Miracle Stories
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It had been a very fruitful year of studying language and meeting people who we once had thought impossible to get to know. They were called Uighurs (“Wee-gerrs” is about as close as an English speaker will get to the actual name). Ann and I had moved to the capital city of Xinjiang (Shin-jahng), Urumchi (Oh, forget it.) And for us it was a first year for many things.
We had only been married a year when we took off from the States to study abroad. There was still so much that we had to learn about being married to one another. And that year had seemed to us a year of more pain than gain in regards to our personal victories in the race to become like Jesus. It wasn’t that we weren’t growing as a couple mind you. But that first year of marriage for so many people is a year of breaking down all the images you thought you had built strongly. Ann thought she would be a good wife. I thought I would be a good husband. We were constantly surprised at our inability to be unselfish. And with this first year of marriage under our belt, we were off to study the Uighur language in Northwest China.
We had another big change in our lives that year as well. That was the birth of our first son, Joseph. He was beautiful and full of life. We gazed at him for hours at a time, marveling at how he can be in constant motion, even when he is relaxing. He was a very relaxed child and probably would have enjoyed his peace a lot more if Ann and I weren’t terrified parents.
When we arrived in Urumchi, we had stayed in one room for almost two months. It was the back of a hotel really, and all our neighbors were army men. The school we’d applied to study at turned out unready to receive foreigners, and we were stuck without a plan. So we were looking for another college in the city, that could take us to teach us Uighur. Meanwhile we were in this makeshift barracks/hotel. Daily we would go out into the markets and streets of Urumchi to gather what we could point at and try and learn to say, in Chinese or Uighur. Ann still had no home to speak of. We shared a bathroom with the entire floor of about 30 soldiers in the People’s Liberation Army.
Going for walks drew us a lot of attention, as foreigners in that area were a rare sight back then. Discovering that Joseph was in cloth diapers and not the local split pants, people kept telling us that it was cruel of us to use diapers because it would make him bow-legged. Some dear Chinese women would conspire to visit us and to distract Ann while the others took the diapers off of our son. Then they would hold up the open pins and express to us that they were dangerous, poking them at their arms as if we were needing this illustration to know that pointy things were sharp. Dumb foreigners we were. Always to be pitied and rebuked. At least that is how it felt sometimes. It is probably much harder for moms, to stay humble while people keep taking the cleaver out of your hand to show you how to chop carrot’s correctly, and the laundry out of your hands to show you how to wring it out correctly, etc. We longed to be in a home with a door and lock.
In October a school accepted us and allowed us to move into our first apartment. It was more private in some ways, but we were still feeling a bit on display. And differences between Chinese safety standards and American safety standards were different. I am not saying that one is better than the other. But they were just different. For example, we would see open manholes and there were few streetlights at that time. So you can imagine how gingerly a nighttime stroll would be. And there was a raging river channeled right through the campus that had benches all along it. But the only protection from falling in was a barbed wire fence that any child could slip through. Our imaginations of how we might lose Joseph ran wild and often.
Saying that though, I must also say that in 10 years, we never feared our children being stolen from us, or molested by an adult, or sold drugs to. The sidewalks were free from predators, and our neighbors could be trusted. Over the years I received many letters from concerned friends in the States who had to restrain their children in many ways due to the dangers in the cities and suburbs and even the countryside it seemed.
Well, the year passed and about mid-way through we found that we had been blessed with some truly nice friends. Many of our friends were from the countryside in the famous Silk Road stop of Kashgar. And so for the summer holiday we decided to accept their invitations to travel to the south of Xinjiang and visit many of their homes.
Well, actually the decision was made in a very typical way for us. Ann and I each thought we knew what the other wanted, and so we made plans accordingly. Ann would have stayed home with the baby and I would have gone alone. We both would have wanted this. But I assumed that Ann would feel unloved and left out if I didn’t insist on her coming; and she took my insistence to mean that I would not feel comfortable going alone. And so she felt I was dragging her down there, and I couldn’t understand why she wasn’t more grateful to me for bringing the family along on this journey that I thought would so obviously be easier to go on alone. Both of us felt we were putting ourselves out and both of us were surprised to see that neither of us was happy with the arrangement. This was going to be a rustic trip for two new parents and their prized baby. We flew down to Kashgar and it was in the hotel that night, when the truth of our disappointment came out. Neither of us was acting very thankful at the other putting their self out for the other’s benefit. That is because we both felt that we were the one making the sacrifice. Sigh! That was pretty much how we were communicating in those days.
One person that we wanted to see in particular, was Ablimet. He was a young man who, like our selves, was a follower of Jesus. In Xinjiang we used “follower of Jesus” to describe ourselves because western television portrays the soap opera characters as Christians. So to be a Christian, is about the same as being someone who cheats on their wife and is filled with schemes to get ahead by treachery. If you think about it, it makes sense. These characters do all this evil to themselves and one another without the least regard for the Lord God. Then they go off and get married in a church with a smiling minister blessing them. No godly behavior. But judging from the television shows that they receive in their region, that was what to expect from “Christians.”
