In Case You Haven't Heard

We've been noticing that Wynn says, "What?" an awful lot and sometimes needs us to say her name two or three times before she turns around and acknowledges us.

Then we had a storm.

Wynn, Shadow, and I were home the other day when a thunderstorm rumbled through. Shadow was shuffling around, spooked by the noise, so I explained to Wynn that he was afraid of the thunder.

"What thunder?" she asked.

Uh-oh.

This morning we took Wynn to the ENT/audiologist's office, and (after removing a TON of wax from her ears with a tiny vacuum) they confirmed that she has significant hearing loss in both ears. The good news is that it has nothing to do with the nerve; it's all about fluid building up behind her eardrum, which is fairly common among kids with cleft palate.

She'll be going in for surgery in two weeks - a quick insertion of tubes in both ears. She won't have to stay in the hospital overnight, but she will probably spend the rest of her summer swimming lessons with earplugs in.

She is not excited about having surgery and is already arguing her case by pointing out how she can already hear better without the wax and by telling us that she doesn't want super hearing because it might make things too loud in her ears.

We're just glad this is a relatively simple fix and that we'll be able to get it taken care of before she starts school in the fall.

What's Big & Green & Came Out of Wynn's Nose?

Wynn's had a cold for the last week or so. We all have. But hers was getting progressively worse as the week went on.

Last night she was doing these monstrous sneezes and coughing constantly. Scott and I agreed that if she didn't start getting better over the weekend, we'd take her to the doctor.

Well, this morning as I turned off the hair dryer, I could hear Scott yelling, "Ann! Come up here! I need your help!" He had that tone in his voice where I could tell it was serious, so I sprinted up the steps and found him holding Wynn in his arms on the bathroom floor. He explained that she was bleeding - a lot - and that he was having trouble getting it to stop. He told me to go strip her bed while he worked on getting this super-soaker of a bloody nose under control.

Her bed looked terrible. A big pool of bright red blood, soaked through both sheets and the mattress pad. And she was still bleeding.

Every time he'd get the bleeding under control, she'd sneeze and start it up all over again. She was covered in it, Scott was covered in it, most surfaces in the bathroom were covered in it. It was officially bad, so we both quickly called in sick and got her the first appointment of the day at the doctor's office.

She was in good spirits on the ride there and wasn't bleeding anymore. She pitched a fit in the waiting room when we wouldn't let her play with the germ-infested toys, but they got us back to the room quickly. The doctor looked up her nose and asked, "Is there something green up her nose?" Scott and I looked at each other, unsure of how to respond.

"Um, is it dried snot?" Scott ventured.

"No, it's bright green. She's got something up in there."

A walk upstairs to the ENT was next on the agenda. Nose-numbing spray was shot up her nose, and the ENT, who wore one of those old-school round mirror things on his head, brought out a nose-opening device and some long forceps. Then he extracted a bright green plastic bead from her right nostril while she sat on Scott's lap. (He held her head still, while the other doctor and I took care of the hands.)

Where did that bead come from?!

Wynn played dumb.

She shrugged.

She got quiet.

She'd never seen that thing before in her life.

Only in the car on the way home did she admit that she'd found it by her cot at school - several days earlier - and had put it up there for reasons she couldn't explain.

So, that's how our morning that started in panic ended up being kinda funny.

And that's Wynn's foreign-object-up-the-nose story, certain to be told and retold for years to come.

Making the Medicine Go Down

When we tried to give Wynn her second dose of penicillin (for strep), she protested.

The third dose she spat out into a cup of water.

The fourth dose went down - while we held her nose and tipped her head back.

Subsequent doses have gone down easily, accompanied by laughter.

Here's the (new and improved) procedure for getting her to take her medicine:

• Cheer, "Swallow fast! Swallow fast!" as you put the penicillin in her mouth.

• Hand her a cup of milk, so she can take a big swig.

• Produce an enormous box of Godiva chocolates and let her choose one.

Works like a charm.

Every time.

Six-Month Assessment

Wynn's surgeon has us come in for a speech assessment and check-up every six months, so we went in today to see how our girl's doing.

