Taking a Break for Fun: Summer Possibilities with Margaret King

This week we are continuing with the theme of summer fun! Today we’ll hear from Margaret King, a Heart Mom, who spends her summer hanging out with her fun-loving son.

 

In the CHD life, sometimes it’s hard to get a break. While summer brings a brief reprieve from school expectations and IEP goals, we CHD families have our own challenges: from trying to cram appointments and therapies into the months when our child is off school to watching some of our children struggle with the loss of their usual routines and social outlets, navigating new extracurriculars staffed by people unfamiliar with our child’s diagnosis, and dealing with hot weather and physical activities that can be too strenuous for our kids.

Yet, summer is a wonderful time to experience new places and try new things that can open the windows of self-discovery, create family memories that will last a lifetime, and even increase skills for self-advocacy. Families living with CHD deserve, and need, opportunities for fun, exercise, and release from stress and worry. While as a heart mom, I’ve fine-tuned our family’s version of “fun” over the years, I hope to instill in my own child that “fun” is the adventure itself, not just the destination.

Learning Your Limits While Being Limitless

Multnomah Falls in pouring rain–silly us, bringing only 1 umbrella to the Pacific Northwest!

As someone with chronic illnesses myself, I want to teach my child to respect how he is feeling physically and mentally, and to know when he is reaching his ‘max” for the day. Some days he can go almost nonstop for 3-4 hours, and other days, he might struggle to walk even a quarter of a mile, depending on weather, whether he has a cold, or just has been on the go too much. Honoring this has been great for his self-awareness and self-advocacy in other areas of life.

But we got to see this!

Sometimes, it also means going somewhere fun when we’re feeling good, even if it isn’t “perfect” weather outside. This has resulted in many of our most magical days, because we’re often among the only people crazy enough, for example,  to go the beach or Multnomah Falls in the pouring rain a couple weeks ago (and the only people crazy enough, apparently, to visit Oregon with only 1 umbrella for 3 people).

 

 

The ocean in the rain: maybe not perfect lighting for photos, but we had a blast.

“Off” Days Are Our “On” Days

We try to avoid going places during “peak season” due to hotter temperatures, longer lines, and crazier parking. Often going to a fun destination (like a water park or amusement park) very early or very late in the season is much quieter, cheaper, and all-around a lot less wear-and-tear. Last summer, instead of going to a bigger our out-of-state destination, we took a week off and visited several fun places within a 2-hour radius of our home…on the weekdays, when they would be less crowded.     

 

Reservations and Expectations Are Not Family Friends…But the Unplanned and Magical Are

Pre-paid tickets? Big expectations? These, at least for us, create a lot of pressure to get a certain level of experience out of what often turns out to be a major expense. Lowering the stakes allows us to be open to the unexpected, and results in a lot less guilt or disappointment if the weather is taking a lot out of my CHD child or one of us just isn’t feeling 100% that particular day.

This past winter, we drove from Milwaukee to Madison, WI to see the holiday lights at the zoo. We walked all over the zoo, saw all the animals, and got worn out before the lights even came on. Sure, we didn’t end up seeing the lights, but leaving through the back entrance, we saw the sun setting over a beautiful frozen lake, and joined the people playing on it. Honestly, playing on that frozen lake it something I’ll never forget–and was probably far more special to us than seeing the holiday lights, after all.

To quote the late, great Anthony Bourdain, “no reservations” has become my motto.

 

We didn’t see the holiday lights that night…but played on this frozen lake at sunset instead

Fun, Fun for Everyone

Summer fun will look different for each family, and for many of those living with CHD and other special needs, that is particularly true. But over the years, here a few tried and true summer options we’ve found:

  • Museum membership reciprocity: instead of buying several memberships to local attractions, we pick one different membership each year. Most museums, zoos, nature centers, and botanical gardens that sell tax-deductible memberships have reciprocity with other institutions, allowing us to visit several other educational sites per year with our membership–usually all for free. Some children’s museums also offer free tickets or memberships for families with special needs.
  • Nature: We’ve discovered many county, state, and even federal natural areas and historical sites that have free parking and free entry. Many nature centers and parks have short (1-mile or less) nature/interpretive trails that are flat, easy terrain and often wheelchair and stroller accessible.
  • Farms and farmer’s markets: Summer is the time to visit local farms that offer pick-your-own berries, peas, pears, and apples. We like these because you can go at your own pace, go early or late if it’s hot out, and of course, make delicious and healthy recipes when you get home. Local farmer’s markets are a great sensory experience for kids without being too overwhelming, and get us eating healthy in a season that’s ripe for indulgence!
  • When in doubt…water: Swimming pools and wading in lakes are, of course, kid favorites, but going ponding at your local nature center, visiting splash pads, or just running through the sprinkler are great ways to cool off. When it is too cold for swimming, we enjoy simply beach hunting at local lakes for “meditation rocks,” “worry stones,” and other treasures.

 

A heart-shaped piece of driftwood, a gift from Lake Michigan

  • Or animals: The healing power of animals can’t be overstated. Being out and about in summer gives us more opportunities to view animals in their natural habitats, as well as safely encounter them in educational and recreational settings.
  • Library programming: Summer reading programs promote reading for fun prizes, but many summer reading programs offer free events for children throughout the summer. From constructing marshmallow catapults to storytimes and magic shows, to kids’ concerts and reading to a service dog, my son has had some great experiences right at the local libraries.
  • Flower hunts: When my son was recovering from his 3rd heart surgery one summer, our activities at home were limited for several weeks, especially because there was a major heat wave occuring at the same time. That was when we started our summer tradition of walking around the block, going on “flower hunts” to see what was in bloom every few days. Sometimes, simple is best…but there’s nothing wrong with becoming acquainted with your local wildflowers and garden blooms, with their accompanying butterflies, caterpillars, and birds!  

 

Summer with CHD has its own considerations, but it’s also the perfect time to find out what you love to do as a family, try new things, and gain important insights and life skills. “Fun” doesn’t have to be a big production or involve “big ticket” attractions–though there’s nothing wrong with doing those once in awhile, too! We’ve found that simple spots are some of the most relaxing and beautiful–and easiest for us to adapt to, depending on our own needs.

 

 Margaret King is a Wisconsin writer who enjoys penning poetry, short stories, and young adult novels. In her spare time, she likes to haunt the shores of Lake Michigan, similar to many of her fictional characters. Her recent work has appeared in Unlost Journal, Verdancies, the Ginger Collect, Foxglove Journal, Moonchild Magazine, at art shows and in various other spots on the web. She was recently featured as Poetry Superhighway’s Poet of the Week, and is the author of the recently-published novella, Fire Under Water.

