Sunday, August 27, 2006
We've recently had several requests to link Matthew's blog to other sites. We would like to invite all those interested to feel free to link Matthew's blog anytime they wish.
This picture was taken moments after Matthew's latest bath. When I viewed it on the screen of the camera I was so excited I told Terri I could never top this picture! This is the perfect image of Matthew. He's happy and innocently playing with a toy.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Matthew was recently featured on professor Elizabeth Warren's Website. She is a Harvard Law professor who writes about the middle class. To view this Website Click Here.
Friday, August 18, 2006
A friend from Stanford posted this on her carepage. Being a "heart mom" by Anna Jaworski
What does it mean to be the parent of a child with a heart defect? It means going into your babyÂs room a dozen times a night just to check to see if sheÂs still breathing. It means standing over the crib to watch the chest rise and fall and when you donÂt see it move, you begin to panic and put your head down close to your babyÂs face to try and hear her breathe. It means that when you donÂt see the chest move and you donÂt hear her breathing (because your own heartÂs beating is drowning out any other sound in the room), you put your finger under the babyÂs nose to feel the air on your finger  until you wake the baby and it stirs  and youÂre thankful, so thankful that sheÂs still with you. It means feeling a huge sense of relief when she hears you and opens her eyes and smiles. It means saying a prayer of thanks for another day. It means measuring out her medication and panicking if she spits some of it out. How much did she spit out? One cc? Two or three? Then wondering if you should guesstimate how much more she should have and if youÂd overmedicate her. It means checking her nail beds against your own to determine how blue she is today. It means asking your husband, your mother, or your sister, "Do her lips look blue to you?" It means snuggling her in an extra blanket for fear she wonÂt be warm enough. It means worrying that even a sniffle could cause an infection that could harm her heart. It means taking your baby to the doctor and worrying that she will catch something in the waiting room, so you walk back and forth in the corridor until the nurse calls her name and takes you straight back to the examination room. It means knowing that everyday is a blessing and a gift. It means knowing that you are the luckiest person in the world, just to be a parent. It means cherishing every moment, every breath with such intensity that you feel tears come to your eyes for no apparent reason. It means praying for a miracle to save your babyÂs life. It means praying your marriage is strong enough to endure the hospitalizations, separations, and grief. It means praying for the will to live, even if your baby doesnÂt. It means your own heart knows a pain, no parent should know. It means feeling weak, helpless, angry, and depressed because your childÂs fate is out of your hands. It means feeling strong, determined, and brave because you know you have to be. It means your love knows new unlimited boundaries. It means your pride in your childÂs accomplishments is unparalleled. It means your pain has taught you a deeper sense of compassion than you ever imagined. It means we are all united by the same feelings. It means that we all know the mixed up emotions of dealing with death  but more importantly of living with life. It means that even though we are strangers, we are more to each other than friends could ever be. 1996, by Anna Jaworski
What does it mean to be the parent of a child with a heart defect? It means going into your babyÂs room a dozen times a night just to check to see if sheÂs still breathing. It means standing over the crib to watch the chest rise and fall and when you donÂt see it move, you begin to panic and put your head down close to your babyÂs face to try and hear her breathe. It means that when you donÂt see the chest move and you donÂt hear her breathing (because your own heartÂs beating is drowning out any other sound in the room), you put your finger under the babyÂs nose to feel the air on your finger  until you wake the baby and it stirs  and youÂre thankful, so thankful that sheÂs still with you. It means feeling a huge sense of relief when she hears you and opens her eyes and smiles. It means saying a prayer of thanks for another day. It means measuring out her medication and panicking if she spits some of it out. How much did she spit out? One cc? Two or three? Then wondering if you should guesstimate how much more she should have and if youÂd overmedicate her. It means checking her nail beds against your own to determine how blue she is today. It means asking your husband, your mother, or your sister, "Do her lips look blue to you?" It means snuggling her in an extra blanket for fear she wonÂt be warm enough. It means worrying that even a sniffle could cause an infection that could harm her heart. It means taking your baby to the doctor and worrying that she will catch something in the waiting room, so you walk back and forth in the corridor until the nurse calls her name and takes you straight back to the examination room. It means knowing that everyday is a blessing and a gift. It means knowing that you are the luckiest person in the world, just to be a parent. It means cherishing every moment, every breath with such intensity that you feel tears come to your eyes for no apparent reason. It means praying for a miracle to save your babyÂs life. It means praying your marriage is strong enough to endure the hospitalizations, separations, and grief. It means praying for the will to live, even if your baby doesnÂt. It means your own heart knows a pain, no parent should know. It means feeling weak, helpless, angry, and depressed because your childÂs fate is out of your hands. It means feeling strong, determined, and brave because you know you have to be. It means your love knows new unlimited boundaries. It means your pride in your childÂs accomplishments is unparalleled. It means your pain has taught you a deeper sense of compassion than you ever imagined. It means we are all united by the same feelings. It means that we all know the mixed up emotions of dealing with death  but more importantly of living with life. It means that even though we are strangers, we are more to each other than friends could ever be. 1996, by Anna Jaworski
Saturday, August 12, 2006
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
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