Introduction

I had originally started writing this as a sort-of journal regarding the thoughts, feelings and emotions I had at the time. I wanted to write down everything about the ordeal and any details that related to it. If parts of the post seem too detail-oriented, that is likely because it was a memorable detail to me, even if it does not make for a more fluid read. I tried to focus on how I felt and what I was thinking (as much as possible in hindsight), even if those emotions did not make sense. Hopefully it does not detract from the story too much.

Background

It’s the 2nd week in November, not even 5 AM and I’m wide awake. Still jet-lagged from our vacation in China. A long trip with lots of exercise and uncomfortable beds. I could not wait to be in my own bed, then I get home and can’t sleep. Typical. At least I will get a head start on work.

Before I can get in the shower my phone rings. It’s my mom. Kenny, my brother, is sick and in the hospital. He passed out at school. He had been getting sick before we left China 3 days ago. I was sure it was nothing major, a cold, maybe the flu coupled with some malnutrition and freezing weather. I could see Kenny skipping dinner to save a few bucks. He lived in Zibo, a third tier city in China where good, healthy food was often expensive and difficult to get. My mom seemed unusually worried, I tried to calm her. People get sick, occasionally they pass out, I’m sure he’ll get some fluids, some food and be back in no time.

I showered and went to work. I was concerned and a bit tired, but overall not too worried. It was Tuesday morning, I was in the conference room. We had a conference call to study database performance for large customers with a consultant. I was a distracted as I kept getting texts from mom. Not long after the conference call started, I realized I had grossly underestimated the severity of Kenny’s condition.

Auto Pilot

I spent the rest of the work day on auto-pilot. I texted mom with increasing frequency trying to get all the details. Frustrated that she wasn’t giving me answers fast enough so I started directly texting Kenny’s girlfriend Emily. In hindsight I realize this probably giving her twice as many people to reply to, but I had to know what was going on. Mom worked with a Chinese-speaking doctor and he spoke to one of the ER doctors in Zibo, but all they could tell us was he had an infection. “An infection of what!?!” we would plead, but nobody could seem translate either the question or an acceptable response. “Whole body,” was the best we could get. Not long after they wanted to do exploratory surgery. This did not sound good, they did not know what was infected and now they wanted to cut him open without any target.

Emily seemed super worried, at this point mom and I were doing everything we could trying to find a way to get him transferred somewhere else. Somewhere where they could look for and give us specifics. These Chinese doctors did not seem to know what was going on (if they did know what was going on they could not communicate it). Initial quotes for him to be flown to a major city were over $100,000 USD. I briefly thought how much more physically fit I would become once I sold my car and started biking to work.

By this point my friend and co-worker Nick knew something was wrong. After a brief explanation, he suggested I contact our customers in Beijing. I contacted Annie, who I had met here in America and Yvonna who I had visited while in Beijing. It was early afternoon in California and still very early morning in China.

We had not gotten any new or useful information in hours, although it seemed like an eternity. Now the icing on cake — Emily’s cell phone, our only link to my brother was running low on power and she did not have a charger. I was deliriously frustrated and furious. They could be so damn cheap sometimes — of course they didn’t have one with them, they probably only had one charger between the two of them. My brother was dying and I was about to lose all contact with him, possibly forever. Maybe they could find a stranger and buy a charger for an obscene amount of money — if they can survive this I’m going to buy them more chargers than they know what to do with.

A little over an hour after I emailed her (around 7 AM in China), Annie responded. She called me from her cell phone and talked to me, she said she had talked with some of the people she knew in Zibo. So far all she could find out was that he was “very very sick” and needed surgery. One of her jobs at the hospital in Beijing was coordinating emergency air evacuations. In his current condition, Kenny was far too “unstable” to transfer anywhere, by air or otherwise.

During the call with Annie it began to dawn on me that the apparent confusion was less about language or incompetence, but the severity of the condition. He was close to death and rapidly getting worse. They needed more and more tests and blood work because his condition continued to worsen.

