Have you ever had a day that is all planned out, and then something crazy happens? Yeah, me neither [dripping sarcasm].
This particular day began in the same way as most, except that my husband left that morning for a two-night business trip. We walked to the subway together, and we took trains heading in opposite directions: he on one train, and the two little ones and I on the other.
We walked through the park where the older folks practiced tai chi and the younger ones lined up to buy some aromatic breakfast fare. We turned around and went back to use the squatty potty in the park because one of the kids announced a need to pee and I told said child that they were getting too old to pee in bushes in the city. We counted all the water fountains we passed in the next two blocks and arrived a bit early to what I call “my moms’ group”.
I belong to this amazing group of moms who meet together as part of the International Church of Shanghai (ICS). I mentioned the group here. On this morning, the time with those ladies was so good and so sweet. Afterward, we decided to have some lunch delivered so we could avoid taking all of our children and babies out into the rain.
I was standing across the room when I heard a piercing scream. I glanced over to see my son kneeling on the floor with his head in his hands, and I immediately thought, “We might be going to the hospital.” He had run across the room and tripped just in time to bash his head on the metal-covered edge of a step.
I ran over, phone in hand, to pry his hands away and see a bloody gash on his forehead. Of course, any kind of head wound, even a tiny one, gushes disproportionate amounts of blood. But this one was dripping on his crocs, running through his fingers into his eyes, and splattering on my phone. The cut was too wide to heal without doctor intervention. I pulled him over to where I could grab some paper towels, and by now, all of the moms had realized the gory situation and were offering wet wipes, bandages, and suggestions on hospitals.
As I kneeled in front of my son, mopping up blood, I kept thinking of all the distinct issues of having this situation in China. In our home country, we would jump into our privately owned car and drive to the emergency room… five minutes away from our house. We don’t have that luxury here. Although I have my license to drive in China, we don’t even rent a car, much less own one. And sure, his older sister had to get staples in her head in China last spring, but at that time, my husband was home and could take her on his scooter while I stayed with the other two children.
As I consciously told myself, “You need to stay calm so that your son can be calm,” I verbally told him, “We will go to the doctor. It’s okay, no problem.” Simultaneously, I filtered through the options. Obviously, we wouldn’t have time to buy a winter coat for him in the afternoon. He might get upset about that. How will we eat lunch? I guess I will figure that out later. What about picking his sister up from school for gymnastics? Maybe I could have her ride home on the bus. And what about right now? Do we go out and get a taxi? It would be difficult to find one in the rain. Do we get an Uber? That’s the best bet, but probably no Uber driver would want blood on the seat of his car. Do we go to the clinic where I usually take the kids? I’m not sure if they have supplies for emergency stitches, but it is near my daughter’s school and we could pick her up right away after our emergency visit. Do we go straight to the larger hospital? Probably, but I don’t know the address or even the Mandarin name of that one.
But within five minutes, it was settled. One of the moms offered her van and driver to take us, another mom insisted that I leave my younger daughter with her, and the consensus was the larger hospital, where (thank God!) the driver knew the location and the exact roads to get take. Also by the end of that five minutes, my son had a bandage applied his forehead and a yogurt in hand to calm him down.
We had a peaceful, but seemingly forever long, ride to the hospital. When we arrived, I saw two different buildings that had emergency signs on them. I thought they belonged to the same hospital, and the writing was in English for both, so I chose the building with the big red sign and a smaller “pediatrics” sign as well.
I walked in and told the triage nurses that he needed stitches. One immediately said, “You can take him to the children’s hospital.” She named two crossroads that I had never heard of, and I thought, “I don’t even know how long it will take to get there.” She finally wrote the address for me in Chinese characters and began to say that I could take a taxi or bus number… I interrupted her and left, so frustrated. I messaged my friend to ask her driver to pick us up and take us to the other place, when she said, “Wait. Did you go to the local hospital?” Oh. Probably.
We walked into the second building, and from then on, it was pretty standard. My son got tape and some super glue, was super brave, and only cried when the glue stung his wound. The doctor and nurse kept asking me if he had passed out or vomited and then went on to explain that I should watch for whether he had a concussion.
And here’s the free advice interlude for those of you living in a situation similar to mine. Either carry your passport or a copy of your passport and visa at all times. I was asked for my son’s passport at the hospital and was so grateful that I had tucked a copy into my purse. You just never know when you will need it and won’t have time to go home to get it. Also, keep the hospital business card in your wallet with your insurance cards so that you can show it to a taxi driver and don’t have to take time to look up on the address on your phone.
We took my friend’s van back to where we had started, picked up my little one who had already been given lunch, got a ride home in the same van, called the school to have my daughter go home on the bus, and postponed gymnastics. I made my grandma’s homemade pudding and ordered burgers and fries for supper. It seemed like the right kind of day for comfort food.
When we arrived home, I had time and space to reflect on the previous three hours. And I wept. Sometimes there is so much stress that comes with living in a culture that is not completely familiar, and sometimes there is so much opportunity to receive love that comes with being in a culture that is not completely familiar. I cried from stress and I cried from thankfulness.
I’m thankful for three gifts that made my heart whole in the midst of the chaos. Maybe you can relate to these if you know life overseas or if you’ve found yourself an uncontrollable situation.
I’m thankful for the ways that my childhood prepared me for living here. We often lived or traveled in places that would require a lengthy drive time to a hospital. I also had the experiences of caring for one of my siblings when her tooth got kicked out by a horse and for another sibling when he cut his finger and fainted. My childhood enabled me to be calm in the moment.
I’m thankful for a community of foreigners who love each other so well. When you don’t have the option to be completely self-sufficient, it creates room to accept the strength of others. This group of friends stepped in to help and hand me tissues even when they seemed overwhelmed by the amount of flowing blood. A friend gave me a van and driver even though she didn’t know when I would return with them! Another friend bought lunch for my daughter and took care of her while I was gone, for an indefinite amount of time when she already had her own two kids plus a foster baby with her. A good friend and neighbor sympathized as I cried to her while waiting for the bus to come. A friend from another part of town sent a message asking how I was doing after she heard about what had happened. So many friends sent WeChat messages with prayers and notes of encouragement.
I’m thankful to know a God who loves me and my family. That same morning, I read this passage as a blessing for a friend’s 3-week-old baby: “Let the beloved of the Lord rest secure in Him, for He shields him all day long, and the one the Lord loves rests between His shoulders” (Deuteronomy 33:12). I know that I am also the Lord’s beloved (after all, that’s what my name means!), and I could see glimpses of that love again even in the midst of the stress of that day. The Lord has surrounded me with friends who rally together, who grieve together, who pray together, and who rejoice together, who serve together. Basically, they are what the church is meant to be, and they were Jesus’ hands and feet to me. There were smaller gifts from Him as well. Many moms stayed for lunch instead of leaving right away as usual, and they were present to help me. One friend tossed one yogurt into her bag this morning, thinking that it was an unusual thing to pack, but left it in the bag anyway; that yogurt gave my son enough distraction and nourishment to fill him with peace. My son didn’t show signs of a concussion or any issue other than a wide cut. And plans that I could have had that night had fallen through, giving me time to rest at home with my on-the-mend boy.
What are you thankful for? My dear friend, even as you read this, may you have the grace to recognize and accept the gifts that you’ve been given.
Happy early Thanksgiving from the other side of the world!