Apartment

We are settling into our apartment in Dhaka.  Well, unpacking anyway.

We have a water view!  Granted, the shores of Lake Banani are, perhaps, less-than-pristine, but it affords a cool breeze through our windows.  That's the other side of the lake, by the way.  It's not very wide.

Apartments in Dhaka are generally supplied bare.  There are no ceiling fans, no built-in AC units, no washing machine, no fridge etc.  We were able to purchase the fans and AC units from the previous owners, along with some furniture and a good water filter (very important).  This very nice couple also left a few basic dishes, a drying rack, and generally a few essentials to make our life easier in the first few days (i.e. TP).

We are still quite jet-lagged: we were coherent enough to run errands this morning (with help), but not this evening.  Clear progress!

Dhaka

We're in Dhaka! and more than a bit jet-lagged.  I find it hard to think straight, can't do simple math and have no appetite, but I'm happy to be here, finally.  It will improve.  We'll have some photos in future posts when we're a little more put-together.

Tonight is our second night in the guest house.  Tomorrow we will move into our apartment and try to get local cell phones, shop for food and other necessities, etc.  Our country director and teammates have been wonderful, helping us plan and think through everything, and accompanying us when shopping.

I feel like a two-year old.  I don't know how anything works, don't know what most of the sounds I hear are, and don't understand most of what people say.  This is exactly what I was told to expect during training, but it's wild to experience it.

Good night!

Tickets!

We are the proud owners of six one-way tickets to Dhaka on 14 Oct.

Slow Down!

I have waited for this moment for several years - the time when we will actually be 'in the funnel' to leave for Bangladesh.  It has frequently seemed just over the horizon, and on the few occasions when it seemed nearer, it wasn't.  I've been antsy, restless and even occasionally persnickety for the last six months.

Now, with the house under contract, departure suddenly seems imminent.  Part of me can hardly stand to hope, of course - certain something will go wrong with the sale.  The rest of me, unexpectedly, is saying, "Slow down!" - I walk across the yard and it seems too vividly green.  The cool Maine summer seems more perfectly temperate.  Our friendships seem unbearably sweet.   How can we possibly leave this?

In this place I've been consistently shown the need to slow down and pay attention, and it seems it has now been arranged.  I will remain on blood thinners until early October and we may not leave until after that, but for once I'm not champing at the bit.  That will come soon enough.  

"Get Well Soon, Daddy"

This is the view from my hospital bed - I especially like the banner.

Right now I am profoundly grateful that we have remained in the States longer than anticipated.  I have spent the last two weeks in the hospital after unexpected surgery followed by a few complications, and had we been in Dhaka, it seems probable that the outcome would have been different.  I am almost entirely better now, though I will have to remain in the US for three more months to finish my treatment.

As a little icing on top, our house went under contract today.  If all goes well between now and closing, then I will be the last hurdle for our departure - a year later than hoped, almost to the day, but right on time.

Sufficient.

Sometimes in my profession I have to say, "I'm sorry, there's nothing more I can do."  It's very old-fashioned.

It seems impossible that in this day and age there's anything that medicine can't do, and physicians are often reluctant to use those old-fashioned words.  Instead we say, "Well, now we have to change our focus." or, "I'm not sure, let's see what the specialists have to say." or, "We can't cure this, but we can continue to treat it".  There's lots of ways around it, but we musn't ever say something as hopeless as, "There's nothing more I can do."!

In the movies, the doctor always says this when someone is about to die.  But it's  not uncommon in less serious situations.  There are injuries from which we never fully heal.  There are illnesses from which we reap some permanent damage.  There are scars that never disappear.  We may have a permanent ache.

Perhaps we wish it away, whether the 'thorn' is in our shoulder or our heart.  But sometimes we shouldn't.  Because of that ache we may be reminded regularly of something we must remember but would wish not to.  Or it points us to something we need that we'd like not to.  Or it imparts wisdom (like my left shoulder does, every time it goes, 'clunk!').

The interesting thing about that old-fashioned phrase was that whenever I did use it, the effect was never hopelessness; instead, it was usually peace.

Another edition of our regular column "Overheard in our family"

Episode 2:  
On the way to Sunday School.  (AE is 4, MK is 6.)

AE: "When will ALL the schools end?"