By this time the work day was nearly over, our conference call had ended. I sat alone in the conference room staring out the window. Tears in my eyes I remember waving goodbye to him at the Crown Plaza in Beijing a few short days ago. The cab was waiting so I waved good bye rather than waiting in line to give him hug. It was beginning to look like that would be the last memory I would ever have with him.

Charles, a co-worker walked in, he had a programming related question for me. I don’t remember the question or my answer — my work brain was on auto-pilot. I held back tears as I made up some answer for a problem that suddenly didn’t seem all that important. Noticing something was wrong, Charles asked if everything was OK. Up until this point nearly all the communication had been via text. When it came time to tell somebody, I struggled and forced myself to speak, “Kenny…is very sick…in China.”

“Is he going to be alright?” Charles asked. I tried to reply, but I could not get the words out.

“I don’t think so” is what I wanted to say, but I could not even bring myself to verbalize it. It was as if hearing myself say the words would somehow make them come true. Eventually I shook my head or stared blankly long enough to convey the same message: No he was not going to be OK. Charles offered his support if I needed anything. I was beyond frustrated. There was so much that my brother needed, so many friends and family willing to help, but none of us could do anything, we could not even get his damn cell phone charged!

Annie now lived in Beijing, but grew up near Zibo. She had gone to school with a surgeon who now worked at the Zibo hospital. She knew people in the medical staff office and would make sure to get him scheduled for Kenny’s procedure. She told me she would find out the details prior to surgery and call me back. It still was not clear what they wanted to operate on, but at this point it looked like surgery was a certainty—assuming he could survive long enough. Our only small comfort was that a friend of a friend knew one of the surgeons.

I remember leaving work, driving behind Temecula’s brand-new hospital. My mom and I spoke on the phone trying to decide who would go back to China. LAX to SFO to PEK (Beijing) followed by train or car to Zibo. The next morning was the soonest we could leave, 14 hours of flying plus another 6–8 hour drive to Zibo. Our modern world seems so small with cars and planes going everywhere seemingly all the time. Now there was a humbling realization of just how far away China is. It would be more than twelve hours before my plane would even take off, then another 20 to get to see him. I felt helpless, there was literally no way in the world that I could get to him in less than 2 days. If you do not travel much, that may not seem like very long. However, it had barely been 12 hours from the first phone call. 12 hours ago Kenny was seemingly healthy, now it would take a miracle for him to survive.

I headed home and hugged my wife, unable to hold back the tears any longer. We were waiting to hear back from Annie to decide which of us would go back. Nick and his wife were leaving for vacation via LAX the next morning. They offered to give me a ride and share a hotel room near the airport. Nick was an expert traveler and was going to help me book a ticket. Suddenly we remembered, China was not someplace you could just pop-in on a whim, you needed a visa.

My parents both checked their passports, they had a single entry visa, meaning they could not go back without re-applying. I checked my passport and saw a multi-entry visa. I do not remember if I intentionally requested multi-entry, accidentally, if it was a miracle, luck or divine intervention. At this point there was only one option, I would take the early flight to SFO and head to Beijing from there.

Surgery

Annie called back. She had spoken with the surgeon, Kenny was bleeding internally. It was his spleen and it needed to be operated on as soon as possible. As frightening as it should have been this was a relief. Finally at least something tangible. A real issue and a potential solution. I threw some clothes in a bag and Nick drove me up to LA. I had not eaten all day, so we drove through the new McDonald’s across the street from my house.

Emily texted us on the way to Los Angeles, the surgeons wanted to know whether we wanted them to plug the bleed or remove the spleen completely. My wife, a nurse, said “get rid of it,” which is what Emily ended up guessing on her own. To this day I don’t know if this is a language barrier or a cost thing, but I am baffled that this was Emily’s choice. They did not have a recommendation, just three options for Emily: 1. plug the spleen, 2. remove it or 3. do nothing and he will bleed to death. The last option was not a warning, that was a legitimate option she was given.