Though she acted very shy and insisted on sitting on my lap the entire time, she was very good with the speech therapist - talked about the pictures on the cards, repeated words when asked, etc. All went well until the therapist brought out the fancy gizmo - it was black board, kind of shaped like a smile, with microphones on the top and bottom. Wynn was to hold part of the board on her "moustache" and repeat some sounds; then the device would measure how much of the sound was coming through her mouth and how much was being directed up through her nose.

Simple.

Non-invasive.

Kinda cool because you got to see little blips on the computer screen that showed the data.

Wynn was not buying it.

The therapist did it.

I did it.

We talked about how silly it was that we were drawing pictures with our noses.

Wynn still wasn't buying it.

We put the thing against her face, and she went completely mute. The therapist even tried to bribe Wynn with assorted candies, but the stubborn little one just said, "No."

The therapist had enough data from the other assessments to tell us that Wynn has good resonance, has made great strides in the last sixth months, and still needs to work on her initial consonants. No big surprises.

We moved to to height and weight - 25 pounds and 35.5" - and then went to meet with the surgeon.

He asked Wynn to repeat a few words and looked in her mouth. Then he asked if she'd seen anyone in speech today. When I told him who, he stepped out in the hall and barked at the nurse to, "Get speech on the phone." I could hear him talking to her about consonant substitutions and initial p's and b's, and I could tell he was not pleased.

He came back in and told me that he's very concerned about Wynn's struggles with initial p and b sounds and the way she substitutes other consonants in their place ("Blue's clues" comes out "glue's clues", and "puppy" sometimes sounds more like "duppy"). He told me that at her age and with the amount of speech services she's been receiving, he'd expect her to be doing better. If she doesn't show great improvement by our appointment in December, she'll need to have another operation.

The surgery would entail taking tissue from the back of her throat and bringing it up over her palate. It takes about half an hour, requires two nights in the hospital, and has a "rough" recovery. Apparently, about 20% of cleft palate kids end up needing this.

As he talked about the surgery, my heart just dropped. All I could picture was how miserable she was after that last operation - how she stood there and cried, drooling blood and holding out her arms in those hideous no-no sleeves. Then I looked over at her in the exam room, happily showing her Dora doll how to do a puzzle, and thought about what a sweet little girl she is. And how much I love her. And how I want to protect her from pain.

So the next six months are going to be all about words that start with p and b. We're going to practice like crazy and hope that her speech issues can be resolved with our efforts instead of with a surgeon's knife.

We know she's made tremendous progress in the last six months, and that makes us hopeful that we can accomplish this very-specific goal in the next six.

Wish us luck.

Imperfection

This weekend we went to the Children's Home Society China Reunion, which was lots of fun. Scott and I both commented on how nice it was to be at a gathering filled with families that look like ours and to know that everyone in that room had made their own personal journey through "the process". We saw a few familes we'd seen in China back in June, lots of the CHSFS people we've worked with along the way, Molly - our amazing representative from Guangzhou, and a former student of mine - one of my absolute favorites ever - and her family. We took the long way home, so Wynn got her daily nap while riding in the car, and my parents came over to visit at dinner time. It was a good day.

Recently, a comment that an acquaintance who reads our blog made got me thinking. She said, "You're such a perfect family." I know that she meant that we fit so well together and things do seem to be moving along swimmingly, but I got a little hung up on the word perfect. Scott and I talked a lot before we left for China, and we came up with our mantra as new parents: "Mistakes will be made."

I think our experiences may come across to people as having been relatively easy because we have both approached the adoption process and our first fumbling steps as parents with a sense of humor and the attitude that we're going to try our best not to sweat the small stuff. Sure, there are days when Scott comes home worn out from work and just wants to eat a nice meal and watch "The Daily Show", while I've been taking care of Wynn all day and feel ready to just hand her over and say, "She's all yours, Buddy." Yes, we do get frustrated when Wynn doesn't understand the concept of Saturday and wakes us up at 6 AM. And the stains... a LOT of things have gotten stained since she showed up. We acknowledge the fatigue and frustrations to one another, but we also know that they're so insignificant compared to seeing Wynn smile when she wakes up in the morning, hearing her squeal with delight when she sees a moth flying around in the yard, or trying to keep track of every time she learns something new.

In honor of imperfections everywhere, I present to you our own blooper reel of pictures of Wynn. They may not be perfect pictures, but, when you're working with a toddler, perfection isn't a realistic goal now, is it? :-)