THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Monday, September 19, 1994 TAG: 9409190047
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: FINAL
SERIES: United Way
First in a series profiling agencies
SOURCE: BY ELIZABETH SIMPSON, STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: NORFOLK LENGTH: Long : 105 lines
Polished floors and beeping monitors give St. Mary's Infant Home an institutional feel.
But it's the softer touches that turn the United Way agency into a home for children: The quiet lullaby of a crib mobile. The giant teddy bear in the front lobby. The cheerful pictures of Snow White's seven dwarfs.
That combination of hospital and home makes parents like Traci Mann thankful for St. Mary's.
Mann first heard about the home for children with severe disabilities four years ago. She had struggled 12 years to care for her daughter, Reina Wilson, who has cerebral palsy. Each day she bathed her, clothed her, fed her and tried her best to make Reina happy.
It was easy when the blue-eyed girl was a baby, but the bigger she got, the harder it became. Gradually Mann's energy and spirit seeped away. One day she accidentally broke Reina's brittle-boned leg while changing her clothes.
``That tore me up,'' said Mann, who divorced Reina's father five years after Reina was born. ``I realized I wasn't giving her everything she needed.''
She started asking people, ``What happens when you can't take it any more?''
And everyone answered: Go to St. Mary's.
Founded as an orphanage 50 years ago, the white-bricked home on Chapel Street now serves children who can't talk or walk. And children whose birth defects link them forever to machines. And children who survived accidents and tragedies that left them with little more than the ability to breathe.
``We take care of kids who years ago wouldn't have survived,'' said Bill Jolly, chief executive officer of the nonprofit home.
Two factors have changed the type of child the 88-bed facility has served over the years.
First, there are more community programs to help parents care for children with disabilities at home. At the same time, medical technology has helped children with more severe problems survive.
So now St. Mary's cares only for children with the most severe of handicaps, those who need constant medical attention. ``They are better off here, even than home,'' Jolly said.
``Parents do their best, but they can't compare with what we can offer.''
Specially trained staff members work with residents on daily activities and exercises that keep their minds stimulated, their muscles limber.
A nurse watches for any change in their medical condition. An activities coordinator plans field trips and special events.
State Medicaid dollars fund basic services at St. Mary's, but United Way money and private donations give the facility homelike touches and state-of-the-art care. It's that higher, kinder level of care that helps parents make one of the toughest decisions of their lives.
Mann, who lives in Hampton, cried the first time she walked down the hall. The floors were too shiny, the beds too institutional. But the smiles and warm nature of the staff convinced her she was doing what was best.
Reina moved in shortly after that.
``Many times I cried all the way back to Hampton,'' she said.
``But you have to come to grips that this is what professionals are for.''
On a recent visit, 15-year-old Reina's soft voice trilled as her mother sat and talked with her. Her blue eyes watched her mother's lips, and she smiled widely when Mann teased her.
It is Reina's eyes, more than anything, that tell Mann she did the right thing.
When Reina saw her roommate get off the school bus outside the window, her eyes lit up and widened. The trill of her voice turned into a raucous laugh and she motioned out the window.
``Is that your roommate out there Reina?'' her mother said. ``Do you see your friend?''
Reina rocked in her chair and looked excitedly at her mother. Yes, it was her roommate.
Mann remembers when she used to roll her daughter to the back yard of their home and let the neighborhood children play with her. Mann would run into the house for a minute, come back and find Reina alone. ``She'd be so happy, and then they'd leave and she'd cry.''
She points to the children around her at St. Mary's. ``These kids don't run off and leave.''
She believes the move has made Reina more independent and more sociable.
Still, the guilt is there. Could Mann care for her at home? Should she? Could she have done more? Sometimes she can't enjoy the relief from providing constant care for Reina because of the guilt.
It's a guilt that Jolly thinks is wrong, a burden an unknowing society has placed on parents. ``There's this false perception out there that if you don't take care of your child, you are a bad parent,'' Jolly said.
``Sometimes the best parent is the one who finally realizes they can't take care of their child in the way they need to.''
Often, he said, children improve so much with the therapy they receive at St. Mary's, they can return home.
Mann need only think of Reina's expression when she sees her roommate, a special nurse or a friendly aide to know Reina is in good hands.
``That's when things seem normal,'' she said. ``That's when things seem right to me.'' ILLUSTRATION: A BLESSING FOR PARENTS
[Color photo by] MOTOYA NAKAMURA/Staff
Fifteen-year-old Reina Wilson, who has cerebral palsy, is one of the
children with severe handicaps cared for at St. Mary's Infant Home,
a Norfolk facility funded in part by the United Way.
KEYWORDS: UNITED WAY by CNB