The night before S was released from the hospital the first time, I did some research online and made grand plans for the 3 weeks we'd be forced to spend in Bangkok.
Through a friend of a friend, my mom had connected us with a cheap (safe!) place to stay in the city. Other than 5 days somewhere in the middle when they were completely booked, we'd be able to stay there the entire time for a fraction of the cost of the hotels near the hospital. (Not to mention the added bonus of getting away from the red light district that surrounds the hospital.)
Js sister had already agreed to come to help with Benaiah when we weren't sure how long S would be in the hospital. Now that we were getting out seemingly early, I was elated about all the fun stuff we could do with her.
We'd splurge on a day at the aquarium then make up for it by doing cheap or free things the other days. Bangkok boasts an incredible public transport system and for a few cents you can see the see the entire city by boat or skyrail. I knew our kids would love both and it would give J and his sister time to talk without feeling like they were missing out on anything fun with the kids. There's night markets and floating markets and massive malls with fun playgrounds. The last time we saw E was in Indonesia. It was a difficult time and I'd hoped this time would be different.
But it wasn't meant to be. The guesthouse full, the political situation escalating, we decided to make our way to the beach, away from the mayhem but also away from the hospital. We arrived late Monday night and left first thing Wednesday morning. S spiked a fever in the middle of Tuesday night that grew worse as dawn approached. Around 4am, I told the front desk clerk we'd be checking out early and reserved a taxi for the three hour drive back to Bangkok first thing in the morning. We went straight to the hospital. She was admitted immediately. And then diagnosed with a bacterial infection and a pretty bad one at that.
On the way there I called the hospital and they asked if we felt she needed the same doctors. I said that I didn't know, that her doctors from before could decide. The team of hematologists and oncologists opted to stick with her despite being convinced that the ITP and the infection were unrelated.
Little did I know that this infection would be just what was needed for them to forego with confidence the impending bone marrow biopsy. It also freed us to return to Central Asia earlier than planned when the political situation in Bangkok escalated once again and our leadership strongly recommended us to leave Bangkok if at all possible.
We scheduled S an appointment in our city for lab work (which was already our long term plan for follow-up care for her since she will need to be monitored for at least a year). And we bought tickets for the morning after J's sister left.
16 days in Thailand. 11 of them in the hospital. The other days we were in Bangkok we were encouraged to lay low which meant no aquarium, no boat rides, no train rides, no mall play places. We did manage to spend a few hours at a nearby hotel pool. There was no kiddy pool and no shallow end but the kids had fun anyway.
They also made up a few outside games but it's so hot there and none of us are used to it. The doctors had warned us against the heat and S dehydrating quickly so we mostly read books and played indoors. S painted her Auntie's toenails and fingernails and B gave her lots of check ups. When we weren't in the hospital J and I were on the phone a lot with doctors and our leaders and the insurance company. The last day or so we were finally able to do a little souvenir shopping but we'd been there less than an hour when the shops began closing, early and frantically. In the end it was not at all as I had imagined.
I stared out the airplane window at the waterway below only to see the boats we never rode and the city we never really saw. The plane banked hard to the right and Bangkok's skyline disappeared from view. In its place lay a hundred tiny rivers, each bank lined with buildings and surrounded by rice paddies. Beyond them, the sea and farther in the distance, the horizon where the ocean melts into the sky. There's no distinct line but instead you can almost see the arc of the earth's sphere as blue expanse drops off in the distance and the plane flies north.
Directly below the rice paddies form a crooked patchwork, interrupted by only an occasional house or outlying building.
Shaddai is asleep with her head on my lap. Jonathan is filling out immigration documents and B is chewing on the flat metal end of his seatbelt. I wait for in the flight announcement to end before asking him to stop. My throat is sore and the volume is so loud, you can barely hear your own thoughts much less the voice of the person next to you.
Benaiah happily obliges, refastens his seat belt, and asks for a lollipop "because we're on an airplane." Presumably his ears hurt and I'm ok with a few more minutes of peace and quiet. "Hmmmm, blueberry" he says of his cherry candy and settles back into his enormous-looking aisle seat. Across the aisle the same kind of seat is completely dwarfed by my husband. He's visibly squished hunching over the never ending pile of papers.
Neither kid wanted the window. I was pleasantly surprised. I haven't really looked out the window while flying since S was a baby.
Little green mounds that cropped up at the edge of the rice paddies have turned into full blow mountains as we near our province and our home. I wish I could say my heart felt peace. By definition, peace in a particular place is the absence of conflict. Although I didn't feel conflicted, I didn't feel at peace either.
Rivers snake between the mountains below. Although from this vantage point the tiny clusters of buildings appear close together, in reality the steep terrain keeps each group quite isolated. I can't help but wonder who they are and if they've heard.
My thoughts are interrupted by the flight attendant announcing our near arrival. She repeats the message in two more languages and it's nice to once again be able to understand a language other than my own.
For months I've been waiting with baited breath for "when things settle down" or "we get back to normal" but with a big move on the horizon and the ongoing pressures of language and culture stress and study, that day might long be elusive.
Perhaps in the same way that courage is not the absence of fear, true peace is not the absence of turmoil.
The lake stretches out below us and then the last range of mountains is visible just before we land. In the valleys, lines of skyscrapers form uneven city blocks. Trees and rice terraces curve upward alongside them. Orange temple roofs and tiny white tombstones dot the mountainside.
Benaiah falls asleep just before the wheels touch the tarmac. I wipe away tears as S whispers, "Good morning, Mommy." Wisps of blond curls frame her sleepy, smiling face. This all could have ended so much differently.
I'm convinced that peace is not a feeling. It cannot be found in any particular place. Neither is it a state of being. It is a person.
He himself is our peace.
He is peace.
And He is here.