Well, we found Ablimet and he was anxious to take us out to his village to stay with his family for a week. So we packed our bag and took up little Joseph and went out to his village. It was about an hour’s bus ride from Kashgar and Joseph thoroughly enjoyed the trip. Ann and I were still a bit numb about the ordeal. To us it seemed a bit of a hazard to bring the whole family out so far. Joseph was just about 14 months old, and had been showing more signs of teething. He had a slight fever already. And to be honest, Ann and I both suspected that the other had really wanted this arrangement to some degree and so there was a bit of blaming going on in both heads.
The first two days at Ablimet’s family’s house were pretty relaxed. The family gave us a room to ourselves and their garden was lush. Also there was a wonderful stream out back and they had several animals that Joseph was fascinated with. When they took us to visit their cousins and uncles and aunts, we were always being cooked for, entertained, and shown around. The Uighur people there were known for their hospitality. Ann however, was counting the days until we could go back up north.
For me there was Ablimet and his father and brothers. For Ann there were scrutinizing neighbor women who took note of everything this foreign mother did that was ‘not the same.’ Ablimet’s mom was great. But ladies would just come into the room and watch the American woman “be” a mother. They weren’t unkind in their talk, but they would just stare and comment on all the ways that Ann did things “differently.” And these ways were usually corrected by a demonstration on how to do things the “right” way. And to top this all off, Joseph’s fever was getting worse.
One day it got so bad, we despaired, thinking that we could be losing him. He was so hot! He would just lie there still and occasionally moan or violently shiver with a slight jolt. And then he couldn’t keep any food down. Finally, his stools looked like greenish raw egg albumin. We had never seen this before and we were scared.
We both were feeling that this was getting dangerous. Ablimet’s mother tried to convince us that it was teething. But Joseph had had most of his teeth already and he never got this bad. Other women from the village would come by and say the same thing Ablimet’s mother was saying. It was really starting to annoy us. They kept telling us that he would be fine in a day or two. They knew the symptoms because they never left us alone. Ann was angry at me for making her come to this desert. And I was mad at her for manipulating me with her “not feeling left out” need. But of course it was knowing that it really wasn’t these things but rather one more example of our poor communication skills that aggravated us the most. And now we were fearing losing Joseph. I was on the verge of tears for hours, just watching him. Finally we convinced Ablimet to bring us to a clinic, so that we could get some aspirin at least to bring the baby’s fever down.
Before Ablimet was going to get the donkey hooked up, his mom came to plead with us one more time. It was a hot day, and Joseph was hot enough without such a trip to the local hospital. I felt we had to get aspirin to break this fever. She insisted it was teething, saying: “I have brought nine children into this world, and I know about babies.” I didn’t say it, but I only counted 6 of her children, knowing Ablet to be the eldest. I was tempted to asked about the other three, but God gave me grace not to ask. She was loving us and wanting our best, and I was in fear. This was getting really emotional for me. So she just let it rest.
Finally we went to get Joseph to the hospital. It was hot and I begged Ablimet to bring us to the nearest doctor. He really didn’t want to of course. It was only teething according to his mom. But I was starting to get a bit demanding for his culture and for a guest. And Uighur people are extremely accommodating to their guests. They tell you it is one of their greatest strengths and historically one of their saddest weaknesses. And so it was not long before Ablimet and Joseph and I were on the donkey cart and heading for the nearest clinic.
Again, Ann was left behind. I thought she didn’t want to come and she thought I didn’t want her to come. Live and don’t learn! But that was us, and now I was pretty sure we were going to lose Joseph. The donkey was so slow! And when we got to the hospital, it was more like a clinic with beds. The patients all had striped pajamas on and there were lines of waiting people in every direction.
Ablimet knew that if he didn’t tell folks that I was a foreigner that I would never get any service. Then again, some folks were afraid to treat a foreigner. If Joseph should die in their care, they feared the consequences of losing face for the clinic. Ablimet seemed to have an excellent sense as to who to tell I was a foreigner and who to tell that I was a Uighur from the North. “None of these folk have been to Urumchi,” he explained, “And so it is possible that an Urumchiliq might look like you,” he smirked. I was in no mood to smile or smirk, but whatever worked at this point I was glad for, and Ablimet was doing great, getting us through the red tape and lines.
The Xinjiang province is about as big as France. Many people in the south, even doctors, have never been to the capital of the province, up north. And so having never met a foreigner, my thick accent and Ablimet’s insistence to some that I was Northern Uighur, got us through many secretaries. One would say, “He looks more Russian than Uighur, and the person next to them would say, “Well, Urumchi is right up by the Soviet border, is it not?” And we’d pass on through. And for those who were still obstinate, there was my passport. At last we got in to see a doctor. I just wanted aspirin!