Summer Fun! – Laura’s Adventures with CHD at Camp Odayin

For the month of July, we are bringing you stories of how CHD families enjoy the summer, along with tips and tricks on how CHD patients can beat the heat. To kick us off for the month we have Laura Hoagland, an adult CHD patient and avid adventurer. Laura shares her experience with Camp Odayin, and explains why no matter how much you love adventures, the unknown can still be very scary for CHD families.  

 

To say I enjoy summer is an understatement. I LOVE summer! Growing up in the Pacific
Northwest summer was filled with family vacations to the coast, afternoons on the lake and
attending a local summer camp with school friends. As I got older, and especially throughout
college, I intentionally scheduled traveling into my summer
agenda; tours through Eastern Europe, roller coaster riding in
Disneyland, exploring Alaska, sky diving, road trips with college friends down the entire west coast, zip-lining down Whistler Mountain, bungee jumping and paragliding over the Teton Mountains after a day in Yellowstone. This summer, I’m exploring Sweden and Iceland. I’ve always had an adventurous spirit and summer is when my spirit can truly soar. In 2009, as I was finishing up my undergraduate degree in Special and Elementary Education, I quickly became nervous about my future. Not only was I about to leave the safety and predictability of being a student and enter “the real world,” but I was entering adulthood with CHD. My anxiety and nervousness led me to a quarter-life crisis! So I took my problems straight to Google! I began searching for support groups for young adults with CHD. I had met a handful of people with CHD before, but never had I met another person with Tricuspid Atresia, a single ventricle or the Fontan physiology. I felt like I needed a role model, a support group, someone to help guide me on my journey as adult with CHD. I felt alone and I wanted my hand held as I ventured into the unknown. What does adulthood with a CHD look like? My search turned up message board sites and some Facebook groups but I had no luck in finding an in-person
support group for adults. However, I did find summer camps for children with CHD.
Summer camp? Children? I LOVED summer camp when I was younger and as an aspiring
educator, working with kids seemed like summer fun to me! I found Camp Odayin in Minnesota. I was worried that the Midwest would be too hot and humid for my half heart, but after discovering that camp was on a lake and had air conditioned cabins I applied to be a counselor. That summer my adventurous spirit got on an airplane and flew to Minnesota, where I knew no one. As a volunteer camp counselor, I spent the week horseback riding, canoeing, swimming and becoming a human bowling ball down a slip n’ slide, all while wearing silly outfits. Oh, and I got eggs cracked over my head by campers!

As summer faded into fall my memories of camp continued to shine bright. After an exhausting
year as a first-year teacher, I was excited for summer break. I was mostly excited to venture the
1,500 miles and spend another week at Camp Odayin. Before I was to fly out for camp, I was in
Southern Oregon with my family. The week before this vacation I was taken to the ER because I
turned purple. While in Oregon my oxygen saturations dropped into the 70s. My parents,
veterans of traveling with a “high risk” CHD kiddo, kept calm and arranged portable oxygen for
the duration of our trip. I called my cardiologist and we scheduled an exploratory heart
catheterization once our vacation was over. Talk about a damper on summer fun.

Vacation was over. It was a Thursday and I was at Seattle Children’s Hospital about to have my
bajillionth heart catheterization, I’ve literally lost count. As I was walking myself into the
operating room, and began climbing up on the OR table, tears welled up in my eyes. I was 24
and scared. Six years before when I had a heart catheterization, it didn’t go as planned and
surgical intervention was required. This summer, I had plans, so things needed to go as
planned. My nurse looked at me and in a half-sarcastic tone asked, “Would a teddy bear make
you feel better?” I looked at her, tears rolling down my cheek and replied, “Yes. I know I’m 24
and I’ve done this before, but I’m scared of the unknown.” She came back with beautiful quilt
and I drifted off to the calm of anesthesia. When I woke up, my nurse looked down at me and
said, “You don’t need to be scared. You’re O.K.” In recovery, the doctors shared that there
appeared to be evidence of a small “shower” of pulmonary embolisms, and it was time to be
more aggressive with Warfarin. I was to spend the next several days recovering from the
procedure. I explained that on Saturday I had a plane to catch to Minnesota. He said no. I’m
stubborn. Two days after my heart catheterization, I got on that airplane. Some may think I was
running away from something, but in reality, I was running towards something.
My second summer at Camp Odayin changed my life. My recent “heart scare” gave me
perspective, a different view of camp and my role as a counselor. I had a camper so cyanotic
that she required 24/7 oxygen, and she rocked it with more grace and class than I could ever
imagine doing at 15. I had campers who showed off their scars
like badges of courage and honor at waterfront and when they
saw my scars they got excited that mine matched theirs. When I
told my campers and co-counselors that I couldn’t go horseback riding because my leg was still recovering from my heart catheterization, no one looked at me like I was “weak” or weird. They were just impressed that the night before I was piggybacking campers around the ball field. Growing up I was never bullied for having a heart defect, but I always had to explain myself. I had to explain why running was hard, why I needed an oxygen tank or why I had a scar down my chest. No, I wasn’t bullied, but I felt alone. This week, at camp, I didn’t feel alone. I felt like I belonged. I met several other counselors who were adults thriving with CHD. To this day I call them my heart family. The mission of Camp Odayin began to heal my heart that had been emotionally exposed in the OR. My spirit soared, because it was free. Free of explanation, free of judgement, free of worry.

I volunteered for three more summers before moving to Minnesota in 2013 and being offered a summer job on Camp Odayin leadership staff. Now I’m entering my 5 th summer as Summer Camp Co-Director. This isn’t an ordinary summer job, it’s a job full of summer fun! I get to kayak, ride pontoon boats with kids, sing songs, play games, go tubing behind speed boats, throw water balloons and roast marshmallows. At camp, I may act like a “big kid” but Camp Odayin is where I grew up. Ten years ago, I was scared to enter adulthood with CHD, I felt fear as the path of adulthood loomed in front of me…it looked dark, hollow and lonely.