MK: "At the end of the world"

AE: doubtfully "That's a long time in school..."

MK: "Yeah, it is. You'll learn lot."
pause
MK: singing "I'm a frog...on a pony...I'm a frog...on a pony...." etc.
The rest of the song is pretty standard fare: a protracted narrative about the frog and a pony going to our Sunday meeting.  The frog may not have had much choice - apparently he was stuck to the pony's nose.  We heard rumors that the frog was a dark jedi.

******************

Episode 3:

"Daddy, It shouldn't be 'Scaredy cat'; it should be 'Scaredy cow', don't you think?"

A lego wedding "This is the bridesmaid.  Here's the bride waiting for the groom....              AAAAARRAAARRRRAAARGH......I'm a zombie!  I'm attacking the bridesmaid!"

"Jack, please don't rub your toast in your hair."

"Mommy & Daaaddy are 'diculous....Mommy & Daddddddy are 'diculous...." meant as a compliment.  Sung while surfing around the kitchen on a dustpan.

*******************
We are fully funded.  Thank you, all!
In addition, there are several interested parties looking at our house right now.
You know what we need!  

Perfect timing

    We still have two milestones remaining before we may actually leave for Bangladesh: the sale of our house in Bath and waiting on the last bit of financial support. What has been a pleasure to discover is that we aren’t antsy or impatient.  A year ago, when I imagined what this stage would be like, I imagined we would be in limbo, confused and nervous.  Instead we’ve been given a peace that makes little human sense.  

     Every additional week has proven necessary in some way – whether for detail we hadn’t thought of or someone whom we could see or spend more time with.  Even as I work at a small local hospital, or fill out seemingly endless forms (six copies of each!), or just spend a day carrying boxes, I’m rested. 

A friend of mine, Steve, says, “When I do it, it’s called procrastination, but when He does it, it’s called, ‘His perfect timing’”.

Counting the Cost

Most of the time, if you asked me what I was thinking about, I'd probably respond:
   "I'm wondering about the best way to run a wire for this outlet."
   "I have to decide whether to purchase a 10 yr tourist visa to India to make our 3 month BD visas easier to renew"
   "I need to remember to write down the list of documents I need for medical licensure in BD".
But it's all busy, logistics & urgent.

Our three older children remember Bangladesh fairly well, and happily.  They are excited about going (I think it feels to them a little like a long awaited party: inevitable and yet drawing nearer at an imperceptible rate).  Then, the other day for the first time, Mary said, "I don't want to go to Bangladesh because I'll miss my grandparents and my friends." Of course, an hour later she was excited about school there, but she's thinking about it.  She's grieving a little, counting the cost of going.  It's good, if a little hard.

As Laura and I work on the last few hurdles before departure, we are busy enough much of the time with to-do's that thought beyond the immediate present is banished.  With children, they are usually thinking, not about logistics, but about what will be, about how they feel about it now and what will change.  There's a big difference there.  If I'm not careful, I could wake up one morning in Dhaka to the sound of the azan and have no idea what has happened in the interim or what I think of it.

When we fill our lives with NPR as we drive, music as we run, nytimes.com, facebook or blogs in a free moment, or as we fill our waiting-in-lines with smartphones or even use our smartphones while talking to our kids we fill all the interstices of our life with noise, where we used to think, where we used to Think about hard things, where we used to face things.  It's easier to think about logistics.

I've been practicing turning off my radio and, as a discipline, not checking the news online.  I've been thinking, "I'm going to miss my family and my friends."

Grade B movie

In my office in the States, I occasionally had the privilege of conversations outside of the norm of "What's your blood pressure?" or "Where's the pain?".

Once, TC, one of my perpetually cheerful & funny patients (this is his T-shirt) seemed a bit subdued.  I asked him what was on his mind, and he responded, "I saw a grade B
movie last night and one of scenes disturbed me."

"What was it about?"

"Well, I doubt it would bother anybody else: it was just a throw-away line, but it hit me square between the eyes.  I'm having trouble shaking the feeling; you'll probably think I'm nuts."

"I doubt that"

"Well, one actor turned to the other and said, 'Are you living just to live?' and almost immediately I asked myself the same question.  You probably think I'm crazy to be hung-up on that."

"Not at all.  I can't think of a more important question."