I met my parents on the way to Los Angeles to take some Chinese cash leftover from vacation. They had spoken with Kenny and said their goodbyes. We were all still worried, but everybody was a little calmer. We knew what was wrong and now and all we could do was wait. As I left my dad told me to bring them home for Thanksgiving (a little over a week away).

The Longest Ride of My Life

I doubt I slept much the night before. I bought international emergency insurance for myself and booked a car from Beijing to Zibo. I had a 6:30 flight to San Francisco and then a 12+ hour flight to Beijing.

I don’t really remember LAX at all. I said goodbye to Nick and Kim at the airport and boarded the flight. When I got to San Francisco time slowed to a crawl. I could not think about anything other than getting to China. Once there I had to race through security and find the drivers — who I had never actually spoken with directly.

I boarded the plane and Kenny was still not out of surgery. I turned my phone off and hoped to sleep. I couldn’t. All I could think about was Kenny. The last time I saw him. What would I do if the drivers were not there? What if I couldn’t get through customs? Worst of all: what would I do if Emily was there waiting for me alone at the airport — what if I was too late? I would close my eyes only to picture myself collapsing on the airport floor at the sight of Emily. Desperate and exhausted, knowing that her mere presence meant I was too late. Knowing what I had most feared, what I was afraid to say had come to pass. I sat on the plane trying to force these thoughts out of my mind, but they cycled through over and over and over.

The plane landed, I took my phone out and anxiously awaited a cell phone connection. Finally I received news: Kenny was out of surgery. It had gone well. He was tired and weak but doing better.

I was the first one off the plane ahead of the other passengers. I wanted to run through the airport, but did not want to alarm security (since I don’t know Chinese I wouldn’t be able to explain my emergency). I walked as quickly as possible only to have to wait for the the train to take me back to the main airport, still not sure if the car service would be there.

I made it through customs and happily found the drivers waiting there exactly as planned—suddenly everything was coming up Milhouse. We walked through what seemed like a maze of airport parking lots and finally reached the car. They had water waiting for me. We drove 6 hours across the Chinese country-side. I remember looking out into the dark emptiness searching for landmarks. Traffic would speed up, then slow down. Four lanes of traffic consisting entirely of huge trucks seemed to condense into a single toll booth. I would doze off and wake up to the same scenery, again and again.

After what seemed like yet another eternity, we drove past the Ramada (where I had booked a room), to the front of what looked like a hospital. It was nearly midnight, I walked in the front door. I instantly knew I was back in China. The concrete, the building, the smells and most of all the front doors. After the hospital door shut I could still feel the freezing wind blowing at my back. The first instant I stepped inside the hospital Emily’s text message descriptions — how cold it was in the ER, how the nurses all wore heavy coats — suddenly became much more vivid as I looked around and saw where they had been fighting to keep Kenny alive.

The double doors at the hospital entrance did not meet flat on the ground or together. Not even close. The gaps between parts of the doors were clearly visible to the naked eye and you could hear the icy wind blowing through the openings. Zibo was a third-tier city. This sort of engineering was not uncommon. As an American, it’s a fascinating feature throughout China that represents a major cultural difference. It’s not that people did not notice the doors or forgot to measure before hanging them, but that they did not really care. China has a lot of buildings to build for lots of people and fully closing doors are just not that important. Doors that really close are surely desirable, but not a requirement, not even at a hospital, not even in a city where it is below freezing in November. Mostly closing doors are good enough for the people who live here.

Ben, one of Kenny’s co-workers, was waiting for me in the lobby. He spoke broken English and took me up to see Kenny, insisting on taking my luggage. Despite having just met him, I could see the concern on Ben’s face. He seemed relieved that I had made it, but very concerned about Kenny. Ben and I made it up to the 20th floor, where it was still very cold. We made a right out of the elevator bank, walked to the end of the hall and entered his room on the left.

I’m not sure exactly what I was expecting, but I came into the room and saw a pale, thin, barely conscious version of my brother. As I walked in he could barely talk, but he did smile. I had made it.