But the doctor that was going to treat us was not to be trusted. He assumed that I couldn’t understand his speech, because I was a foreigner. His secretary showed him my passport. Basically they took Joseph’s temperature and declared that his fever was so high that he would die if he didn’t stay in the hospital. But he also was joking with the nurses that he would be the first doctor for miles around who would be in charge of an American baby. He was happy about this. And his nurses seemed to agree that this would be a real story to tell.
I wasn’t biting. The clinic was not a place I wanted Joseph to stay. The bedside manner of the nurse taking the temperature was almost mocking when Joseph flinched at her touch. There was no way I would leave him there. So I asked that they simply give us aspirin to break the fever.
Then it became ugly. The doctor realized I had understood all he’d been saying and that I was angry. He told me Joseph would die if we took him away. I believed him to some extent, but I knew he didn’t care about Joseph. So I stuck to my story. I would rather have Joseph in our care than his. But he had the aspirin. So I asked him again.
This time I got a grin that made me shiver. This was a power struggle. I was told that if I wanted the aspirin, Joseph would have to stay for four nights. I said no way. And so they dropped it to three nights. I laughed but it was with obvious anger. What kind of doctor would be making such a bargain? If he needed four days, why drop it to three? If he needed aspirin, why not just give it to him? It was my turn to be stupid.
So I told the doctor that I have residency in Urumchi, the capital of the province. If my son dies, when I bring him back to Urumchi for burial, I will be asked how he died. And I will simply say that you didn’t give him aspirin. I’m sure that my friends at the police office would want to know the details.
I have never seen a countenance drop so fast. But the “doctor” was not giving in either. He scowled at me and I scowled back. Ablimet was at a loss for words for the first time. My rudeness had taken him totally out of his ability to continue in diplomacy. He had done such an amazing job to get us this far, but this man was not going to budge it seemed. He didn’t love Joseph and he didn’t like me. And the feelings were mutual.
But Joseph was my son, and I loved him. And I didn’t know what to do. I was getting scared thinking about him dying, and yet I was hopeless to think he would be treated so poorly by this man, and by nurses who only wanted to use him. It was a stalemate, and it was terrible. I felt terrible. And I was about to cry.
Just then, an old woman spoke. I hadn’t seen her com into the room She sat in the same striped pajamas that all the patients were wearing. Next to her was another old woman. They were sitting on an examining table situated by the door. Obviously they were together, and no on seemed to be treating them for any ailments. They wore grayed white baggy pajamas with wide pale-blue stripes. And the woman who first spoke asked me what I was starting to cry over?
Her voice was so kind! The other woman just looked at me smiling. If she were speaking English, I’m sure that she would have called me “Sonny.” She again asked me what the problem was.
I told her that my son had a high fever and that the doctor says that he was dying. I came to get aspirin for him, to try and break the fever. And I was so choked up I could not say anything more than that.
Then the same lady spoke again, with the other lady still smiling at me: “Does he lie still, and sometimes shiver with a jolt?”
“Yes.”
“Is he not eating anything?”
“That’s right.” I felt hope.
“Do his poops look greenish and kind of like raw eggs?”
“Yes, just like that!” I answered amazed.
Then the old patient-woman, looked directly at the doctor, and called him by his first name. “Memetjan.” He looked up. Then the other woman looked right at him too. The old lady that had been doing all the talking said matter of fact:
“It is just teething, Memetjan. Just give the baby some aspirin and send them home. You know he’ll be fine in the morning.”
And to my astonishment, the doctor said:
“Alright.”
And again to my amazement, the nurse prepared an injection of aspirin, Joseph was given the injection and we were given aspirin tablets to last for a few days. Then we were told by the same formerly rude nurse that Joseph would probably be better in the morning, as it was just teething.
And as you might suspect, when Joseph had had his shot and the aspirin was given to us, I turned to thank the lady for her kind words. And you know that she and her companion were nowhere to be seen. Ablimet asked me who I was looking for and I said, “The angels” that got us our aspirin. Ablimett just laughed, knowing that I meant the two old women.
That night, Joseph’s fever broke. And then in the morning he was up again and fine. He seemed weak from the two days of not eating, but he was bright and cheerful. And he ate really well.
Ablimet’s mother came in with some special food for him. She knew that he must be better by now and wasn’t the least bit surprised to see Joseph sitting up and eating a piece of nan bread. And we were so happy that we told her that she had been right all along. And we apologized because we hadn’t believed her.
She was so gracious. She simply said: “No one ever believes it when it is their first baby. But you get to know all the signs as you go along. You were so worried yesterday that we had to let you go get the aspirin. But it was just teeth. Feel?”
And sure enough, one of Joseph’s molars was breaking through the gums in back.
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