When I first went to Camp Odayin I was struggling with my quarter-life crisis. I searched for people who could help me along the journey, to help me see the light within the tunnel of adulthood. When I left camp
that second summer, I left knowing what adulthood for a CHD looked like. It looked like me. I realized I am the light in the tunnel of adulthood. By living and continuing my journey, one day at a time, my experiences shine bright and illuminate the future, for my campers and other CHD survivors. Deep in my heart, where there was once a hollow, lonely feeling of fear and an emotional wound, there is now hope, joy and confidence. At Camp Odayin I have the most summer fun imaginable, a week to be the role model I once longed for. When I introduce myself to campers, I don’t tell them I have a congenital heart defect, I just introduce myself as Hoagie. My intention as Camp Co-Director is to be my most authentic self
and create a week where campers feel free to be themselves,
no explanation needed. If they notice my scar and bring it up,
I’ll share my heart story. If they just want to talk football, that’s
OK too. In the summer, we’re free to be and as we say each
night at Camp Odayin, “you can be happy if you let yourself be.”

 

 

Laura Hoagland was born with Tricuspid Atresia, Pulmonary Stenosis, VSD and and ASD. Laura has a single ventricle and had the Fontan procedure in 1991 at the age of six. If Laura is not at camp or in her classroom teaching you can find her adventure seeking and traveling. Laura lives by the motto, “half a heart, not half a life!”

 

Father’s Day – A Heart Dad How-To

For Heart Dads new to CHD,  feeling a little lost, or those not sure where they fit in the CHD world, Aaron Carpenter shares what he found, after 8 years on the CHD roller coaster, worked best for him and his family. His tips just might help you too!

I am the dad of two kids, one with complex CHD and one with minor CHD combined with a rare airway disease.  The kids like to say our family is 2 in 100, since every 1 in 100 babies are born with CHD.

Dads generally have two goals when it comes to their family – happiness and health. Heart dads are certainly in that group, but the process of obtaining and maintaining that second goal can be much more complicated.  CHD is your own, often unfair and definitely unwanted, version of normal.  You live by the calendar, whether it is doctor appointments, medication dosing, or interventions and surgeries. I like to say heart dads are regular dads with a lot more to remember.

The voices of heart dads are sort of quiet in the CHD community. If you’re anything like me, you’re an introvert who pays attention to data and isn’t so great with support groups or big picture ideas. I want to be just as involved and just as knowledgeable as the next heart parent, but how do I do that in the world of Facebook groups and blogs? It only took my wife and I eight years on the CHD rollercoaster to come up with a plan, a split of duties so to speak. We are both involved in ways that work to our strengths and preferences. Our sons see both of us doing work in the CHD sphere and we always come together as a family for local CHD activities.

Here are a few of the things I have found helpful along my heart dad journey, helping my kids to be happy and healthy, and somehow finding myself happy and healthy too:

 

Teach a new skill/game/trick

Teaching your kids new things is fun and exciting for them, but it also helps promote a strong bond and connection with you, which is far more important than the rules of any game. I still remember when each of my boys could dribble a basketball, hold scissors the correct way, and especially when they learned to swim. And we are working on shuffling a deck of cards now, along with reading Harry Potter.

 

Compare scars 

It’s important for your child to know that their scars don’t define who they are or who they will become, but it can also be something they have pride in.  Show off any scars you may have so they can see how their own scars might change over time.  When I was 12, I crashed my dirt bike and ended up with an emergency splenectomy and a scar the full length of my abdomen. This provided a great connection with my son after his first surgery and throughout his preschool-aged years.

 

Promote connections

Promote a connection to any other family members who have heart disease, even if it is long-distance. Find other heart kids/teens/young adults so they have role models for different stages of their lives.  Even though we know our kids are 1 in 100, at times they can surely feel like they are the only ones going through this. My father-in-law had open-heart surgery shortly after my youngest son’s Glenn surgery. It was very touching when he removed his shirt so that he could compare his scar to my son’s over video chat. Even though their grandparents live across the country, they are bonded through their hearts with Pops and through gardening with Mimi.

 

Manage medications

Know your child’s medications and dosing schedules inside out, backwards, and on little to no sleep.  Anytime there are changes to the medication schedule, be it sickness or higher doses as they grow, I build an Excel spreadsheet with the new dosing schedule.  It gets printed and taped to the kitchen counter so that I can mark off doses when given. My spreadsheet was super handy during the weeks following my son’s Fontan surgery when meds are given around the clock. Sure there are apps for this, but doing the spreadsheet was my way of being involved and connected.

 

Attend medical appointments

Attend every appointment that you can, no matter how routine it is or how quickly it goes. Each interaction with your child’s clinicians is an opportunity to advance your knowledge on how to best care for you child. I think we all worry about our CHD kids growing up and taking over their own care. Start young and show them what staying in care looks like, which means us dads need to go to our own doctors too!

 

Use your strengths

I am an analytical computer nerd with a passion for physics so I built the medication dosing spreadsheets and dove into the world of cardiology, until I learned everything that I could about my kids’ specific anatomy.  Everyone is talented or passionate about something.  The real trick is figuring out how to channel that energy into something that helps your family or the broader CHD community.

 

Have a strong partnership

This is probably one of the most important things heart dads can do.  The CHD journey is no joke, and having a solid relationship with your spouse, co-parent or significant other is crucial. Divorce rates among parents with medically-needy children are super high for many reasons, not the least is the incredible amount of stress. Whoever said that building a house together was a true test of a marriage, never had kids with CHD. Talk to your partner, listen to your partner, go to counseling separately or together if needed. You are a team.

 

Find other CHD dads

I have met a few other heart dads along this journey, from fatherhood veterans to fatherhood freshmen. There is a common bond between us because of CHD and no other dad has ever understood the gravity of seeing my son’s pink fingers and toes for the first time after Fontan surgery. Sometimes we don’t even talk about CHD or our kids but being together with those who truly get it is validating.

 

Take care of yourself

Let’s face it, the CHD journey is a marathon that never really ends.  If you don’t stop and decompress once in a while you are going to burn out.  Find a hobby. Exercise. See your doctor every year for a physical and actually tell them how you are doing (I am still working at this). Please, take it from my years of doing so, don’t compartmentalize everything until you explode.

 

Get involved with the CHD community

There are a lot of options once you are ready to take this step. Does your state have a PCHA chapter? Do other CHD organizations have a presence in your community? Do you have a skill you can lend to the broader CHD community? Will you send emails or make phone calls to your legislators, asking them to support key CHD measures? Can you visit Washington DC in February for lobby day? Do you want to just go bowling with other heart dads? Do it!

