Du Fu’s Thatched Roof Cottage, Visited with Art

Posted on June 2, 2008 by connieinasia
 

            I’m not very much of a tourist.

            Drop me off in any Chinese city and my first order of business is where to find a 50-meter swimming pool.   Years of competitive swimming are not about to be drowned out of me by Beijing’s Forbidden City, Nanjing’s Ming Tombs or Hangzhou’s West Lake.

            But I must admit that Chengdu has places to offer that come very close to tempting me away from a cool water work-out.  One of these is Du Fu’s Thatched Cottage, a preservation park dedicated to the Chengdu life of an infamous Tang Dynasty poet, Du Fu.

            Last Saturday, I was very privileged to wander our famous poet’s pathways along with Art Silverman.  Art is an  NPR (National Public Radio) producer now on vacation after completing his stint with colleagues for NPR’s The Chengdu Diaries.   After following the stories of the group on their website, I contacted Art to see if anyone was interested in doing something in the area aside from earthquake coverage.  Since Art was free, he took me up on the offer with my recommendation being a visit to Du Fu Cao Tang (Du Fu’s Thatched Roof Cottage).

            In 759, Du Fu (712-770) moved with his family to Chengdu from Gansu province in order to escape the Lushan Rebellion.  They traveled through the dense, rugged forests of Sichuan to finally alight in the western suburbs of Chengdu.  Here, Du Fu set up a thatched cottage near Flower Washing Brook, where he and his family lived for almost 3 years. 

            During this time, Du Fu composed over 240 poems about his cottage life in this place far from home.  Although Du Fu’s current thatched cottage is a replica, the nearly exact location is known due to his meticulous references to this home:  “To the west of the Ten Thousand Li Bridge,/ To the north of the Hundred Flower Pond,/ Lies my thatched cottage.” (Du Fu, Fond Memories of Living by the Brocade River). 

            The poet’s careful descriptions also helped park planners recreate the quiet, natural surroundings that Du Fu himself must have experienced during his life here.

 

            A fence of woven bamboo winding

            Along the river bank;

            A picket gate set askew

            Yet true to the bending stream;

            Fishermen setting their nets

            In clear waters;

            Cargo boats sliding quietly

            Behind the rays of the setting sun.

 

                                    –Du Fu, Old Man in the Country

 

            When I arrived at 4 p.m., Art was already inside the park, having entered from the “back door,” so to speak, which is the south entrance.  Most of us enter via the main north gate so I hustled through to meet up with him inside. 

            Admission fee is 60 yuan ($8.60), which includes a souvenir postcard and a small folded map (bilingual) to navigate you around the park.  Winter hours are 8 a.m. to 6:30 p.m., summer hours 7:30 a.m. to 7 p.m.  For 50 yuan ($7.15), you can even hire your own English-speaking guide for a private tour. Although I have always preferred to wander the small park by myself, if you are truly into Chinese history and poets, I suggest you go for the tour.  In other Chinese tourist areas, I have found that the English speaking guides are very well-informed about their subject, can answer difficult questions and truly give you good insight into what you are seeing.  I’m sure your 50 yuan at Du Fu’s Cottage would be well-spent.

            Art and I greeted one another near the south gate, in front of the Ten-thousand Buddha Tower (or pagoda).  This is a fairly new addition, about 3 years old, and offers a great view of the entire grounds.  Unfortunately, due to the earthquake, we weren’t able to climb to the fourth tier to see it.

            My great love of this place has largely to do with the fact that it is so quiet, peaceful and beautiful.  Tall bamboo groves dip downward, shading visitors from the hot sun as they slowly walk along the many paved pathways.  Sitting areas nestle in forested niches.  Fish-filled ponds and trickling brooks, crossed by wooden bridges, dot the landscape.  Small temples, winding verandas, pavilions  and tea-sipping areas all help to create a picturesque scene of Du Fu’s China.  Even the exhibition halls are designed to blend into the park’s Tang Dynasty poetic atmosphere.

            Of course, the highlight of the park is the cottage itself, rebuilt in 1997.  It rests on well-swept grounds, enclosed by a woven bamboo fence. The thatched roof is thick, and the outside walls are faced with clay.  Wooden beams inside and out create the strong support needed to keep safe the rooms inside. 

            Every time I approach this infamous spot, I feel as if I am an expected guest. In the cool, mystical shade of the surrounding trees, it is as if Du Fu himself is ready to step out onto the raised stone porch to greet me. 

            Entering the open doorway and peering into the rooms of his home gives one the feeling that a poet is present, if not physically then spiritually.  I imagine Du Fu sitting at his desk in his small study.  His calm surroundings embrace him, his feelings of this cottage life now moved into words:

 

            My home in the suburbs,

            Commanding a fine view

            Unobstructed by any village

            So that I can see

            Far into the distance

            With but a quiet stream beside

            Low banks, and a view of a tree

            In blossom at sunset; able to watch

            Small fish rise in the rain

            And swallows that clip the breeze

            As they fly. In the city,

            A hundred thousand households;

            Here, but two or three.

— Du Fu, Leaning Over the Railing I Free My Heart

 

           

            If I were ever a poet in need of inspiration, this is certainly the place I’d come to.

 

            In my opinion, the only eyesore of this great historical place is a 2004 addition of an archaeological dig site open to the public.  A low-lying metal building houses a completed dig of the village which Du Fu often visited.  Inside, you can gaze down upon the remnants of wells, walkways, house walls and stone entranceways.  It’s not exactly a favorite stop for visitors but it does hold some interest if you’re really into Tang Dynasty village life, which I’m not.

 

            Art and I finished our pleasant stroll through the park in just under two hours, although if you wanted to make it an all-day respite from the crowded, noisy outside city, you could easily do so. 

            Of all the places in Chengdu, Du Fu’s Thatched Roof Cottage is my favorite.  There is a feeling of sanctuary here which quiets the soul and allows busy minds to rest.  Perhaps this is one reason why I chose it. The NPR coverage of the Sichuan earthquake I’m sure had a very strong emotional and physical impact on all who worked so tirelessly to bring listeners the stories of people so greatly affected by this horrific event.  And while I would have loved to have the entire staff with us to enjoy Du Fu’s healing serenity, I at least managed to get one of them.

           

            From Chengdu, wishing you all  “Ping An!” (Peace)

 

Note:  I am by no means a Du Fu expert nor a scholar of Chinese poetry.  All information and translation of poems came from a great hard-cover English guide book sold at the cottage.  Best $8 I ever spent!

