I stumbled onto this writing online the other day. I couldn’t help but cried. The inevitable question I want to ask myself, but don’t know how to answer, is:
“Would you be brave enough to do what she did?”
My wife and I jokingly talked about adopting a child back in China when we were trying to get her pregnant. Yet, it would have been impossible for us to go through the emotional roller coaster this writer had been through.
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Modern Love
My First Lesson in Motherhood
By ELIZABETH FITZSIMONS
Published: May 13, 2007
I SAW the scar the first time I changed Natalie’s diaper, just an hour after the orphanage director handed her to me in a hotel banquet room in Nanchang, a provincial capital in southeastern China.
Despite the high heat and humidity, her caretakers had dressed her in two layers, and when I peeled back her sweaty clothes I found the worst diaper rash I’d ever seen, and a two-inch scar at the base of her spine cutting through the red bumps and peeling skin.
The next day, when the Chinese government would complete the adoption, also was Natalie’s first birthday. We had a party for her that night, attended by families we’d met and representatives of the adoption agency, and Natalie licked cake frosting from my finger. But we worried about a rattle in her chest, and there was the scar, so afterward my husband, Matt, asked our adoption agency to send the doctor.
We had other concerns, too. Natalie was thin and pale and couldn’t sit up or hold a bottle. She had only two teeth, barely any hair and wouldn’t smile. But I had anticipated such things. My sister and two brothers were adopted from Nicaragua, the boys as infants, and when they came home they were smelly, scabies-covered diarrhea machines who could barely hold their heads up. Yet those problems soon disappeared.
I believed Natalie would be fine, too. There was clearly a light on behind those big dark eyes. She rested her head against my chest in the baby carrier and would stare up at my face, her lips parting as she leaned back, as if she knew she was now safe.
She would be our first child. We had set our hearts on adopting a baby girl from China years before, when I was reporting a newspaper story about a local mayor’s return home with her new Chinese daughter. Adopting would come later, we thought. After I became pregnant.
But I didn’t become pregnant. And after two years of trying, I was tired of feeling hopeless, of trudging down this path not knowing how it would end. I did know, however, how adopting would end: with a baby.
So we’d go to China first and then try to have a biological child. We embarked on a process, lasting months, of preparing our application and opening our life to scrutiny until one day we had a picture of our daughter on our refrigerator. Fourteen months after deciding to adopt, we were in China.
And now we were in a hotel room with a Chinese doctor, an older man who spoke broken English. After listening to Natalie’s chest, he said she had bronchitis. Then he turned her over and looked at her scar.
Frowning, he asked for a cotton swab and soap. He coated an end in soap and probed her sphincter, which he then said was “loose.” He suspected she’d had a tumor removed and wondered aloud if she had spina bifida before finally saying that she would need to be seen at the hospital.
TWO taxis took us all there, and as we waited to hear news, I tried to think positive thoughts: of the room we had painted for Natalie in light yellow and the crib with Winnie the Pooh sheets. But my mind shifted when I saw one of the women from the agency in a heated exchange in Chinese with the doctors, then with someone on her cellphone. We pleaded with her for information.
“It’s not good,” she said.
A CT scan confirmed that there had been a tumor that someone, somewhere, had removed. It had been a sloppy job; nerves were damaged, and as Natalie grew her condition would worsen, eventually leaving her paralyzed from the waist down. Control over her bladder and bowels would go, too; this had already begun, as indicated by her loose sphincter. Yes, she had a form of spina bifida, as well as a cyst on her spine.
I looked at my husband in shock, waiting for him to tell me that I had misunderstood everything. But he only shook his head.
I held on to him and cried into his chest, angry that creating a family seemed so impossible for us, and that life had already been so difficult for Natalie.
Back at the hotel, we hounded the women from the agency: Why wasn’t this in her medical report? How could a scar that size not be noticed? It was two inches long, for God’s sake.
They shook their heads. Shrugged. Apologized.
And then they offered a way to make it better.
