I still have so much to learn about life here.
I heard about a baby, only a few months old, who was hospitalized recently for a serious bacterial infection that has destroyed a large portion of the skin on her face.
Her father, 27, earns about $300 a month as a driver.
Her mother, 25, loves her little darling with all her heart.
When the doctors told them, “Just let her die, you’ve only had her for 4 months; she will hate you when she grows up for letting her live so disfigured” she insisted that they do everything to save her.
I visit them at the hospital with our mutual acquaintance.
The parents are living, 24 hours a day, on a mat and two small stools near the PICU entrance.
The grandparents take turns bringing in food.
Any phone call from the doctor is met with trepidation.
They have seen her once since her hospitalization over 2 weeks ago, passing by in the hall on her way to surgery a day earlier.
As I clutch this woman’s hand, tears are streaming down her face as she pours out her story–nightmare, really.
We all shed tears together, 3 mothers.
They ask me questions.
Most I cannot answer.
Only God can give answers, and sometimes we have to wait.
These Chinese parents with sick children have a tremendous time waiting.
As I leave the young couple I skirt around thermoses, potato chip bags and more bundles of humanity camped out lining both sides of the hallway, each with their own story of tragedy and despair.
I pass through the huge pediatric IV infusion area filled to overflowing with blanketed bundles, tantruming toddlers and morose mothers staring blankly forward.
My heart breaks again.
And I go home, thankful for my children but still the heaviness, lingering.