby. I have really just noticed the baby;s movements and started to think about Baby Lee's potential personality. I have also wondered what more I am really going to need in the UK for a baby. It appears that until we fly to the US, we may not need the car seat. I may want to adapt to some the UK child rearing sensibilities as I learn of them. The whole world of the newborn baby seem more foreign now than it did just months ago when I thought I would depend on my mom for advice. Kerry's mom will be a good source and I respect her mothering abilities very much, but my foundation has been shaken. I wonder also how this baby will see the world being born in such a different circumstance than most people. This baby will in its blood and earliest experiences be a citizen of the world. What I mean is that this child will learn about so many different ways to live at such an early age. Baby Lee will be exposed to the UK mannerisms in terminology, while at the same time hearing and experiencing American culture and being exposed to the Cuban way of life. This child will, like me, not truly belong to one cultural group, but be versed in overcoming cultural idiosyncrasies and navigating various forms of social interactions. Hopefully, Baby Lee will inherit Kerry's natural charisma and friendliness and less of my awkwardness. Above all, I want to focus on giving our child a biblical education. Baby Lee will not merely go to church to learn how to live a godly life, but will get focused family time in which we really teach the importance of prayer, study, and relationship with Jesus.

I suppose that all of this has been my week of reflection and I think that my time in Scotland will be forever effected by it. I spent very little of my time in Dallas and Orlando actually going places, but emotionally, mentally, and in every other way it was a very busy week.