在纽约时报网站看见的。老外就是视角独特。对，还很执着，不拍到猛料不干休。
看完了，又开始想念祖国了。浪教乔治，这是你们要海归的理由吗？
这个知道是谁吗？
(From the Wall Street Journal by JEFF ZASLOW)
September 20, 2007; Page D1
Randy Pausch, a Carnegie Mellon University computer-science professor, was about to give a lecture Tuesday afternoon, but before he said a word, he received a standing ovation from 400 students and colleagues.
He motioned to them to sit down. “Make me earn it,” he said.
What wisdom would we impart to the world if we knew it was our last chance? For Carnegie Mellon professor Randy Pausch, the question isn’t rhetorical — he’s dying of cancer. Jeff Zaslow narrates a video on Prof. Pausch’s final lecture.
They had come to see him give what was billed as his “last lecture.” This is a common title for talks on college campuses today. Schools such as Stanford and the University of Alabama have mounted “Last Lecture Series,” in which top professors are asked to think deeply about what matters to them and to give hypothetical final talks. For the audience, the question to be mulled is this: What wisdom would we impart to the world if we knew it was our last chance?
It can be an intriguing hour, watching healthy professors consider their demise and ruminate over subjects dear to them. At the University of Northern Iowa, instructor Penny O’Connor recently titled her lecture “Get Over Yourself.” At Cornell, Ellis Hanson, who teaches a course titled “Desire,” spoke about sex and technology.
At Carnegie Mellon, however, Dr. Pausch’s speech was more than just an academic exercise. The 46-year-old father of three has pancreatic cancer and expects to live for just a few months. His lecture, using images on a giant screen, turned out to be a rollicking and riveting journey through the lessons of his life.
He began by showing his CT scans, revealing 10 tumors on his liver. But after that, he talked about living. If anyone expected him to be morose, he said, “I’m sorry to disappoint you.” He then dropped to the floor and did one-handed pushups.
[photo]
Randy Pausch and his three children, ages 5, 2 and 1.
Clicking through photos of himself as a boy, he talked about his childhood dreams: to win giant stuffed animals at carnivals, to walk in zero gravity, to design Disney rides, to write a World Book entry. By adulthood, he had achieved each goal. As proof, he had students carry out all the huge stuffed animals he’d won in his life, which he gave to audience members. After all, he doesn’t need them anymore.
He paid tribute to his techie background. “I’ve experienced a deathbed conversion,” he said, smiling. “I just bought a Macintosh.” Flashing his rejection letters on the screen, he talked about setbacks in his career, repeating: “Brick walls are there for a reason. They let us prove how badly we want things.” He encouraged us to be patient with others. “Wait long enough, and people will surprise and impress you.” After showing photos of his childhood bedroom, decorated with mathematical notations he’d drawn on the walls, he said: “If your kids want to paint their bedrooms, as a favor to me, let ‘em do it.”
While displaying photos of his bosses and students over the years, he said that helping others fulfill their dreams is even more fun than achieving your own. He talked of requiring his students to create videogames without sex and violence. “You’d be surprised how many 19-year-old boys run out of ideas when you take those possibilities away,” he said, but they all rose to the challenge.
He also saluted his parents, who let him make his childhood bedroom his domain, even if his wall etchings hurt the home’s resale value. He knew his mom was proud of him when he got his Ph.D, he said, despite how she’d introduce him: “This is my son. He’s a doctor, but not the kind who helps people.”
He then spoke about his legacy. Considered one of the nation’s foremost teachers of videogame and virtual-reality technology, he helped develop “Alice,” a Carnegie Mellon software project that allows people to easily create 3-D animations. It had one million downloads in the past year, and usage is expected to soar.
“Like Moses, I get to see the Promised Land, but I don’t get to step foot in it,” Dr. Pausch said. “That’s OK. I will live on in Alice.”
Many people have given last speeches without realizing it. The day before he was killed, Martin Luther King Jr. spoke prophetically: “Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place.” He talked of how he had seen the Promised Land, even though “I may not get there with you.”
Dr. Pausch’s lecture, in the same way, became a call to his colleagues and students to go on without him and do great things. But he was also addressing those closer to his heart.