The Road to Recovery

Nobody Home

Seeing Kenny smile was great, but I could see just how weak he was. It had been less than a week since I had last seen him, he was now incredibly pale and thin. He was always very skinny, but now his upper arms and shoulders were skin and bone, like you would see on a 90 year old. It was apparent how hard his body had been fighting to keep him alive.

In addition to Ben, several of Kenny’s co-workers were in the room. One of them was there all day, helping Emily translate and bring her food. The school they worked continued to pay her to stay with us and help for his entire hospital visit.

After talking for a few minutes, Ben drove me to the hotel to check-in and drop my bag off. With my luggage in my lap, I did not have room to buckle my seatbelt. Ben’s car beeped warnings (as most modern cars do). At the stop light he shuffled through his glove box to find a decorative seat-belt plug. Apparently this was something sold in China that would click into the female end of the seatbelt to shut off the car’s warning, allowing you to drive seatbelt free in peace. I had barely slept in days, we were now a couple of blocks from the hotel, but Ben had to find his accessory to quiet the car’s beep that I hadn’t even noticed. For a moment I allowed myself to be amused by this cultural difference (along the same lines, Kenny’s co-workers would laugh at him when he wore a helmet while bike riding). I checked in to the hotel, then Ben drove me back to the hospital. After midnight, I made it back to the hospital room, pulled the extra green chair/bed out and tried to sleep.

Thermometer the back said “one-time use only,” but the nurses assured us we could use it “many times”

Not long after I sat down, I heard a chime and the voice of somebody speaking Chinese over the in-room speaker. Emily informed me that this was a periodic reminder to take Kenny’s temperature. She grabbed the flimsy cardboard thermometer to put under his arm, then wrote the time and his temperature in red pen on a piece of scratch paper. We would show the doctors the temperature and time when they arrived the next morning. I hadn’t really done the math until Emily told me this. There were 40 or more patients on this floor alone, there was 1 nurse and no doctors.

When Kenny was first sick, the hospital drove us crazy with repeated tests, vague diagnoses and no logical procedures. We had somewhat arrogantly assumed it was incompetence. Looking back, Kenny arrived at night and the seeming inactivity and repeated tests was probably just the hospital’s way of monitoring Kenny until morning when the surgeons arrived. As an American working in the health care field I had never considered that that somebody who was dying could not get treatment until morning, especially considering this was the largest hospital in a city of several million people. The comfort I had felt upon arrival was quickly vanishing as I realized if something went wrong, it was 7+ hours before a doctor would be here to help.

Frankenkenny

The next morning there was quite a bit more activity on floor twenty. There were now multiple nurses coming to help change the IV bags. I asked Emily when they were coming to change the sheets.

“They do that on Mondays” she said.

Working in healthcare I am all too familiar with how common (and dangerous) post-op infections can be. Kenny had two draining tubes coming out of his midsection draining into a bag. The thought of waiting another five days for clean sheets compounded my fear of Kenny getting worse. What if the lack of cleaning resulted in an infection that occurred at night when there were no doctors? I hated being so paranoid, but given how quickly things had escalated it was hard not to be.

My room at the Ramada was less than a mile away, I had opted for two beds, so I quickly ran to the hotel and stripped down the room. I wrapped my arms around the bed sheets, blanket, pillow, and bath robe and walked them back to the hospital. Emily and I put fresh sheets (and a real pillow) under Kenny. Each morning I would take new sheets from the room and bring the old ones back to the hotel and pile them on the bed (Ramada graciously washed the sheets and re-made the bed each day).

That afternoon we convinced Emily to get some rest, she reluctantly went to my hotel room down the street while I stayed with Kenny. She had been by his side for at least 3 days now, most of the time without even an uncomfortable chair. While she was gone one of the younger doctors came to remove one of the drainage tubes. I had seen the tubes going into his bandages. Once the bandages were removed, I could see where the tubes were going, where the surgeons had made the huge incision and just how thin my brother had gotten.