 

Heart dad is a designation that I doubt any of us asked for, but it is a badge we proudly wear. It says that we are fighting the CHD battle right alongside our kids, doing whatever it takes to keep them happy and healthy. Be proud of the work you are doing in your family. Tell people you are a heart dad, advanced dadding required.

 

Aaron Carpenter is the proud Heart Dad of two, a Software Engineer at University of Washington (Go Dawgs!), an alum of North Carolina State University (Go Wolfpack!), and master of the post-op medication spreadsheet. He routinely empties his vacation time bank at children’s hospital visits and enjoys running, hiking, and grilling up a good burger.

Aaron welcomes messages from Heart Dads and science enthusiasts everywhere at amcarp8@gmail.com.

Father’s Day – I See You, Heart Dad

Often times, Heart Dads do the behind the scenes work, the work that the world can’t see. Yet, in truth, their job as dad, their love, their encouragement  and concern doesn’t go unnoticed by the ones that matter. This week, Diana Schneider shares with us just how special a role her husband plays in their family and the life of their warrior, Danny. 

 

I see you, Heart Dad. You may not always wear your CHD heart on your sleeve, but I can see that too. I see the furrow in your brow as you’re researching our son’s diagnosis and treatment options. You wonder if you are doing enough to help him, if there’s more you could do for him. You try to imagine what the future holds for him and how you can make it better. I see you clench your jaw when the news anchor reports the latest flu statistics in our area and you glance anxiously at our boys, praying that somehow it spares everyone in our house. I see the tension in your shoulders when I need to take him to the emergency room. Again. You linger as you buckle him into his car seat, not wanting to let him go and yet wanting him to get there as quickly as possible at the same time. I know when I see you again there will be dark circles under your eyes because you can’t sleep well until he’s home safe with you again. Even with your anxieties and fears and without much sleep, you will be up the next morning to feed and dress our other two sons and take them to school and daycare. You will be mom and dad to them until Danny and I come back home, and I love that I never have to worry about them because it’s a job you do so well.

I see you swallow your concerns and let Danny be like every other little boy his age, running, climbing, and jumping off everything in sight. You roughhouse with him and his brothers, you chase him and tickle him until he squeals, planting big dinosaur kisses ever so skillfully on his belly without disturbing his G-tube. You never tell him he can’t try something because of his heart. And you don’t use it as an excuse to spoil him either. I see you discipline him and hold him to the same standards of behavior we set for his brothers when it would be much easier to let pity and guilt over everything he’s gone through get the best of you. But you know you wouldn’t be doing him any favors in the long run.

I feel like the people who know the story of our son’s journey don’t always see or appreciate how much of his success is from you. When our friends and family ask how Danny is doing you tell them I take him to weekly appointments with the feeding specialist and how he ate his first slice of pizza. But you don’t tell them you made the pizza from scratch (thin crust, so it’s easier to chew) and let him help you make it so he could experience food as a fun, not just therapy. You tell them I take him to see a speech therapist every week to get his language development on track so he can start school next year. But you don’t tell them how many books you read to him or how many flashcards you practice together each day when you get home from work. You tell them he no longer has a gross motor delay and doesn’t see a physical therapist any more, but you don’t tell them you built him his own platform swing to work on his balance at home. You tell them about current CHD research and what it could mean for Danny, but you don’t tell anyone that you went to our nation’s capital to educate legislators and push for more research funding.

I see the way becoming a Heart Dad has molded you into an even more remarkable father than you already were. It’s made you someone I could never have imagined when we were dating in high school, and your biggest concern in life was how to start a food fight without getting suspended. As it turns out, you weren’t very good at that. But you are the most incredible Heart Dad. It has shaken you to the core, and you have put the pieces back together even better than they were before. It has made you more vulnerable, but stronger. It has made you more serious, but you’ve retained your sense of humor. You live your life differently now, taking little for granted and stopping to enjoy the small things. You plan for the future, but cherish each day knowing that tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. I’ve watched the man who can fix anything around the house struggle to accept he can’t fix his son’s heart, but instead of buckling under the stress and fear you’ve allowed it to shape you into a better husband and father than you already were. You’ve managed to find a way to thrive under the burden of being a Heart Dad and because of that, because of you, Danny is thriving too.

Thank you for appreciating how hard I work to take care of our children. But the next time someone asks how Danny is doing, I hope you will remember to take your credit where it is due. To you and all the wonderful Heart Dads out there, have a Happy Father’s Day knowing how much we love and appreciate you the other 364 days of the year as well.

 

Diana Schneider is the lucky wife of an amazing Heart Dad and mom of three wild little boys. They live near Ann Arbor, Michigan and thankfully, Mott Children’s Hospital.

 

Father’s Day – Joe’s Dad

In May, PCHA honored Heart Moms for Mother’s Day. This month, we’re taking time to shine a light on the great Heart Dads out there, who conquer CHD along side us and are often unsung in the fight. This week, Joe Valente, an adult CHD patient, thanks his dad for the sacrifices he made a long the way and talks about why sometimes men seem to be in the background when it comes to  the CHD Family journey.

 

My father used to have a fond place for box kites and I remember many a summer being dragged across the windy beaches of Northern California by his kites.

As I sit hear with my next chapter in my CHD journey unfolding I am reminded of all that has been sacrificed to get me here and as Father’s Day is approaching it is hard to not think of all the CHD dads that make this world go around including my own. The world of Congenital Heart Disease is in a rapid state of flux. Since the day I was born over 36 years ago survival rates for critical congenital heart defects have improved beyond belief, but maybe more importantly the community of patients and parents that are able to connect through the internet and organizations like the PCHA have drastically changed the knowledge and support for everyone affected by CHD.

Being a male in the CHD world is difficult, there are not many emotional resources for the men that need support, the fathers who are helping their child fight, or those that are grieving a loss. Maybe it is our own doing and what society expects from us, but it is often a lonely road to walk. I enjoy seeing the fathers that are public about their battles and the men that share their journey with CHD with the world. So, while so much has changed the men are often stuck in yesteryear as they are expected to be strong through all else and have little escape or resources to coupe with daily struggles that accompany CHD.

As I was going through some childhood belongings the other day I found an old guide to CHD from the American Heart Association, copyrighted 1978. It is quite an enlightenment to read, as it was the only real resource that my parents had outside of the hospital. In this information era it feels like reading a tri-fold brochure when you want an encyclopedia. It is a good reminder for all of us fighting for more to not forget to be thankful of how far we have come.