 

REMINDER FOR AID IN BUYING TENTS, VACCINES, AND OTHER SUPPLIES FOR EARTHQUAKE RELIEF EFFORTS

 

United Methodists:    UMCOR Advance #982450, International Disaster Response, China Earthquake

 

Others:  www.amityfoundation.org

 

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June 1st: An Environmentally Friendly Move

Posted on June 1, 2008 by connieinasia
 

            The strong tremor this morning caught all of us by surprise. 

            After several days of very little “felt” ground activity, the rumble at around 11:30 will most likely be yet another excuse to keep our Chengdu tent dwellers outside.  Little Flower and I passed them all today on our walk out of the apartment complex and through the small public park that hugs our back side street.

          Yes, they are still there.  No, these few die-hards don’t seem to be leaving quite yet.   

            Our neighborhood’s outdoor campers were nothing new for today’s entry into the month of June, but something else in the city was – a fee for plastic bags. 

            When I first came to China in 1991, a plastic bag (or any grocery-type bag, for that matter) was hard to come by.  I used to cherish the ones I had from the States, using them over and over again until they finally broke or smelled so rank that I absolutely was forced to give them up. 

            With few plastic bags, the Chinese used other means of carrying their shopping things.  Going to the open-air market, many of us browsers carried our wicker baskets and put the produce inside.  Fresh meat was wrapped in newspaper or nothing at all.  The butchers handed over our selected hunks and  into our baskets or cloth bags they went with all the rest of our  mixed and jumbled produce piles.

            China had not yet reached the plastic bag stage in their push for modernization.

            But since 2000, bagging groceries or market purchases in plastic bags has become a given.  All outdoor market sellers now have them.  Street-side sellers likewise have a stash.  Even the poorest farmers, in from the countryside to sell their wares, have plastic bags for their customers.  

            At first, these were cheaply made and often broke.  We almost always asked for our things to be double-bagged.  But when upscale chain stores such as Carrefore, Wal-mart, Metro and Trust-mart entered China, a stronger variety of plastic bag was introduced.   The quality now is much better and one bag will usually do just fine.

            Yet old habits die hard.  Despite the bag’s excellent quality, every time I went to the grocery or convenience store, my heavier items would automatically be double-bagged by the cashier.   Not only that, but small, light things (such as a bar of soap, a package of candy,  a small bottle of shampoo) were often placed in their own separate tiny bag and then put inside the larger one.  No wonder reports are that this country goes through 3 billion plastic bags a day. I’m certainly proof of that.  I’m constantly inundated in plastic bags which I have absolutely no use for aside from lining my trash baskets.

             If you can imagine the millions of people in Chengdu, and in cities across China, faced with the same dilemma, you get an idea what a landfill in this country must look like.

            But the days of  zealous bagging are over. 

            Today, when I finished my wandering through the aisles of a local convenience store, I was told that my plastic bag would cost 2 mao (1.4 cents) for a small one or 3 mao (2 cents) for the larger.  In the nearby international food store, favored by many of us foreigners, the larger bags went for a higher 4 mao (2.8 cents) due to their superior quality and larger size.  A carefully printed English sign posted next to the cash register announced this was a government move:   either buy a bag or carry yourself.

            Out of curiosity, I wondered just which stores were charging for bags and which weren’t.  The street sellers, with their fruit or snack carts, weren’t charging.  Neither were the many tiny family-run convenience stores I patron.  Bakeries, clothes stores, book sellers, tea and other specialty shops were likewise giving their bags for free. Yet not so for the more popular chain stores, such as Wo Wo (similar to a 7-11) and the Hong Hui Supermarket.  But I did find that the Hong Hui stores weren’t exactly in agreement on the policy.  One Hong Hui I visited gave me the bag for free, saying they’d not been informed about selling bags, while the other, just a block over, made me pay the 1.4 cents.

            The question is, will this one or two-penny purchase make a difference in the number of plastic bags being used here in Chengdu? 

            At the Trust-mart, I positioned myself at the exit to find out.  It was interesting to see the number of people who now were carrying their items out the door without having them bagged.  Some had their smaller purchases stuffed  into their purses while others had a very popular flower-designed green nylon tote overloaded with items.

             I stopped one young man and asked him about this green bag.  He said these were being sold in the store for 2.5 yuan (35 cents) as an alternative to paying for plastic bags.  They were sturdy and big enough to hold a reasonable number of groceries.   The nice thing was that people really seemed to be buying them.  In 15 minutes, I counted 8 of these greenies going home with customers.  I even passed a few more along the street while walking the dog back home.  This move by the Trust-mart seems to be a winner.  I can only imagine other stores, such as the Wal-mart and Carrefore, having similar bagging options to offer consumers.

            Chinese are so good at recycling to begin with that it only makes sense plastic bags should be next on the list.  Now maybe my cupboard full of these nuisance items can start to dwindle.

             In the meantime, I’m off to the Trust-mart to buy my 35-cent green flowery tote. 

            Some may think China isn’t my country so why bother following in the footsteps of my neighbors.  Just pay the few extra cents every shopping trip and be done with it.  But this is our shared world, and while it’s true I’ve often been accused of being the overly independent American, in this case, I’m joining the masses and going green.

           

            From Chengdu, wishing you all an environmentally friendly “Ping An” (Peace)

             

REMINDER FOR AID IN BUYING TENTS, VACCINES, AND OTHER SUPPLIES FOR EARTHQUAKE RELIEF EFFORTS

 

United Methodists:    UMCOR Advance #982450, International Disaster Response, China Earthquake

 

Others:  www.amityfoundation.org

             

           

 

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A Chinese New Year “hong bao” Comes In Handy

Posted on May 31, 2008 by connieinasia

 

            Thursday afternoon had my dresser drawer full of Chinese bills, each one 100 yuan ($14.00).  I had just been to the bank to cash travelers checks.  Friday morning, I was returning to the vet and needed to pay the bill, in full and in cash.

            In China, there are no personal checking accounts.  Bank cards for quick automated cash are becoming popular and a few of the upper middle-class have credit cards, but when it comes to paying for anything, almost all places require cash.  Buying air tickets overseas’ or in country?  Buying or renting an apartment? Purchasing a car?  Paying  hospital bills?  Paying for college tuition fees?  Cash required, up front.

            This is one reason why you will often see many in Chinese banks with huge stacks of money.  Those coming in have done business transactions and are depositing their customers’ sums into accounts.  Those leaving are  taking their money to pay bills or purchase expensive items.

            The same goes for me, such as when I took out $3,500 worth of  yuan  for my university fees and the yearly rental of the apartment.

             And all of us are also the same in our paranoid guarding of what we have.  We clutch our bulging wads, placed securely in our purses or bags, until we reach home where we can hide them in places we hope thieves won’t be looking.

