Matthew was yanked from his mentally ill mother at birth, a ward of the state before he was even born.  County social workers and a court order separated him from his mother and siblings when allegations of possible abuse triggered an in depth investigation.  His mother's Munchausen by Proxy Syndrome was in a progressed state, and she was purposely trying to hurt her children.  His sisters were treated for post-traumatic stress disorder while he underwent emergency surgery to try to correct the congenital heart defect she helped create.

He suffered a clavicular fracture upon delivery and showed bluish mottled skin and difficulty breathing.  He was admitted to the NIC Unit and diagnosed with Tetralogy of Fallot, a four part abnormality of the heart that causes a mixing of oxygenated and non-oxygenated blood through holes in the ventricle chambers of the heart.  The cyanosis that causes the bluish color worsened with exercise, feeding, crying and illness which made even normal activities potentially fatal.

His malformed pulmonary valve hindered blood flow from the right ventricle to the lungs and required a shunt to help do its work.  Swelling of the right ventricle made him reliant on diuretic medications - a double edged sword if too much moisture was released from the body since the shunt would not function if the body was dehydrated.  The heart muscle is overdeveloped from the effort of picking up the slack for the weaker parts of the muscle and creates more problems.  Two fused kidneys and a respiratory disorder invites pneumonia, bronchitis and asthma to further compound the problem.  He was diagnosed with craniofacial abnormalities and branching calcifications in the brain that inevitably would lead to ADHD.  Upon discharge from the hospital, he was placed into a foster home for medically fragile children (where he met Sammy and Alexia) and six months later moved with Sammy to my friend Linda's home. (See Photo)

A high fever prompted a trip to the hospital and a heart catheter which determined he would need surgery again.  He was barely a year old.  In her dual roles as nurse and foster parent, Linda would care for him and prepare him for the surgery slated for the following month.  This time, a more extensive procedure to patch holes between the chambers of his heart - a surgery that would nearly claim his life and take a year to recover from. (See Photo)

But I didn't know any of that then. It isn't where my story of him begins. It begins one May morning with an innocent visit to catch up with Linda, a friend I'd lost touch with due to the demands of my career, and who in my absence, had become a foster parent and an Independent Nurse Provider for medically fragile babies.  I met Matthew for the first time that morning at her house.

He was crawling across the living room floor with great purpose trying to catch the family pet just beyond his grasp.  Penny the dog was after what was left of his scrambled egg breakfast - Matt had gleefully dropped it earlier and it was now lying in wait under the highchair.  Later, I watched him traverse a flight of stairs with the same determination - a new skill he had just mastered and wanted to practice fervently over and over again, unconcerned with his labored breath and bluish tint. He displayed an inner strength beyond his malformed body.  He seemed to like me, to pick me as an object for his attention and to the delight of Linda and his social workers since he hadn't bonded to anyone yet.

I found I was making more frequent visits to my friend's home to see him. Here in our naïve innocence our bond would grow.  In a short time, I had seen him take some of his first tentative steps and heard him utter some of his first words.  I was already planning to be present for his surgery.

Shortly after his surgery, I learned he wouldn't be returning to anyone in his birth family and his social workers wanted him placed in an adoptive home.  Had I read his file in the Children's Services office - which measured two inches high and weighed over five pounds by that time - I would have shrugged against any possible interest in adopting him, but it was too late then.  I had already made the first steps of my own to inquire how I might become his mother.  I wanted, as a single parent, to shoulder the responsibility of his fragile life.  I had already had several careers, traveled the world with wonder and abandon and had many loves to remember in what would become my challenging mommy moments.

There are mothers who birth their children I have learned, and children who birth their mothers.  And there are mothers who take over for other mother's inadequacies.  Two months later, I signed adoptive placement papers with the county and took him home.

I have restructured my life to allow for as much in-home one on one time as possible, working first hand with him to surpass his early label as developmentally delayed - believing all along he just needed the time to heal from the trauma of multiple surgeries.

My life has become a series of appointments with health professionals, therapists, analysts, psychotherapists and alternative medicine specialists.  To think how much I have feared hospitals and the medical profession in the past and to be so familiar with their sterile settings and clinical ways now.  I am determined to find every possible way to help him heal and to manage what cannot be healed completely.

His future is not certain.  His heart could manage in its present state through his toddler years and well into his childhood - perhaps even through adolescence. The hope is he makes it as far through his growing years before a valve replacement is necessary.  The hope is that medical science will advance enough to allow for non-surgical methods when and if he needs one.  Valve replacement at such a young age would sign him up for interval replacements as his body grows and his cardiac demand increases.  It's possible his heart could give out from all its overburdened effort, and it is sad to think I may bury him before my own life comes to an end.   Rather than  shudder to think I've signed up for the obvious pain his loss would bring, I hope for a future that is realized beyond his adolescence. 

 

In him, I see the budding person beyond the problem, the solution beyond the dilemma.  In him, I see the kind of man he might become. (See Photo)

When I was a child, stray dogs used to find their way to our door. The result, my mother was convinced, of my over caring nature.  She was sure I'd bring the homeless home before long, caring for their needs before mine.

Years later, the homeless have come to me by way of children in the foster care system. They are lonely travelers with a complicated mess of problems that need loving solutions.  Matthew was my first; undoubtedly, not my last.

Ellen M. Francisco (See Photo)
Board of Directors
Angels in Waiting