As most fathers mine was observing my birth but for him it was in the same hospital that he had already delivered so many babies as an OBGYN. So, when I was delivered and was extremely cyanotic I wonder at what point he really knew. I know my mother tells the story of the pediatrician telling her I was being transported to UCSF and to call the priest. But I know my father knew before that—maybe from the moment he saw me—or was he blinded by a fathers love like so many parents who don’t see what may appear as obvious looking back?

I was blessed that my father was one of my biggest advocates when I was young, being a doctor he was knowledgeable enough to know when things were not right. I can say without hesitation that he saved my life. I know his grief was significant as anyone that was there would tell you he could barely walk into the hospital to find me after my transport. And when I was not on the floor they thought they assumed the worst. Like so many father’s I am not sure who was there for him, of course my mother and family, but who was his strength? Maybe all he needed for his strength was me to be there and to keep fighting.

My dad never let his medical knowledge and any fear of looking like a dumb parent get in the way of following his gut. When I was 9 months old one week after getting a the “see you in a few months” clearance from cardiology I began to go downhill. My father new something wasn’t right and immediately called my cardiologist. As my pediatric cardiologist still does, and I believe any good doctor should, he listened to him told them to come down as soon as they could. Upon setting eyes on me my cardiologist turned pale. He had never seen a baby decline so fast, he had only seen me a week before and I was “healthy.”

My father didn’t stop there when the surgeon came and gave the consult on a Friday afternoon and told my parents he would operate on Monday my father told him I didn’t have until Monday. The surgeon was adamant that I would be fine and that when he got back from his weekend vacation he would do the surgery. That wasn’t good enough, so my dad kept pushing finally he agreed to operate same day. After the surgery, the surgeon came out of the operating asking my father how he knew, he questioned how many hours I had left, not days, as I had formed an aneurysm in my trans annular patch that was placed when I was just 2 days old, and it was about to rupture.

As I have grown into a man, I think of all the nights my father was out delivering babies and how at 76 he still works 4-5 days a week. Not much has changed in my 36 years, except now I am the one in charge of my care. The lessons my parents taught me are what has led to me to search for a life of meaning. Not only for me but for everyone I love. I have had many moments in my life when I was required to trust my gut, and I have never seconded guessed it, because I learned at a young age the significance of doing so. I will always appreciate the medical professionals who take a pause and listen when I say something isn’t right.

I know that fathers may often seem hidden in the world of chronic illness and CHD, but it is not representative of their role. Many are at home and work, keeping the rest of the world moving while we fight our battles in hospitals and doctor offices. Many are out there advocating for us. They may not be the faces on our Facebook pages, but we know what they do and have done for us, and we are forever grateful. Maybe one day it will be the posh thing for dads to wear their emotions on their sleeve for the world to see, but until that day we must not forget of everything they contribute to us and our families. Regardless of their fame or the lack thereof we know their love is unwavering.

So, when I say:

The twine on your kite is as long as you want it to be. Always set it loose and reach for the blue skies. Let it fly high in the wind. If a breeze catches you let it pull you to where you were meant to be. Never give up on life. Fly free and you will be amazed at what you can be.

I think of my father and being pulled across the beach as I look up for all that can be. A happy Father’s Day to my dad and all the CHD dads out there that mean so much to us and our families.

 

Joe was born with Tetralogy of Fallot. He required his first open heart surgery at 54 hours old and suffered a stroke after surgery. He has now had four open heart surgeries, the last two days before his 30th birthday. He has struggled with PTSD for most of his life and believes a strong mind and building a team with a roster full of supporters is the key to successfully living with a chronic illness. He is a Board Certified Patient Advocate for families, children, and adults with congenital heart disease—helping them to navigate the emotions, diagnoses, and challenges they face in finding and understanding appropriate CHD care.

 

Mother’s Day – A Mother’s Day Gift

Mother’s Day is a day to shower the women that have loved us  and cared for us with gifts in appreciation!  We bring them flowers and homemade cards, in hopes of bringing a smile to their faces. But last Mother’s Day, Melissa  Zolk  received a very different kind of gift, one that changed her daughter, Maxine’s life.  

 

 

Mother’s Day – Those two words hold a meaning unlike any other, especially if you are a heart mama.  To a heart mama, they mean countless doctor’s appointments, medications, syringes, feeding tubes, therapies, hospital stays, and surgeries.  They mean finding strength in moments when you thought you had none left.  However, they also mean understanding differences and embracing the beauty that comes with those differences.  The beauty of zipper scar lining your child’s chest.  They mean understanding true joy because you have experienced true sorrow.  The sorrow that began the moment you heard, “There’s something wrong with your baby’s heart!”  Those words start a journey filled with the unknown.  And little did we know what our journey would be like with our heart warrior.  We received the devastating news at our 20 week ultrasound and from that point on, our journey took the path unexpected.  Though now as a more experienced heart mama, I know that the unexpected is to be expected.  Our daughter, Maxine, was born on October 1, 2015 with Transposition of the Great Arteries, Pulmonary Stenosis, and Ventricular Septal Defect.  She had three heart surgeries including one open heart surgery before she turned one year old.

 

For me, Mother’s Day has even more meaning now.  It still means medications, appointments, procedures, and worry, but it also means the GIFT OF LIFE.  Last year on Mother’s Day, we received the call that changed our world – after living in the hospital and being listed for 137 days on the heart transplant list, Maxine was getting her new heart!  Oh, how the emotions came flowing.  Flowing free and fast and yet again, unexpected.  I think the most unexpected feeling was the peace that I had.  Yes, I was nervous and scared and worried and excited, but a feeling of peace came over me and lingered for a while.  Sometimes, I wonder if maybe the reason I felt so at peace was because maybe the family who chose to give us this incredible gift in their time of incredible grief felt more at peace knowing that part of their child would live on within my child.  Mother’s Day means my child received the greatest blessing, a second chance at life.  It means that this year I get to celebrate at home with my husband and our three beautiful children.  And on this Mother’s Day and every day to come, I promise to remember the mama whose heart is breaking because she lost her child last Mother’s Day.  A day she will remember for a completely different reason than the reason I get to remember.

 

To my fellow heart mamas and all mamas, Happy Mother’s Day!  Whether you are celebrating with your child here on Earth or your angel up in Heaven, I want you to know that I promise not to forget you and the amazingness you are as a mother.  You were created to be the perfect mama for your baby and you are exactly what your baby needs.  My hope is that you can remember that when the days are long and difficult because life will take unexpected turns and we will be there to help our babies get through it!  Because, well, we are mamas and that is what we do!