            I was rather relieved when Friday morning arrived so I could get rid of all my cash.  Little Flower was to have a quick visit at Dr. Q’s, just to make sure all was well, and then there would be no more IVs at the hospital.  I had wanted to pay the day before but Dr. Q suggested we wait, just to make sure.

            So Friday, after class, I was ready to go with LF in her carrier and my money in my bag.

             The only problem had been where to put all those bills.  I searched for a large envelope but couldn’t find one.  What I did find were a handful of leftover Chinese New Year hong baos.

            The hong bao, or red envelope, is used in China during the Chinese New Year to give money gifts.   Money is the appropriate gift for children on New Year’s or birthdays, not giving presents as in the States.  I had picked up a number of hong baos to use during the last Spring Festival as I have several children in the neighborhood who like to visit me.  But I had overbought so now they just sat there, rather useless, until next year’s New Year’s celebrations arrived.

            Since I had nothing else to put the vet’s money in, I stuffed it into one of the red envelopes.  It was a tight fit but as long as the bills stayed together, I was happy.

            After climbing into the taxi, I told the driver where to go and waited for the usual quick 20-minute ride across town.  But there was a problem.  This particular driver felt the need to go a different route, one I thought was much further and certainly would take longer. 

            When all traffic suddenly came to a full standstill, I knew I had been right.

            “The other road was faster!” I griped.  “This way is so slow.  Look at all the cars!  I’ve gone to the vet’s every day for 5 days and no taxi driver ever took this road.”

            The driver remained silent, which only annoyed me even more.

            “Are you a Chengdu native?” I pressed, wanting him to say something.  Maybe he wasn’t familiar with the way to the vet’s.

            “Yes,” he answered.  “I’m a Chengdu native.  But the road you want is farther away.  And there is a problem now.  An accident.  There’s nothing I can do.”

            As the wait become longer and the cars merely inched forward, neither of us were very happy.  LF was fidgeting in her carrier and wanted out,  I was muttering we should have gone the other way, and the poor driver was stuck with an unhappy foreigner plus a line of cars that just didn’t seem to be going anywhere.

            Finally, in desperation, he asked if he could take me another way, down one of the side streets.  It was going in the opposite direction I wanted to go in but he could eventually get us back on the right course.

            “Whatever,” I sighed.  “Doesn’t matter to me.  You’re the driver.”

            After about 5 minutes, things started looking up.  He was able to maneuver around all the trouble spots.  We were able to zip along a bit faster and make some headway, albeit in the wrong direction.

            By that time, I had cooled down a bit and felt rather ashamed at my rudeness.  There are just days when I get impatient and cranky, thinking I know it all.  Most bad-China days, I am able to hold my tongue and be civil,  but that Friday was not one of them.

            Obviously, it was time for a full, sincere apology.

            “I’m so sorry,” I said with great contrition. “I was very impolite and had no patience.  I should listen to you.  You’re the driver.  You’re the Chengdu native.  I’m just a foreigner who doesn’t know the city very well.  Really, I’m very sorry to give you so much trouble.”

            “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “I bother you. I have to take you so far out-of-the-way. You can see,  Chengdu traffic is so bad.”

            Those kind, forgiving words opened the door to a fresh new start on our journey together. 

            It took another 40 minutes before we finally reached the vet’s.  During that time, Mr. Liu (the driver) and I chatted about a variety of subjects.  We talked about the earthquake, the people still sleeping in tents alongside the road, our families, the prices of food and pets in China.  He was kind enough to wait for me outside Dr. Q’s clinic so I wouldn’t have to hail another taxi for a return trip to my home.  This allowed us another 30 minutes to talk more before we finally arrived back at the West Gate of Sichuan University.

            When it came time for me to pay, I really wanted to do something special for Mr. Liu to make up for my ugly behavior.  Since we don’t tip in China, and no driver would ever even dream of accepting a tip, I had to think of something else.

            Then I remembered  Mr. Liu had mentioned his daughter was turning 8 in two days. A gift of money would be appropriate but there was no way he would possibly take money for his daughter unless. . . . it were presented in a red envelope.

            I quickly pulled out the New Year’s hong bao which was once filled with payment for LF’s clinic treatment.  Quickly, I slipped inside 8 yuan, 1 yuan for each year of his daughter’s life, and presented it to him along with the money for the taxi ride.

            “For your daughter’s birthday,” I smiled.  “Please wish her a happy birthday for me.”

            Mr. Liu hesitated.

            A red envelope can’t really be rejected.  If it’s for a child, and given for an acceptable celebration, he should be willing to take it.  But I wasn’t sure about the protocol at this point, especially since it had Chinese New Year’s greetings on it and I didn’t  personally know his daughter or his family.  This was an odd gift, coming from a stranger.

            Yet I think Mr. Liu realized my sincere wish to do this.  In a short 1 ½ hours, a relationship had formed.   We were no longer just passenger and driver, but two people who had shared stories, opinions and thoughts.  Now we could be friends.

           Mr. Liu gratefully accepted his daughter’s gift and immediately gave me his telephone number.

            “We must go out to eat,” he said decisively. “You don’t like spicy food but I know a good place without spicy food.  I think you’d like it.  We can eat together with my family!”

            I thanked Mr. Liu, tucked his number into a safe place in my billfold, and got out of the cab with the dog.

            Our long trip together had ended.

             My new acquaintance gave me a final wave, then drove off down the street in search of other passengers.

              I have many telephone numbers that are given to me by people I have briefly met.  Most of them, I throw away or forget about. But in this case, Mr. Liu’s number is one I’m always going to hold onto.  I need a good reminder.  First, to keep that nasty side of me in check and, secondly, to treasure those overzealous buys of Chinese New Year hong baos.  After all, you never know when an out-of-season red envelope might come in handy.

 

            From Chengdu, wishing you all a “Ping An!” (Peace)

           

REMINDER FOR AID IN BUYING TENTS, VACCINES, AND OTHER SUPPLIES FOR EARTHQUAKE RELIEF EFFORTS

 

United Methodists:    UMCOR Advance #982450, International Disaster Response, China Earthquake

 

Others:  www.amityfoundation.org

           

           

           

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A Visit To The Chengdu Theological Seminary

Posted on May 30, 2008 by connieinasia
 

            Yesterday, while going through pictures to post of our neighborhood pets, I came across a few photos from  the Chengdu Theological Seminary which I visited last September.  I had a short feature in a past newsletter about the seminary, but no visuals to accompany it.  So I thought I’d re-introduce the seminary to you with pictures to boot.