Frankenkenny

Leukemia

Earlier that morning, doctors had arrived around 9 AM. Ben had come back to help translate. Several doctors took Ben and I into the conference room to explain what had happened. The doctors seemed happy that I had arrived. They explained that he had lost nearly two liters of blood and they had to perform surgery to save his life. I imagine these conversations are very necessary for many of the patient’s relatives. Not only to keep the family informed, but also to justify the cost to any procedures that had been performed (remember the “let him die” option?). One of doctors seemed very impressed with how large the spleen was. He had me wait in the conference room while he found his phone to show me a photo of Kenny’s triple-sized spleen. After showing me the photo, then end came the bad news. I could tell the doctor was very serious and concerned. He suspected that the cause of the issues were … (the medical terms were always difficult and took a long time to a long time to translate) … Leukemia.

The last we would see of Kenny’s spleen

The doctors wanted to do a bone marrow biopsy right away. I reluctantly agreed, as much as I hated the thought of another opportunity for infection, if it was Leukemia, given Kenny’s weakened state we should know. Ben was beside himself upon hearing the news. While I appreciated his condolences, I was remaining skeptical (or maybe in denial) until the test results returned. The test results had to go to another city, several hours away. I debated whether to even tell Kenny the suspected diagnosis. The results were not expected for several days, and the goal was the same—get enough strength to get back to America to continue treatment, regardless of the underlying cause.

From home, mom had suspected mononucleosis, which can cause a weakening of the spleen. Given Kenny’s previous flu-like symptoms prior to his accident, that seemed like a reasonable suggestion. The doctors did not seem to think that was likely, given the amount of blood loss and the size of his, now former spleen. Furthermore his blood tests seemed to reveal some abnormal liver functionality, which could correlate to Leukemia.

Night Two

Emily had finally gotten a few hours sleep before she came back. I think my arrival had given Kenny a little adrenaline, but he was now extremely tired and slept most of the day. We took turns taking his temperature every couple of hours, emptying his various drainage bags and trying to remove air bubbles from the hanging IVs. The bathroom attached to his room had a toilet, a sink and a drain in the floor. I don’t know what was going on with the hospital’s pipes each night, but after dark the worst smell imaginable would come from the drain in the bathroom floor. By morning it was gone, but every night it was strong enough to make you sick.

Night two was by far the worst night that I had witnessed. Kenny had less energy and a higher fever than he did the night before. He was supposed to be improving, but thus far he was not. Between the lack of doctors, lack of clean sheets and lack of soap in the bathroom my fear of infection was as high as ever. Early in the night the chime sounded, I took Kenny’s temperature, it was as high as it had ever been. I quickly went and showed the nurse that his temperature was over 103. She nodded as though she understood and came with an oxygen mask about half hour later. All I could do was put a cold wash cloth on his head and wait until morning (when the doctors could see his temperature). I continued to take it frequently, it fluctuated some (likely based on the flimsy one-time-use under-arm thermometer), but it was consistently too high. The second night seemed to last an eternity. I was counting down the hours waiting for the doctors to arrive while praying his temperature would not climb any higher. I know it’s common for temperatures to spike at night, but with no doctors around there was nothing we could do but wait and worry until morning.

Reinforcements

Morning finally came, Kenny seemed better than he was that night, but about the same as the previous morning. The doctors were not overly concerned about his temperature (at least from what I could understand). They came and visited, talked amongst themselves and left. Emily was definitely concerned about his temperature, but given how bad he had looked before my arrival, she was far less panicked than I. Regardless, his condition hadn’t really improved since my arrival. I decided we needed to get a real thermometer as soon as possible (and some real soap), so we could at least accurately measure his temperature, should his fever come back.