 

 

 

 

 

Hi there!  I am Melissa.  Mama of three crazy, beautiful children, ages 3 and under and wife to the most amazing heart daddy on the planet.  Our middle child is our heart warrior, and she is an energetic little stinker!  Besides being a heart mama, I am a high school, special education teacher.  In my free time, I like to make phone calls to doctors, pharmacies, and insurance companies. Ha, just kidding!  Our heart warrior has been on quite the journey these last few years.  If you would like to follow her journey, you can find her at Maxine the Mighty Heart Warrior on Facebook.

Beyond the Heart – Marissa’s Story

There is still much unknown about adult Congenital Heart Disease Patients and the long term effects of their treatment in childhood. This week, Marissa, a single ventricle patient about to complete her nursing degree, shares her story of an unexpected complication, which almost cost her future in nursing. 

I call myself a “heart patient”, but why? Sure, I was born with six complex congenital heart defects, but my heart disease effects more than just one body system. As a 21-year- old Single Ventricle Fontan, I’ve always had my routine EKGs, echocardiograms, stress tests, halter monitors- you name it. Because I am a fontan, I’ve been made aware of the high likelihood of developing liver cirrhosis, so I have liver ultrasounds each summer. There can be issues with pregnancy, exercise tolerance, mental health disorders, and an overall a deterioration of the Fontan circulation. I’ve always been very realistic and knowledgeable with my own health condition, which is why I was so surprised when I heard my doctor say the words “you have T-cell Lymphopenia related to your Fontan circulation”.

In November of 2016, I underwent a diagnostic endoscopy that yielded abnormal findings. A week later, I found out I had an infection lining my esophagus. I presented with no symptoms and had been completely unaware of the infection. The treatment was simple, a two-week course of oral antibiotics, but my doctor felt I needed to undergo further immunology testing, considering this was an opportunistic infection. After three separate lab studies showing low immune cell counts, I was referred to an Immunologist in Philadelphia. Since then, I’ve seen three separate immunology specialists.

Marissa and her Mom wearing surgical masks while flying, to protect themselves.

T-Cell Lymphopenia is a secondary immunodeficiency that results in decreased levels of T cells (infection fighting cells) within the blood. The high pressures within my circulation do not allow my lymphatic system to release the proper amount of T-cells needed within a healthy individual. For me, my case is mild and was caught early, however; the newfound diagnosis almost ended my career as a nurse before it even began.

When I finally received my official diagnosis, I was in my third year of nursing school. I was attending clinical rotations twice a week, and I was already working in a hospital setting. Many specialists were unfamiliar with my diagnosis in relation to my childhood heart surgeries. Before I began my senior year of school, I visited a new doctor who advised I avoid patients with any form of a transmittable illness. I was advised to wear a mask in crowded spaces, to avoid friends or family members who were ill, and I was given immunizations intended for those with a weak immune system. Having these new restrictions was difficult, and it was a daily reminder that I will always fight this chronic illness; I’ll never be considered
“healthy”.

 

Marissa dressed as a nurse for Halloween when she was 9 years old.

When starting my last year of nursing school, I was told I couldn’t complete the program with the accommodations my doctor required. I was devastated to find that I may not be able to graduate with my nursing degree, and I may not be able to fulfill my passion to work as a nurse. I had spent three years studying and preparing to succeed in my future career, and it all came to a halt on a warm August day. I’ve always tried to treat myself as normal as possible; I’ve never wanted my congenital heart defects to define me as an individual. I knew this career would be tough, especially for someone with a single ventricle. Nursing school is the most challenging thing I’ve ever done, but hearing that I wouldn’t be able to graduate because of my heart was the worst part. No matter how hard I studied, how well I performed in clinical, and how well I prepared for my future, that didn’t matter anymore. With this crushing reality, I requested a third opinion from a pediatric specialist, hoping this physician would have more experience considering Congenital Heart Defects are from birth.

 

Marissa in her scrubs now, at the age of 20 years old.

Thankfully, after visiting a third immunologist, I now have no restrictions related to my T-Cell Lymphopenia. I will require follow-up care to monitor my T-cell and vaccination levels, however, I have NO restrictions in the clinical setting. I’m allowed to finish my degree to fulfill my dreams and work as a nurse. I’m incredibly grateful to have been able to see a specialist who was familiar with my diagnosis. Apparently, T-Cell Lymphopenia is present in a small percentage of Fontans by the time they reach their early 20’s.

 

CHD does go beyond the heart, and affects the body in various ways. It’s important that we as patients receive lifelong care, but this can be challenging when complications arise outside of the heart. Although it took over a year, I’m thankful to have received the proper diagnosis and plan of care. I want to inspire others to be an advocate for themselves and to not give up on their dreams. Life can get difficult sometimes, but through determination we can reach our goals,even when taking an unconventional path.

 

 

 

 

 

Marissa Mendoza lives in New Jersey and was born with six complex congenital heart defects. She was diagnosed with a Ventricular Septal Defect, Congenitally Corrected Transposition of the Great Arteries with Ventricular Inversion, Pulmonary Atresia, Bilateral Superior Vena Cavas, and Dextracardia. She underwent three open heart surgeries before the age of two, now classifying her as a Single Ventricle Fontan. She is a senior year nursing student graduating in May, 2018 and has a passion for working in pediatric cardiology. Marissa has a lifelong goal to increase awareness of Congenital Heart Defects and serve as an advocate for not only herself, but for the millions of others facing this chronic condition.

 

Beyond the Heart – Rebeka’s Story

CHD can affect so much more than the heart, yet physicians unfamiliar with Congenital Heart Disease may have trouble seeing the big picture. In this week’s post Rebeka Acosta, PCHA Steering Committee member and Mom to two heart warriors, shares the struggle of coordinating care outside of cardiology.

In the last few decades, science and research surrounding congenital heart disease has uncovered many connections to other body systems. As the parent of two heart warriors with additional diagnoses and unique family histories, it is imperative for me to keep up with research, be able to educate non-cardiac
practitioners, and advocate for my kids’ entire bodies. If that sounds like a full-time job, you are correct!