            I also haven’t been the only one interested in doing a story about the seminary.  The NPR (National Public Radio) “All Things Considered” staff were here doing their Chengdu Diary series in the city when the earthquake struck.  Their light pieces were originally to be life in the city and surrounding areas, but that changed with the May 12 earthquake to visits into the disaster zone areas.   By coincidence, they happened to be in the seminary itself, sitting with Rev. Mao in his  4th floor office, when the shaking began.  They immediately ran down the stairs and gathered outside on the street.

            Later, I heard they returned to finish their piece.

            Here is my personal experience with Rev. Mao and the Chengdu Theological Seminary.

 

The Chengdu Theological Seminary

 

            Pastor Liao at the Luzhou Protestant Church  encouraged me to visit the Chengdu Theological Seminary where she received her religious education. This was one of my first missions when I came to the city to study Chinese last September.  After a few phone calls, I was able to speak to the president and arrange a Tuesday afternoon visit.  In a short 15-minute taxi ride across town, I arrived down a narrow sidestreet to both the Chengdu Enguang Protestant church and the seminary, which rests next to it.  I entered the building and quickly proceeded up the stairwell where I had been told the president’s office was located.

             Sure enough, the seminary’s 78-year-old president, Rev. Mao Yang San, was waiting anxiously for me in his office on the 4th floor.  He greeted  me with such warmth that it was hard not to feel right at home in his presence.

            Rev. Mao is a tall, silver-haired gentleman with a spiritual flare about him that makes everyone instantly love him.   His knowledge of the seminary and its history proved to be quite interesting.  And his English language ability made it easy for us to communicate.

            The seminary opened in 1984 with the fervent Christian prayers from Christians in 3  provinces (Yunnan, Hunan and Sichuan).  Churches were in great need of pastors but due to the Cultural Revolution, when all religious activities ended for 10 years, there were none.  It wasn’t until 1992, however, that a seminary building was erected and Rev. Mao selected as the president.   Before that, the school was being held in the church which proved quite uncomfortable.  Sometimes, students were  sleeping in back rooms and in the sanctuary balcony because there was no place to house them. 

            Now, however, with money from the Amity Foundation (a Christian-founded Chinese NGO) and other Chinese churches, they now can study under much better conditions.

            At present, there are 79 seminarian students (all ages) in the 4-year program, 42 men and 37 women with 36 of the students being minority people from the Miao and Yi tribes.   Costs for the entire year are 2,500 yuan ($312.50) which includes tuition, book fees, housing and food. Classes begin after morning worship (8:00 – 8:30) and end in the late afternoon around 5 p.m.    

            As for the building itself, a lovely chapel-assembly hall is located on the 7th floor.   The male and female dorm rooms are on the 6th and 5th floors and have 5-6 students in a room.  The administration offices are on the 4th floor and classrooms are spread throughout the 3rd and 2nd  floors.  There is a small dining room area and a single room kitchen on the 1st floor where a staff of three prepare all the meals.

           According to Rev. Mao, there are 10 teachers who give the courses required of seminary students, such as Bible interpretation, Biblical history, worship theology, and Greek, to name a few.  All students are also required to study English, which is a major component in any higher education institution in China.            

         When Rev. Mao led me along the hallways, students were having their English lessons, taught by Christian Chinese teachers in the area.    I addressed the senior class and was very touched by these adults and their commitment to their studies, the Chinese church and the Lord.  It was a  moving experience to hear them chorus, “God bless you!” as I left their classroom to complete the tour.   

            My introduction to the seminary gave me a better understanding of the great challenges the Chinese church faces in educating clergy.  There just aren’t enough graduates to fill all the vacancies throughout both rural and bigger city church congregations.

             These dedicated seminarians and their teachers are truly an inspiration to those of us who are of the Christian faith.   I wish them many blessings as they continue on their journey toward becoming strong, faithful leaders of the Chinese Protestant Church.

           

            Tomorrow’s reports will be of Little Flower’s recuperation from her hospital stay and other news from the city.

 

From Chengdu, until another day,  wishing you all a “Ping An!” (Peace)

 

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Our Lost Little One: “Little Black, Where Are You?”

Posted on May 29, 2008 by connieinasia

 

"Xiao Hei, Ni Zai Nali?" 

 

            The rain last night took its toll on homemade earthquake relief signs, glued to walls and posts around our area.  The paper peeled and curled, the carefully written characters now smeared and somewhat unrecognizable.

            But one laser-printed notice remains stuck firmly to the wall at my apartment entrance gate.  It has been there now for exactly two weeks, posted a few days after the earthquake.  I pass it every day I leave the compound to go shopping, to attend class, or to take Little Flower for her walks.  And when I see it, I am reminded that not everyone has found closure concerning the fate of a loved one gone missing in the earthquake.

It reads:

 

Little Black, Where Are You?

 

            My home’s Little Black (a black poodle) was so scared on May 12th by the big earthquake’s chaotic event that he was lost around the area of Sichuan University’s West Gate to the Trust-mart.  At present, his whereabouts no one knows.

            He has accompanied me for years. We depend on each other.   Now, every time I enter my home’s door, I don’t hear his cheerful bark anymore.  My home is lacking a member.  These feelings of love I have for my dog are difficult to give up.

            Poor Little Black, your owner misses you and every morning hopes you return.

            The world is a ruthless place, but has kind people. If any good-hearted person has taken him in or has knowledge of his condition, please call to let me know.  Certainly, you will have a reward. 

                                                                                                Lonely owner, Elder Liu

                                                                                               Contact number:  13880578419

 

            (As I am eager to find my dog, please show mercy and restrain your hand from taking down this notice.  Thank you!)  

 

           

            That first week after the earthquake, there were many letters such as this one posted in newspapers and on websites throughout Sichuan by distant and close relatives, all looking for their loved ones.  There was hope that they’d soon be found safe or suddenly appear on a doorstep after traveling miles to return home. 

            Now, it’s two weeks later and the hope is gone.  The dead are being buried.  The survivors are grieving.  They know the fate of family and friends and, while painful, at least it is an end to wondering.

            But Elder Liu is still anxiously waiting.  

            How long his posting will remain, I’m not sure, but I think we are all hesitant to take it down.  Although Chengdu wasn’t physically affected by this heartbreaking disaster, all of us in Sichuan have been emotionally touched by it.  Liu’s notice still gives us one last hope that maybe, just maybe, this little one lost in the quake will return and be reunited with his family once more. 