I went back to the hotel to take a shower. I couldn’t help but feel that any one of these nights he could take a turn for the worse, there would be no doctors there to help and he wouldn’t survive the night. Back at the hotel my parents called to see how he was doing. I explained everything that happened and tried to reassure them. I’m sure they could tell how worried I was. I could barely explain how helpless it is at night, the three of us alone with Kenny’s fever spiking. At some point during the conversation I decided, they needed to come. The stakes were too high. Night two had been worse than night one, both in terms of fever and energy. If Kenny did take a turn for the worse or get an infection I didn’t want them waiting at home, feeling as helpless as I had the night before. Most importantly, I wanted to make sure they had every opportunity to see him again in case he didn’t make it. I told my mom “I think you should come,” in the most confident way I could. My parents started the visa process, my friend Nick, who had become our all-hours travel agent, helped them find a flight.

Getting a visa in a timely manner turned out to be very difficult. Thanksgiving was nearing and nobody seemed to be in any sort of hurry. My parents did everything the could and called everyone they could. Local senator Barbara Boxer’s office suggested that if it was an emergency, my parents should “mail a letter to her office.” The government inefficiency (and in this case stupidity) was infuriating. Finally Janet Napolitano (then Secretary of Homeland Security) was able to call the embassy, she told my parents to drive down there. By the time they arrived the embassy had closed, but she had somebody waiting at the embassy for my parents arrival, just to give them their visa.

Over the next few days Kenny continued to improve. Unlike night two, nights three and four were each an improvement over the previous night. Kenny was still very weak, but ironically, by the time our parents arrived, it was very clear that he was on the mend and would almost certainly survive his hospital stay. This was yet another reminder of just how far away we were. Beijing is just one plane flight away, yet when I had told my parents to come, I feared Kenny may not survive long enough to see them. By the time they arrived he was standing on his own and we were asking how long until he could be discharged.

Upon their arrival my parents brought much needed industrial strength cleaning supplies that the hospital room had desperately needed. We wiped down everything we could and had his room sparkling like never before. Most importantly, my parents brought encouragement for Kenny. Given how weak he was when I arrived, I was hesitant to push him to do things he didn’t feel ready for. My parents on the other hand, had been around hospital patients frequently and were constantly pushing Kenny to try to walk a little farther, to eat a little more so that he could regain his strength. Knowing when to push yourself and how far when you have been in such poor health can be very difficult. Without my parents there our hospital stay would likely have been even longer.

Thanksgiving

Kenny continued to improve over the coming days. With the difficulty communicating with the hospital staff, it was very difficult getting train tickets, planning (and re-planning) plane flights, etc. On Thursday morning the bone marrow biopsy results were back. This was another difference between American and Chinese healthcare. The lab was several cities away. The results were expected to take a couple of days, but instead took more than a week. The long-awaited results of the biopsy: infectious mononucleosis. Given Kenny’s rate of recovery over the week, Leukemia (or at least severe Leukemia) had seemed unlikely. He still had abnormal liver, but it was nice to know there was no chronic illness.

On Thursday, Thanksgiving evening (in China, still Wednesday in America) he was released from the hospital. We had all our tickets in order, one more night in Zibo, then Shanghai for rest, then home. We took a cab back to the Ramada. Mom and I left to go get our Thanksgiving dinner.

I will never forget that walk. It was below freezing outside the hotel, the wind was blowing towards us as we walked down the sidewalk towards McDonalds. The most unexpected thanksgiving turned out to be the most memorable. I don’t ever remember being so excited to visit McDonalds, even in my happy meal days. Despite the freezing temperatures, bringing a large meal back to the family’s hotel room was comforting. After McThanksgiving, we all packed up for the train ride in to Shanghai.

Zibo Train Station

Kenny and Emily had been living in Zibo. Since we were taking them home with us, they need to get all their stuff from their apartment. After cleaning out an apartment we had several extra heavy bags. Kenny was still very weak and couldn’t really carry anything. I think we had four of us carrying 10 bags. I had already taken several trains in China, when we arrived at the train station I was expecting something less…awful than what we found.

As soon as you got to the entrance you could see the construction and sparks flying. There was only one baggage scanner, meaning a long line of people pushing and shoving their way to the front. We all piled our tons of luggage onto the conveyor. I walked through the metal detector then went to grab the bags I was carrying. As it turns out, there was also some sort of water leak as well. The train station floor had an inch or two of standing water. If you don’t pick your bags off the conveyor fast enough, they fall onto the floor/pond that was taking up much of the first floor. Combined with all the people pushing from behind and a weak, sick brother it was clear we weren’t out of the woods yet.