 

 

My youngest son has single ventricle anatomy and experiences challenges in the neurodevelopmental and neuropsychology spheres. Difficulties with word recall, attention and focus, and auditory processing have left many clinicians with puzzled looks on their faces. Some prescribed therapies with scientifically unproven results, while refusing the connection to CHD. Others were willing to learn and adjust their techniques to best work with him. Looking back, gross motor delays around 3-5 years old were the least of his challenges!

 

My oldest son with minor anatomical cardiac differences has multiple airway and pulmonary disorders, which include treatment from multiple specialists. Who knew the airway was as complex as the heart? His airway diagnoses are part of the outdated school of thought that “kids will eventually grow out of it”, so it has been a several years battle to find clinicians that specialize in and treat them. We are all excited for his evaluation next month and the possibility of a surgical repair!

 

 

Our family has made tough choices regarding medical treatment, mental health, and education for both of our children. They were not always popular amongst family or friends, but they were best for the kids. After eight years parenting these awesome warriors on the CHD roller-coaster, we are on the right track. For everyone starting out, remember to speak up and do so loudly. You are the
expert and your child’s primary care provider.

 

 

Rebeka Acosta lives in Las Vegas with her husband, two heart warriors and two Great Danes. A researcher by nature and healthcare finance coordinator by training, she enjoys keeping up with congenital cardiac literature and always reviews insurance claims line by line. Before relocating to Southern Nevada, Rebeka was a founding member of the Washington chapter of PCHA. She now volunteers on the National Steering Committee and enjoys attending the annual legislative conferences and
transparency summits. Rebeka welcomes connections at racosta@conqueringchd.org. You can also follow Gavin & Taosies’ CHD adventures on Instagram.

Beyond the Heart – Anna’s Story

The effects of Congenital Heart Disease aren’t limited to the heart. Patients will often experience complications with other body systems. This week Anna Archer shares her how her late CHD diagnosis caused a brain abscess.

Growing up and Diagnosis
I was your average, ordinary, little girl for the first decade of my life and lived an idyllic life with my (incredible) parents and eight sisters and brothers (yes, you read that right), in the Pacific Northwest. When I was ten, I started showing symptoms of my undiagnosed CHD. I started becoming slightly short of breath and cyanotic with exertion, I was easily fatigued, and I probably slept more than most kids my age. After running through a whole gamut of testing, we finally received my diagnosis of Tetralogy of Fallot with a VSD, Eisenmenger’s Syndrome, and Pulmonary Arterial Hypertension.

Surgery to repair my heart was not an option for me, so life meandered on after my diagnosis, but I maintained my health for most of my second decade, it declining only in the last year or two. A few months after I turned 20, I was listed for a double-lung and heart transplant. Many years later, I learned that my parents thought they might lose me that winter, but I survived, and, a few years later, I was thriving again. I became healthy enough to go off the list after six years on it. In September of 2012, I got married and moved to Southern Nevada, where I currently live.

To better understand the plot twist, you need to have some understanding of my heart. I have what is called a bidirectional shunt with my VSD. It acts as a “pop-off” valve if you will, allowing my blood to change directions as needed, to relieve the pressures between my heart and lungs. Bacteria that should get caught in my lungs and give me a cold, is able to bypass them, through the shunting in my VSD, and maneuver its way up to my brain. There it made itself comfy cozy and became a brain abscess.

Plot twist! AKA: The Brain Abscess
On Monday, February 25th, 2013, I had a headache. Now, this isn’t abnormal in and of itself, except it didn’t go away. I still had a headache on Tuesday, and Wednesday. It was a pulsing kind of headache. Sometimes it would be a dull ache, then I would get these waves of intense pain. By Thursday, I was becoming concerned that I had injured myself while working out with my husband the weekend before. Friday came and went with no improvement, despite caffeine, ibuprofen, oxygen, and resting all day. On Saturday, I had decided if it wasn’t better by Monday, I would call my cardiologist’s office and see what they recommended. I had only seen my new cardiologist twice at this point, so I still wasn’t very familiar with how everything worked at their office.

Around 3am on Sunday, March 3rd, I started vomiting. This is always taken very seriously, as I dehydrate quickly, and what little energy I normally have is drained almost immediately. After a second round of vomiting, I woke my husband up and asked him to take me to the ER; something was definitely wrong.

The ER was fairly quiet that night, and I was taken back almost immediately. They worked through everything respiratory/heart/lung related first, chest x-ray and bloodwork, the most obvious concerns with a CHD/PAH patient. After everything came back clear, they sent me for a head x-ray. I remember someone coming into my room and asking”have you ever had anything show up on your scans”, I said “not that I knew of,” and thought it kind of a silly thing to ask (little did I know). Then I was sent for a head MRI… I wasn’t as concerned as I, perhaps, should have been. I supposed that since my head hurt, it made sense they were checking it out. I never thought something would actually show up on those scans.

The ER doctor came in, and told me I had a mass in my brain, and I needed to have a brain biopsy done. I was shocked, and in some sort of denial, because I told him flat out that surgery wasn’t happening. They couldn’t do surgery on me, it was too risky, it was reserved for life and death situations, and this was obviously not a life or death situation. He insisted that I needed to wrap my mind around it, because it would have to be done. Then he told me to look up glioblastoma, then left the room after reiterating that I would need to have surgery. I knew what a glioblastoma was, one of our family friends had died from it. I looked it up anyways; one to two year survival rate with successful treatment. I called my Dad and cried as I explained what little I knew.

I have been blessed with amazing parents, my Dad is a respiratory therapist and my Mom went to nursing school. It took my Dad almost an hour to calm me down when I called him about my brain scans, and finally, he said he would call my Mom and tell her what was going on. I didn’t think I could do it and be any amount of comprehensible. A little while later my Mom called, and I cried with her. Somebody, I’m not sure if it was myself, or one of my parents, let the rest of my family know what was going on. I have also been blessed with amazing siblings. Each and every one of them has supported me through thick and thin. They worked things around in their lives so that Mom could fly out to Las Vegas to be with me for the impending surgery and recovery.

Somewhere in the mess of things, I was coherent enough to call my cardiologists office and let them know what was going on, as well as telling the ER people that they needed to connect with my cardiologists office. The neurosurgeon who was going to be performing my surgery came in sometime that Sunday. He looked over my scans and to talk to me and my husband. He was much more calm, and kind about things. He told us that “the mass in your brain could be any number of 100 or more different things, and I simply wouldn’t know more until I get in there to check it out during the biopsy”. I felt much better about things after talking to him; I’d had enough of this glioblastoma talk.