 

            From Chengdu, wishing you, and our lost Little Black, wherever he may be,   “Ping An” (Peace)

 

REMINDER FOR AID IN BUYING TENTS AND VACCINES

 

United Methodists:    UMCOR Advance #982450, International Disaster Response, China Earthquake

Others:  www.amityfoundation.org

 

Posted in From Chengdu, China Earthquake | Leave a comment

More Aftershock Warnings Trigger an Afternoon Anxiety Attack

Posted on May 28, 2008 by connieinasia
 
 

             3:30 p.m. today saw the streets, parks and apartment compounds overrun by exuberant gradeschool kids. 

            While students in China should have been in class at this time, another  warning hit the news:  Strong aftershocks might be coming from 4 p.m. to 6 p.m.  Be careful!

            Ah, do I sense another repeat of last Monday when the same such announcement sent Chengdu residents dashing  outside for the cover of open sky? 

            Just a few hours ago, I happened to be in the middle of all this aftershock ruckus. I was returning from a short trip to the nearby grocery store when our small park, still layered in both abandoned and fully-equipped tents, exploded with the kids from the nearby primary school.

            “Wei shenme ni meiyou ke? (Why don’t you have class?)” I asked the nearest boy who was racing down the sidewalk.

            He stopped to explain that aftershocks were to come, starting at 4 p.m., so the school dismissed everyone.

            I’m not really one to believe that a tremor or a quake can be predicted but that’s my opinion.  From Chinese earthquake experts, I guess it’s another story.

            Even 16 days after May 12, we have a sizeable number of people in the city still sleeping outdoors. As of this past weekend, however, city police cleared some public areas.  At Sichuan University, there is not a single tent up on the main campus grounds.  Only down university sidestreets can you find them. But in smaller Chengdu parks and along the grassy canal routes, the tents and people remain. 

            This afternoon’s warning must have had those who haven’t yet packed up their belongings quite satisfied that they’re dwellings will be in full use once again.

            In our small nearby public park, there was too much activity going on for me  to miss out on the event so I took a cruise through the crowds.   

             Kids, parents, grandparents, the elderly, mothers with infants, and dismissed teachers filled every nook and cranny.  They were seated at tables playing mahjong, resting on their tent beds, positioned on stools, lined up long the park’s walkway curbs, reading newspapers or calling friends on their cellphones. 

            I found my 4th floor neighbor out with her granddaughter and we waved to one another.  The kids begged me to take their pictures as they ran wild, happy to unexpectedly be released from classes.  One sweet little boy sat on a plastic sheet with his grandparents as they cheerfully played cards together.  Children in China are so busy with their homework and studies.  This was a rare, special time for the three of them and they were savoring every minute.

            It’s always to be expected, whenever I go out among so many Chinese, that someone wants to practice their English.  Sure enough, I ran into an older gent who was eager to chat a bit with the foreigner.

             “Tony” (I never did ask his Chinese name) is a retired businessman who lives in the apartment complex next to mine.  He explained that he was on his way to the gym when all the fuss broke loose so he thought he’d come to the park and take a look.

            “Do you really think there will be a strong aftershock from 4 to 6?” I asked him.

            “I don’t know,” he answered. “I came to see that big apartment building. I heard someone say that if we have another earthquake, the building will move something like 20 degrees.  I’ve never seen that before. I don’t want to miss it!”

            Tony expectantly gazed upward at the 40-story apartment complex that was just a block away. 

            “So are you going to stay here two hours and wait?” I questioned.

            He shrugged.

            “No, maybe until 5 or 5:30.  After that, I’ll go to the gym.”

            Tony turned his eyes once again to the apartments towering above us, anxious to see his hoped-for sight become a swaying reality.

            Passing by Tony, I was suddenly grabbed by a boisterous elderly granny who pulled me into her makeshift tent to sit.  She and her family of  5  had originally left their sheltered spot for home last Friday, but that was before the Sunday aftershock sent them back outside again.  They’d been here for 3 days now.  Her daughter told me living on the 8th floor was just too tiring  for the older folk to go up and down the stairs all the time.  It was too uncomfortable to sleep at home when the building quaked due to the constant tremors so best to sleep elsewhere.

            Their surroundings were  quite cozy with 3 full beds, a sofa, a table, chairs and cups for tea.  Then again, it might have been their jovial attitude toward the whole thing that made it seem so. They were just a very happy family.   Right before I excused myself to go home, Granny invited me to their family dinner.  I’d have taken her up on the offer except that I had the dog as yet to pick up from the vet’s and my Chinese homework to do.

            In my own apartment complex, the atmosphere was much the same upbeat feeling. 

            Since many of our tarp shelters remain, as well as the cots, chairs, beds, tables and sofas that rest under them, there were plenty of seats for people to relax on.  I noticed one family was returning their bedding to their store-bought tent.  For about 5 days, they’d been staying in their apartment but their tent remained on our compound’s limited lawn space, just in case it might be needed later on. 

              I was truly sorry to see my 3rd floor neighbor in his wheelchair being brought out once again into the courtyard.  He was placed next to the rather flimsy shelter which his son and daughter-in-law had set up 2 weeks ago. His frail wife sat inside on a straw mat, listening to the radio.  I truly hope this scare proves to be nothing more than empty rumors and they return to their apartment.  Living outdoors without access to bathroom facilities is not a pleasant thought for those not in the best of health. 

            It’s hard for me not to participate in the excitement along with everyone else.  Joining in on this amazing cultural experience is a once-in-a-lifetime event. But there’s a feeling of shame in all our enjoyment which I just can’t shake.   Already, the suffering is so great in the northern areas among people who will truly be affected by any aftershocks that may come our way.  There might be more deaths, more landslides, more threat of floods, more midnight evacuations from dangerous areas.  Our northern Sichuanese brothers and sisters are weary. They need to rest.  They need to feel safe.

            This city has done an outstanding job in volunteerism, collecting and sending relief supplies, organizing domestic and foreign earthquake teams, caring for the tens-of-thousands who are now housed in the city hospitals, and constantly informing the public of the disaster zone situation. 

            Can we do more? 

            Maybe a start would be not so eagerly jumping the gun at every aftershock warning from the Chinese press.  I think our overzealous energy could be better spent elsewhere.

 

            From Chengdu, I wish you all a “Ping An”!  (Peace)       

 

REMINDER FOR AID IN BUYING TENTS, VACCINES, AND OTHER SUPPLIES

 

United Methodists:    UMCOR Advance #982450, International Disaster Response, China Earthquake

 

Others:  www.amityfoundation.org

             

           

 

Posted in From Chengdu, China Earthquake | Leave a comment

Updates on Earthquake News

Posted on May 27, 2008 by connieinasia

 

             “How’s Little Flower?” my neighbors asked upon our return today from the vet’s.