I managed to keep the bag with my laptop mostly off the wet floor, after grabbing the rest of the bags, everybody was heading upstairs. Given that the first floor was a shallow pond, it was no surprise that the escalator did not work, meaning we got to haul all those bags upstairs. Upstairs was not much of an improvement. We had arrived early so we would not miss the train and so Kenny would have time to rest. He was still very weak, exhausted after walking short distances. Unfortunately the waiting room was packed with people. People smoking, people coughing and people spitting. People in China cough more than anywhere I’ve ever been (probably due to the pollution). With so much of station closed the waiting room was packed shoulder-to-shoulder, nowhere for Kenny to sit, nowhere to even set our bags. Imagine a sold out concert combined with the gambling basement from Always Sunny. With Kenny’s immune system compromised, people coughing and smoking left and right, the train could not arrive soon enough.

It finally came time to head down to the tracks. Of course there was only 1–2 gates taking tickets for hundreds of people. We tried to shield Kenny between us and the bags. As is the case with “lines/queues” in China—it was chaos. Nobody lining up, pushing and shoving from every direction. We finally wrestled our way through the gate and made it down to the train in time.

Thanksgiving Two

About five hours later we arrived in Shanghai. I had the hotel send a van to take us from the train station to the Hyatt. Check-in was on the 53rd floor in a gorgeous new building. When we vacationed in China, Shanghai had been our first stop. I remember feeling overwhelmed by how different Shanghai was than America. Now, not even a month later, with all we had been through, we couldn’t wait to get to Shanghai. A Chinese oasis that now felt so much like home.

We chose the Hyatt because it had several restaurants, some of which were open 24/7. Kenny could sleep, rest and eat for a few days to regain his strength. We got to our rooms rather late, went down to the cafe (which had a great view of the city), I believe it was now Thanksgiving in America. Our only task in Shanghai was to rest (and maybe find fresh clothes). I remember as a child we would discuss what we were thankful for. Family, friends and health were always included. This thanksgiving was no exception, I had never been so thankful for my family and their health. For friends, co-workers and acquaintances who would repeatedly dropped everything to help out however they could. I have never been more thankful than I was that night.

Kemily

Emily had been by Kenny’s side day and night for days on end. I snapped the cover photo one afternoon when she allowed herself a brief nap. Emily had been using Kenny’s phone (T-Mobile international data FTW!) to communicate with me. Occasionally during all the texting back and forth I would react to seeing texts from Kenny (even though he wasn’t well enough to text) and get excited. To help prevent this, I changed the contact in my phone to Kemily, keeping the “K” for when Kenny would be able to text again. To this day I still refer to them as the single entity Kemily. I was impressed with the bravery it took Kemily to move to Zibo (and later Japan) and I am grateful for all that they have meant to each other. I can’t help but think without Emily’s constant support throughout the ordeal, things would have turned out much worse for Kenny.

The day before our flight home I was out in Shanghai looking for giant-sized clothes (I was on round 4+ of underwear). I texted Kemily asking what they were doing. I expected the usual answer, “Kenny was sleeping.” I was excited to receive a response saying “watching Rush Hour 2.” This was such a positive response. I immediately knew it was Kenny and he was feeling better (Emily wouldn't know Rush Hour 2 from 12). It also meant that Emily did not have the phone and must be resting. Kenny must be well enough that she can finally relax. The following day we got on a plane, the whole ordeal had been less than three weeks. On December 1st Kemily had finally made it back home.

Back in California

Conclusion

It is now a year later. This Thanksgiving I try to remind myself to be thankful for the things that really matter. It is a humbling feeling to know there are so many people who helped us so much for nothing in return. With so many people who I will never be able to re-pay (try as I might), all I can do is be thankful :-)