Looking for a Cause? Help a Child.
It's the babies who make me cry. Even now, 25 years after my own newborn was at Children's National Medical Center, I can't see those tiny babies in incubators, hooked up to those machines, tubes coming out of every part of their bodies, without breaking down.
I went to Children's last week to see the new wing, an amazing place, years in the planning, that incorporated all of the ideas and suggestions that I and so many parents had contributed out of our experiences there.
I'm always determined to hold it together when I go there. I don't think it's a good idea to have a member of the board wandering up and down the halls weeping. And yet, last week, when I visited again and saw those children, their chests heaving slightly, struggling to breath, their hands curled up into little fists, their heads covered with miniature ski caps and even some with tiny sunglasses to keep the lights out of their eyes, I could barely contain myself. It's even harder when the parents are there. You see them hanging over the cribs, desperately trying to make some kind of physical contact with these precious creatures, the anxiety, fear and pain etched on their faces. They stare nervously at the heart monitor, jumping every time it emits a strange beep, hoping that it isn't a bad sign.
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