Near the end of his talk, he had a cake brought out for his wife, whose birthday was the day before. As she cried and they embraced on stage, the audience sang “Happy Birthday,” many wiping away their own tears.
Dr. Pausch’s speech was taped so his children, ages 5, 2 and 1, can watch it when they’re older. His last words in his last lecture were simple: “This was for my kids.” Then those of us in the audience rose for one last standing ovation.
我家小宝睡觉问题终于解决了。
看了书，原来是孩子睡觉是有规律的，大约三个小时一个周期，即使夜里也是。到了一个周期尾， 他就很容易醒来。在夜里，醒来以后不用每次都喂，拍拍他，或者给他一个毯子让他可以安抚自己，进入下一个睡眠周期，就可以了。我们已经试了一个星期了，现在宝宝可以从晚上11：30最后一次喂睡到早上7点。中间如果醒过来我们开始去帮他再睡过去，现在都不用了。他吭哧一会儿，自己就睡过去了。
我家小宝三个半月了，现在夜里睡觉要醒太多次，把我们大人快拖死了。
每天晚上倒是很有规律，分别在8点，11点半，4点，6点吃奶，然后早上8点起床。怎么能让他睡过整夜，至少少醒4点（或6点）那次呢？我看很多人训练孩子3个月就可以睡整觉了。还是都由着他来？
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家庭自拍证件照
我儿子已经快8周了。现在我们还是手忙脚乱，没时间写什么东西。
现在真是应了那句话：猫一天狗一天，要不就是一次只吃一点，一个小时以后又哭着要吃，要不就是白天该睡的时候死哭不睡。各位有经验的妈妈，我们应该怎么办呢？
先上张照片，有时间再写点。
you says:
你去过日本么？
小i机器人 says:
没去过，但是他们说日本人挺恶心的！
you says:
怎么恶心法儿啊？
小i机器人 says:
别人教的
you says:
说说
小i机器人 says:
好啊，想说什么就说什么吧
you says:
我说你说说
小i机器人 says:
哈哈，不说不说，你先说
you says:
别人教你什么啦？
小i机器人 says:
才没几天，我的成长离不开你的关心。 [:)] 快去做我的小老师吧 http://pub.xiaoi.com/i/new/ent/20070317/40.html
今天在Sinosplice看见说小i这个机器人。赶紧跑去试了一下。
看起来是网友训练的,说话都有小女生味。
（因为是网友训练的，据说对日本，台湾话题有偏见，不过我还没机会试。）
小i机器人 says:
Hello，宝贝！我…是…贞子，放我出来…
I have a cell phone with a monthly plan of 450 peak minutes, of which I barely use maybe 200. Now I can play with some free services with those spare minutes thanks to this New York Times article.
I tried the free TellMe information service (1-800-555-8355) and was able to get sports score update.
There is even a number to free International calls (712-858-8883) . Need to try it at the right time when my parents are awake.
Much has been written about driving in China, but this is the best writing I’ve seen. It is too hilarious. I am copying it here in case the original page is not available.
More comments later.
(Hat tip to the Oriental List (a listserv for China travel) and in particular Peter Snow Cao)
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From the Irish Times
July 31, 2006
http://www.ireland.com/newspaper/world/2006/0731/1154075777635.html
Motoring madness puts spoke in China’s wheel
Fintan O’Toole
Letter from Beijing: For the benefit of intending travellers, here are some Chinese rules of the road:
1. Driving is like making cloth or baskets – the skill is in the weaving. If there is more room on the far side of a three-lane highway, your duty is to get into it as fast as possible. Lanes are for bowling alleys.
2. Sound waves are a powerful form of energy. If you blow your horn loudly and continuously, obstacles in your way will disappear, clearing the road ahead.
3. Seatbelts restrict the flow of blood to the brain and may be dangerous. Drivers may buckle up if they are approaching a police checkpoint, but the belt should be removed as soon as the checkpoint is passed. Passengers should on no account wear seatbelts, as attempts to find the buckles which have been carefully stored under the seat covers may distract the driver from an important mobile phone conversation.