            “Getting better!” I said cheerfully.  “The vet said maybe one or two more days of treatment.”

            The news today for my little dog was positive, but the reports from our earthquake zones not quite so uplifting. 

            Sunday’s strong aftershock caused great strain on already damaged dams and newly formed swelling lakes (created by landslides) which threaten to break.  The army hiked miles into the mountain areas to dynamite and relieve the possible flooding situation but were only hampered by more rain that came last night.  80,000 are being evacuated today with hope that all can be out of dangerous areas by midnight tonight.  It’s a mind-boggling figure, to move so many.  Packing up their tents, their few things left, their bedding . . . . And move to where?

            I received a phone call today from Amity Foundation’s Liu Ruhong, who is the director of the education division, concerning some updates about next year’s Amity teachers as well as the current  relief efforts.  Last Saturday, Amity staff escorted a number of psychologists from Nanjing University to tend to the emotional needs of the survivors.  When I asked Liu Ruhong how they were doing, she gave me an update.

            “Oh, so terrible!” she said.  “You know, they bring their own tent to stay in but because of the heavy rains, the ground is so wet.  Water everywhere. Luckily, one of the relief teams gave them an inflatable tent floor to keep them off the muddy ground but all one night, they couldn’t sleep.”

            Liu Ruhong mentioned that the need for tents is still quite serious.  There are some remote villages with survivors who only had received food supplies but nothing else.  They have no decent shelters.  Everything was already destroyed by the quake and there is nothing to make tents out of but what they can salvage from the debris. 
            These kind of people Amity relief teams are scurrying to reach.  It is a daunting task, especially as Amity’s disaster relief division has only a handful of people, as do most of the divisions in Amity. The Amity Foundation is a small organization with very big outreach programs.  The staff workload is tremendous yet they have a commitment to helping others in their country and thus they struggle onward with fortitude and strength.

            Those of you trying to log onto the website may find that you are not even able to get on.  This is due to the astronomical amount of emails and hits their site has received since this started.

              Liu Ruhong told me that today, she was finally able to reply to 35 emails but there were many more backed up (some for days) which she has not yet been able to access.  Overseas’ sending agencies are contacting her, wanting to know how they can help and what the current situation is.  Although Liu Ruhong’s division is the education division, many overseas’ organizations are in contact directly with her because they have foreign teachers in the Amity program.  Her excellent English skills of course allow her to better answer their questions.  So now her job has doubled.  Not only is she overseeing all the educational programs of Amity (overseas’ projects and domestic ones as well), but  she is now the person to contact for the outside agencies to better understand the earthquake situation.   

            In the city, I find that, while the tents are noticeably disappearing, there are still people who are living outside.  Sunday’s strong quake and another today (5.7) may very well see people continuing their camping living style for quite some time.   Even in my apartment complex, the tents remain.   Our little public park next to my compound is also still crowded with shelters, mostly kept by those who live in the apartment highrise next to us.  Those residents are still fearful to return home.

            My taxi driver today provided even more information about the wariness people feel.  When I commented on how heavy the traffic was, he contradicted me. 

            “Not so much now,” he said.  “After the earthquake, many people with cars left the city.  They aren’t coming back for 2 or 3 months.”

            Outside, going on 8 p.m., the air is heavy, thick and sticky.  Storm clouds have sifted in throughout the day and are now gathered above our heads.  They seem to be laughing at us, teasing us to guess their intentions to either move on or let loose with a torrent. 
            My grandma always fondly called rain, “God’s water.”  But with so much riding on more rain coming, with disastrous consequences if downpours occur, I wonder if the Sichuanese, or any of us here, for that matter, would be so pleased to agree with her.

 

            From Chengdu,  wishing you all a “Ping An” (Peace)

 

 REMINDER FOR AID IN BUYING TENTS, VACCINES, AND OTHER SUPPLIES

 

United Methodists:    UMCOR Advance #982450, International Disaster Response, China Earthquake

 

Others:  www.amityfoundation.org

             

           

 

 

Posted in From Chengdu, China Earthquake | Leave a comment

Dr. Q’s Greatest Love Animal Hospital

Posted on May 26, 2008 by connieinasia
 
 

           Early Saturday morning, as I swiftly walked through the open doors of Chengdu’s Greatest Love Animal Hospital,  I felt a wave of relief.  Little Flower, my Chihuahua-mix pooch, had been sick all night.  But now, soon to be under the protective care of Dr. Qiu (or Dr. Q) and his staff, I knew she would receive the best of care.

            In my previous entry, I explained that Little Flower was diagnosed with the parvo virus.  With this diagnosis of a very serious illness, Dr. Q had her immediately tied to a table, an IV pouring medication and fluids through her little body, while I stood nearby.  

            Unlike American veterinarian clinics, owners are often present next to their pets as they receive their treatment.  This kind of clinic care is nothing new in China.  In fact, Chinese animal hospitals follow much the same protocol as human hospitals here.              

            In China,  relatives or friends are responsible for the daily care of their sick loved ones.  Such care includes washing clothes and bedding, supplying sleeping wear, bringing food, helping the person to the bathroom or emptying bedpans, summoning the nurse if necessary, and around-the-clock comforting of the patient.  Many bring cots to sleep next to the sick, camp out on the floor or spend overnights in uncomfortable wooden chairs.  They knit.  They read.  They sleep.  There are very few, if any, TVs in the average Chinese hospital.  People entertain themselves.

            In China, hospitals are very busy places.  People are crammed into large rooms, with both patients and care-giving relatives alike, not to mention exhausted nurses and doctors who bustle about, diligently attending to hundreds in a single day.

            This is one reason why the earthquake has been so draining on all medical personnel in Sichuan hospitals.  The buildings were already crowded with patients before the disaster.  The earthquake only added hundreds of thousands more, and some of them have no relatives to look after their daily needs. According to the news, 300,000 were sent by ambulance caravans to provinces all over the country due to the overload.

            In Dr. Q’s animal hospital, as in any human hospital, we sit with our animals.  We bring them water or food if needed.  We provide their bedding and diapers, placed under them for urinating as they can’t move.  We pet and comfort them in this strange place.  Dr. Q and his staff, meanwhile, are free to attend to all their medical needs.  

            Last Saturday morning, in the large room next to Little Flower’s, the TV was showing full on-the-scene coverage of Sichuan’s earthquake.  Dr. Q’s staff assistants, 5 young women with one being noticeably pregnant, were glued to the T.V., as so many of us are these days.  This early in the morning, only four canine patients and one feline were receiving meds on their separate IV tables.  The ladies had time to spare in between checking their assigned animals, thus the relaxed atmosphere.