Surgery was scheduled for the next day, Monday, March 4th, but it ended up being postponed, because they couldn’t get my blood thick enough (I’d been on blood thinners since I was diagnosed). After a few platelet transfusions, and a couple of vitamin K shots, it was finally thick enough to schedule the biopsy. I count this as a blessing on multiple levels, as it allowed some extra time for my Mom and one of my brothers to fly into town that day.

Tuesday, March 5th, 2013, my six-month wedding anniversary, I had brain surgery. My family was told the biopsy would take around one and a half to three hours, so you can imagine the almost heart-attack they all had when the surgeon came out after 45 minutes! He said everything went great, the abscess was right next to my skull, and not buried into my brain, so he was able to remove the entire thing and flush it out with antibiotics and antibacterials, before closing me up again. The abscess ended up being about the size of a golf-ball or meyer lemon.

 

 

For the next day or two my timeline is a little wonky. It was my first experience being intubated, and my first experience with any kind of narcotic (I’m apparently fluent in ASL when I’m on narcotics, I don’t remember this). What I do remember, is that my husband, mom, brother, mother-in-law were all there. I was surrounded by a million beeping machines, and my family. My best friend flew into town a few days later, followed by my dad the next weekend. I was surrounded by those who loved me. I remember distinctly getting my hair dry-washed by a nurse, which was the most incredible feeling in the world at the time. The night nurse, who made my life sane again. My Dad talking medicalese to the doctors, to explain that resting oxygen levels in the mid 70’s were perfectly normal for me. Slowly entering the social media field again, and the outpouring of prayers and support from family and friends across the country. Continual jokes about having a “few loose screws” now.

The “short-term” recovery ended up taking just over two months. I was released from my Infectious Disease doctor on May 8th and Neurosurgeon on May 16th. I say “short-term” recovery, because I was still recovering from some aspects six months later, a year later, two years later, even now.

Some things I wish they had done, was suggest I see a psychologist, and do neuropsych testing. My abscess could’ve been much worse, bigger, deeper into my brain, in a different spot, any number of things could’ve made recovery that much harder and longer. There wasn’t anything obviously different, or wrong, after the surgery, but lots of teeny tiny things that slowly built up, and built up, and built up, to become large problems later on. My abscess was in the frontal left lobe of my brain, and the frontal lobe functions include things like mood, personality, memory, behavior, decision making, judgement, initiative, planning, reasoning, intelligence, movement, and inhibition. I lost all semblance of self-confidence. I forgot how to cope. I became incredibly jealous. I wasn’t the same, and I didn’t know it for awhile. When I figured it out, I didn’t know how to fix it. Rewiring the brain is hard work. It’s an exhausting, frustrating business.

After I had a bad reaction to some allergy medications in the summer of 2016, along with some of life’s tougher moments, I became severely depressed, and developed anxiety. I had called my cardiologists office to see if there were any medications I could take, and as I’m bawling my eyes out with my nurse, they told me they had a psychologist I could see. We made an appointment for the next day. It’s been an incredible, life-saving, life-changing experience. For the past year and a half, I’ve seen my psychologist every week to two weeks, and I can’t recommend it enough. We’ve worked a lot on rewiring my brain, learning how to cope in various situations, and to remember that I am enough.

It’s a continual process, learning who you are, and what you are capable of, if only you give yourself half a chance.

Anna (Becky) Archer is 31 and lives in Las Vegas, NV with her husband and kitten. When Becky isn’t busy at her part-time job as a filing clerk, you can find her playing video games, knitting,
crocheting, swimming in her pool, shooting photos, hiking, going to the movies, and hanging out with family and friends. She is a Heart Warrior, PHighter, and Survivor. She has a fierce
perseverance for living.

Advice – 10 Pieces of Advice for the New CHD Parent

Learning your child has a CHD can be overwhelming. Suddenly, you’re thrust into unfamiliar territory filled with strange terminology and new doctors. But so many families have bee there too, and they have so much knowledge to share, garnered through their experience.  PCHA recently asked the CHD Community,  families and patients, to share their advice for new parents feeling overwhelmed. This is what they had to say.

 

 

1. You Are NOT Alone

CHD is the number one birth defect, there are lot of parents or patients in your community to learn from and lean on. Parents often find it helpful to talk to each other, someone who knows what their going through.
Also, don’t be afraid to take your friends and family up on the help they offer. They love you, and are there to help lighten your load. Let them.

 

2. Take Care of Yourself

You want to be there for your Heart Warrior, but you are only human. Sometimes you need a break too. If you’re not getting the rest you need, you’re less able to effectively care for your child.

 

 

3. Go Easy on Yourself

When you learn your child has a CHD so many different emotions will flood through you. Remember this is normal. Be kind to yourself, and take comfort in that your Heart Warrior will understand you’re doing your best for them.

4. Treat Your Heart Warrior as “Normal” as Possible

Let your Heart Warrior find their own limits, and push them to enjoy as much of life as they can. It’s important that they also learn responsibility and accountability, like their heart healthy counterparts. They  will need to be able to manage their own care and know their condition as they grow up.

 

 

 

 

5. You are Stronger than You Think

The diagnosis is scary, and it can be overwhelming, but you are more capable than you think. And so is your Heart Warrior. Their propensity for resilience may surprise you and provide you will courage.

 

 

6. Take One Day at a Time

There will be good days and bad days, sometimes good hours and bad hours. Enjoy every positive moment, and try not to spend time worrying too much about the future.

 

 

7.  Don’t be Afraid to Advocate for Your Child

It’s OK to question your child’s doctor. It’s OK to get 2nd opinions. You are your child’s voice, and it’s OK to speak up when you need clarification or when your uncomfortable with a situation.

 

 

8. Every Child is Different

It is natural to want to know what to expect and compare our Heart Warrior’s journey with others that have the same CHD. But what goes for one child, may not be true for another.

 

9. Ask Questions and Keep Records

Your child’s doctors will throw a lot of new terms at you and explain unfamiliar procedures. Ask questions about what you don’t understand. There is no such thing as a stupid question.
Write it down. Anything that is important or difficult to remember, write it down.  Keeping records is important to keep things straight , especially if you are seeing multiple doctors at various locations.

10. Educate Yourself

Don’t Google. Make sure you find trusted resources to learn about your child’s condition. Soon you will be an expert in your own right. Be sure the material you read is reliable. Ask your child’s doctor or other heart families for recommendations of sources of information.

 

*Please note the information in this post is not meant to be a substitute for medical advice.