            Dr. Q, meanwhile, was waiting for more owners with their animals to arrive.  He sat at his computer in his office and searched the Net for medical supplies.

             Four years ago, he would never have had such a lull in his day.  His animal hospital would have been filled with 20 or more sick pets, along with their owners, and kept the staff running from early morning to late at night.  But that was when  breeding small dogs became a lucrative business.  Several years ago, many people, on a whim, decided this was a good money-maker as they watched a sudden jump in people’s desire to own certain dogs.  The problem was many of these so-called breeders were not at all aware of good breeding practices, pet care or proper health precautions.  Puppies and dogs with parvo, distemper, hepatitis, and nasty skin diseases came and went, with the death rate quite high.   The animals were just too sick to be saved, no matter how hard Dr. Q and his people tried.

              Now, however, the Chinese public are on to other popular items besides dogs so his clinic remains somewhat quiet, at least for the winter months when diseases are not so easily spread.

            Dr. Q’s background as a vet is quite unusual.  After graduating from Sichuan Agricultural University’s School of Veterinary Medicine, he began a long career at the famous Wolong Panda Research Center.  From 1983-1993, he and his colleagues perfected methods of breeding pandas in captivity.  Dr. Q was instrumental in this venture due to his time in Britain in 1984.  He and another colleague studied the UK’s success in raising pandas in captivity, controlling diseases, and the reproductive habits of the animals.  In 1987, their research and top veterinarian skills paid off.  The first panda in captivity was born, named “Blue Sky” (Lan Tian) by Britain’s King Phillip.

            1993-1999 sent Dr. Q to the Chengdu Wildlife Rescue Center, where he traveled with pandas on their visits to Canadian and American zoos.  He also was honored enough to escort the panda Tian-Tian (Sky) to Britain as a gift to the London Zoo since their previous panda had died.

            He said that life among the pandas was new and different, with many opportunities to talk to well-learned DVMs who were the tops in their fields.  But working in a government job had its drawbacks.  The pay was low and the hours extremely long.  When Dr. Q’s father became bedridden, nursing care and specialized medical care was required yet his salary at that time was not enough to cover the costs.     Thus, in 1999, Dr. Q left his career with the pandas behind him and moved into private practice.  His care of small animals not only proved to be a good move for him financially but also for those of us needing our animals cared for by a qualified healthcare expert in the pet world.

             In China, it is very hard to find a truly experienced, qualified vet.  This is due to the lax rules and regulations the government has on animal hospitals.  After 4 years of study at a veterinarian school of medicine, almost anyone can easily apply and get a license good for 5 years.  There is no prolonged internship requirement so a majority of these graduates have only book training and little else.  Their treatments are sometimes uncalled for, their hospitals unsanitary, and the animals being cared for often die due to infections or improper diagnosis.   There are thousands of such vets setting up shop throughout all of  China.  In Chengdu alone, they pop up seemingly overnight.  These one-or-two room clinics  promise proper care for your pet, but a visit sometimes proves otherwise.  Taking your sick pet to an animal clinic in China is tricky and unless you truly know the background and quality of the care to be given to your dog or cat, watch out.

            However, Dr. Q did tell me that things will be changing.  After years of  concerned DVMs pushing the government for stricter guidelines, it looks like next year will see things looking up for those of us with sick animals.  Veterinarian school graduates will now be required to have a 3-4 year internship before a private license will even be considered.  Licenses can only be renewed after a yearly exam which will test past and current knowledge of animal medicine and treatment.  Animal clinics will be required to have an adequate amount of space and rooms with a fixed number of both lay and learned veterinarian assistants along with at least one senior vet.  These drastic measures are a great relief for those true professionals in Dr. Q’s field. 

            Currently, Dr. Q’s animal clinic is not only the largest and best-equipped in the city, it might very well be the best in Southwestern China.  Dr. Q has a number of cubicles for quarantining animals, treatment centers, and overnight stays if necessary, although these are not usual practices in China.  (Owners take their animals home every evening after their IV meds are done for the day.)  His clinic likewise includes a full lab, operating room,  his own private office, waiting room and a small shop of animal supplies. On staff,  Dr. Q has 8 assistants, two other qualified veterinarians  and one intern.  There is a loft upstairs where one assistant and one vet sleep when on duty at night for emergency purposes or to care for animals staying overnight.  And Dr. Q’s relative, his wife’s Uncle Wang, is the 24-hour custodian who also doubles as the staff’s cook.  A kitchen allows him to stir-fry meals for everyone’s lunch and dinner.   Since hours at the clinic are long (7 days a week, 8:30 a.m. to 7 p.m. or longer), Dr. Q feels it necessary to provide his people with home-cooked meals rather than order greasy take-out.   

            As Little Flower completes her 3rd day of IVs at Dr. Q’s hospital, we are all pleased that she is coming along well.  In another 2 or 3 days, she should be back to her happy self.  A week later, despite her vaccination allergies, she will have her boosters and our walks around the Sichuan campus can once again resume.   

            I’ll have Dr. Q and his diligent staff to thank for that.

 

From Chengdu, I wish you all  “Ping An!”  (Peace)

           

           

REMINDER FOR AID IN TO EARTHQUAKE AREAS TO BUY TENTS, VACCINES AND OTHER SUPPLIES 

 

United Methodists:    UMCOR Advance #982450, International Disaster Response, China Earthquake

Others:  www.amityfoundation.org

 

             

Posted in Chengdu Life: Pets in China | Leave a comment

Another Scare on a Worship of Prayer Sunday

Posted on May 25, 2008 by connieinasia

 

            Sunday late afternoon was bringing our city of tents to a close.  The city government sent police to chase public park campers away.  The Sichuan University campus was being vacated of everyone sleeping outdoors.   Many fearful residents voluntarily moved themselves indoors.

            And then. . .  another strong quake hit, sending residents flying down my building’s stairwell and out into the compound. 

            Just a few hours ago, I returned from a long day out.  I had dropped off the dog at the vet’s around 8:30 a.m.   I quickly taxied over for the Chengdu Protestant Church Sunday prayer service for those in the earthquake.  After that, it was a direct hike to the swimming pool complex for an hour of exercise.  A few hours later, I joined NPR’s senior producer, Art Silverman, at The Bookworm coffee shop for a friendly chat.  (He is currently on vacation after finishing his stint of  the Chengdu Diary NPR series here in the city).  We had a pleasant walk back to his hotel before parting.  Then I cruised the pet and fish market where small shops along the roadside sold everything imaginable for your animal.   Finally, I called it quits and taxied back to my apartment.

            As I sat typing emails around 4:25 p.m., I could feel the tremor coming.  It was a miniscule ripple undulating beneath me as I sat on the couch, and lasted for about 7 seconds.  I was thinking, "Here it comes!"  before a rumble sent the ceiling lights swaying.  Although this tremor lasted for only about 5 seconds, it was enough to send those inside once again racing into the compound area.  

             Will the city be back on full alert?  Will residents once again feel uneasy and fearful?

             Television stations now  have running texts below screen that report of a 6.4 quake (or 5.8 by the US Geological Service) having hit our area at 4:27 p.m. Such constant  updates have not been unusual for the past 2 weeks.  On the 24-hour earthquake channel, tremors have been carefully counted and then shown across the screen:  “7,420  tremors, 25 tremors 4.0 – 5.0, 12 tremors 5.0 – 6.0,  4 tremors 6.0 – 7.0”

            With so much worry and paranoia in Chengdu, I wonder now how many will return this evening to their outdoor habitats, or are people finally coming to accept that tremors are not necessarily a reason to panic?

            Tonight will tell.

            But my greatest concern at present is for our earthquake survivors to the north.   Over 300 were injured by this last current tremor with one death. Unsteady buildings still standing collapsed.  Debris shifted. Fear of further dam damage was reported and landslides a strong possibility with the threat of rain this evening.  Then we have the survivors.  After trying to put their lives back together, a 5.8 tremor is just another reminder of that day 2 weeks ago.   When the ground quakes beneath their feet, I’m sure the terror returns.

 

           Today was the Christian community’s prayer services to remember those in the earthquake.  Both the Chengdu Catholic Church and the Chengdu Protestant Church chose today for their Worship of Prayer, in remembrance of those in the May 13th earthquake.  This was a very fitting way for us as Christians to remember those in need and those who have died. 

           At the city Protestant church I attend, Saturday provided 3 prayer services for 50-minutes each, and today was increased to four.  Today,  8:30, 9:30, 10:30 and 2 p.m. times were posted outside the church, with me attending the 9:30 worship.

           Usually, the large church sanctuary is packed with worshipers.  Those coming in a bit late are forced into the crowded balcony.  But with so many prayer hours, there were still a few seats in the pews available, even for me who arrived a bit after service had started.  It was a wise decision to hold so many gatherings because the balcony is now off-limits, most likely due to the tremors we’ve been having.

           Our prayer worship today was just that:  prayer.  There was no choir. There was no piano accompaniment. There was no long-winded sermon.  We read from Psalms 46 and 91.  We sang only one hymn, "Leaning on the Everlasting Arms."  We recited the Lord’s Prayer.  And we prayed silently.  This was the shortest service I’ve ever attended in China, since usually 1 1/2 to 2 hours is the norm, but it was the most meaningful for me as a Christian in this country.  To be surrounded by my Chinese brothers and sisters in Christ, with our prayers lifted upward as one, was a very emotional and spiritual experience. 

           At 10:20, we left the sanctuary to find a crowd outside the gate area of the church waiting to come in.   A special offering box for earthquake relief was placed at one entrance and the usual church offering box at the other.  I watched as many coming and going placed their money into the collection for earthquake aid.  There were many 100 yuan bills ($14.00) being slipped into the slot, a very generous amount for those who have so little money themselves to give.

          As I walked down the church sidestreet, I couldn’t help but hum our selected hymn and think how appropriate a choice it had been.  Not somber, but uplifting, full of the Lord’s love and support, a reminder that the compassionate arms of God are there for all of us.

             

                     What have I to dread, what have I to fear,

                     Leaning on the everlasting arms;
                     I have blessed peace with my Lord so near,
                     Leaning on the everlasting arms.

 

               From Chengdu, on this Sunday of Prayer, I wish you all ,  "Ping An" (Peace!)

 

 

 

Reminder for those wishing to help:

United Methodists:    UMCOR Advance #982450, International Disaster Response, China Earthquake

Others:  www.amityfoundation.org

 

           

 

           

           

             

           

           

Posted in From Chengdu, China Earthquake | Leave a comment

A Sick Dog, A Sleepless Night

Posted on May 24, 2008 by connieinasia
        
          Last night was supposed to have me in bed by 11 p.m. and a great sleep-in in the morning.  Instead, it was an anxious, restless wait for morning to come.  The reason?

          Xiao Hua (Little Flower) was sick. 

         She hid in her carrier, her little body shivering due to a fever, and refused to come out.  Laying on her side, her eyes pathetically gazing at me, she quietly endured her illness.   Not even a piece of her favorite hard candy would entice her to eat.

            For me, it seemed an endless night until the morning arrived, when Dr. Qiu’s Greatest Love Animal Hospital opened across town.  Dr. Qiu (chew), or Dr. Q as I sometimes call him, has been taking care of Little Flower for 6 years.  He  treated her for a serious case of puppy influenza (caught from the pet shop I saved her from), gave her her first vaccinations, spayed her and helped to diagnose her immune system disorder, for which she takes prednisone when it flares up every so often. 

            One of the greatest problems with Little Flower has been vaccinations.  After her immune system disorder, her body has little tolerance for vaccinations.  They can send her on intravenous drips for several days to get her temperature down, then a month or two of medications, before she’ll return to normal.  All vaccinations, even the rabies vaccine which is not a living vaccine, has had similar effects on her.  So after her 3rd vaccination set was given, to which she had a strong reaction, we decided to forgo vaccinations for awhile but check every year to make sure she had the anti-bodies she needed to fight off disease.

            For 2 years, her anti-bodies were strong enough, but this year, I was remiss in having her checked sooner.

            Sure enough, that proved to be my downfall because after testing this morning, Little Flower was diagnosed with canine parvovirus.  While this can be fatal, in LF’s case, I had been quick enough to get her to the vet’s.  She will now be on intravenous drips for 5-7 days, 6 hours a day, along with several other dogs who also suffer from the same illness.  The next few days are crucial in determining how well she will recover, so keep visiting my site for daily updates.

             LF will be dropped off for treatment before my classes in the morning, around 8:00 a.m., and be picked up in the late afternoon, around 5 p.m.  The virus is highly contagious to unprotected dogs so I will carefully monitor her when she goes outside.  No more romping with her male playmates for awhile, not that she wants to as she feels so bad.  

            A visit to the vet’s is always an experience in China because it’s so very different from that in the States.  Please watch this space for tomorrow’s full report of “A Visit to Dr. Q’s Clinic”, along with pictures and a special interview with Dr. Q himself. 

            Thank you for checking in and thinking of us! 

 

            Until tomorrow, "Ping An!"  (Peace)

Posted in Chengdu Life: Pets in China | Leave a comment