LilMtnCbn
10-11-2004, 07:23 AM
http://www.sptimes.com/2004/10/11/Northpinellas/Buddy_walk.shtml
Buddy walk
By SHANNON TAN
Published October 11, 2004
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Jasmina is sobbing uncontrollably.
She's tired. Her mother knows this because when she got up at 5 a.m. to change
her diaper, the 13-year-old was already awake.
She's cranky. A physical therapist is trying to make her walk. Resistant,
Jasmina grabs onto the branches of a hedge outside. She refuses to bend down to
pick up her teddy bear or stuffed Ernie doll.
Jasmina sits down on the couch. The therapist puts an arm around her.
Six years ago, she couldn't stand being touched. She had never been outside.
Now, she puckers up when her father, Roberto Pereira, asks for a kiss. She
walks haltingly toward him. And she laughs out loud as they dance to music on
the radio.
"She was in another world," says Pereira, 51. "Look at her ... she's alive
now."
* * *
The room was big and white and cold. Jasmina lay in a baby crib that looked
more like a cage. Her raggedy sweat suit was taped at her ankles and wrists.
Abandoned by her parents, Jasmina had lived at Mostar hospital in
Bosnia-Herzegovina since birth. No one wanted a child with Down's syndrome.
She was given two bottles of milk in the morning, two at noon and two at night.
Nurses changed her diaper twice a day.
Her fingernails were so long they had curled under. A tumor had eaten away the
bone in her right ear, robbing her of hearing in that ear. Two surgeries for
intestinal blockages left long, deep scars on her stomach.
Her arms and legs felt like jelly.
Sandy Tobin, who lives in Crystal River, was delivering medical supplies to
victims of the war in Bosnia as part of Pilgrims' Peace Center, a Clearwater
humanitarian organization. She noticed Jasmina, then 3.
Tobin and her husband, Mike, had just become godparents to a boy with Down's
syndrome. As their godson learned to walk and talk, they continued visiting
Jasmina. She rarely smiled.
Bosnian law, however, prevents adoptions by foreigners. The Tobins fought for
four years to get a judge to allow Jasmina's adoption.
The hospital was going to send her to an institution near Sarajevo, where no
one would help her drink from a bottle. Jasmina would have starved to death.
The Tobins called Channel 10. Jasmina was featured on the station's Wednesday's
Child program, which seeks homes for special needs children. They received 25
calls after the show aired.
Migdalia and Roberto Pereira of St. Petersburg were the 17th family to apply.
They had been thinking of adopting a girl so their daughter, Monica, who has
Down's syndrome, could have a sister. After reading about Jasmina in a
newsletter, they knew they had to do something.
They were selected as Jasmina's new parents. In 1998, they went to Bosnia to
bring her home.
Jasmina had never been outside the hospital. As they pushed her in a stroller,
she felt the wind blow. She screamed and screamed.
The only way to calm her down was to place her on her stomach - the way she had
spent the first seven years of her life.
At 71/2 years old, she weighed 29 pounds and was a size 3. She slept in her
2-year-old brother's crib. She couldn't hold a bottle and hated being touched.
Until two years ago, she wouldn't make eye contact.
Her new parents have taught Jasmina to sign "eat" and "more." She sleeps in a
twin bed in a room she shares with Monica, 15. She'll scoot around the house
and throw clothes from the hamper on the floor.
"The Pereiras have done wonders," said Mike Tobin, 63.
When she became a U.S. citizen two years ago, the Pereiras decided to burn
Jasmina's old sweat suit. They invited the Tobins, and watched as the flames
ate at the clothes.
Jasmina had a new life now.
* * *
Jasmina is home from school, and she's hungry. She won't stop crying.
Migdalia Pereira brings out a bowl of blended broccoli, beans and rice. Lee
Anne Burney, a therapist, starts feeding Jasmina spoonfuls of sliced banana and
a Jell-O-like mixture of corn starch and water.
Jasmina won't drink water unless it's thickened.
"She's trying to chew, did you see that? That's cool," said Pereira, 50.
As Burney feeds Jasmina in her wheelchair, Pereira hugs her 8-year-old son,
Jesus, before telling him to do his homework.
When Migdalia Pereira was four months' pregnant in her native Puerto Rico,
doctors told her her unborn daughter had a 25 percent chance of having Down's
syndrome.
"Lord, I don't understand this, but give me the know-how to handle it," she
prayed daily.
Monica suffered heart failure when she was born. As she watched her daughter
clinging to life, Migdalia prayed, "Let her live."
The Pereiras and their son, John, now 18, moved to the mainland United States
when Monica was 3. Monica, now a teenager, is training for the Special Olympics
in bowling and swimming.
She gripes that a boy at her school, Pinellas Park High, didn't notice how cute
her outfit was. She shows off her toenails, which are painted pale green. She
loves having her picture taken.
When Burney, who is also her speech therapist, pushes her too hard, she goes to
her room, crying, and won't come out. Later, she tells her mother to go away,
please, so she can speak to a couple of visitors.
"You see how sassy she is," said her mother with a laugh.
Migdalia Pereira's wish is for her daughters to live a normal life. She'd like
to see them get jobs and live in their own apartment.
"They're like any other kid more than we understand," she says.
Pereira is involved in the upcoming Tampa Bay Area Buddy Walk to promote
acceptance and awareness of people with Down's syndrome. A small portion of the
proceeds will be donated to the National Down Syndrome Society. The rest will
go to health care professionals, school systems, and parents of children with
Down's syndrome.
After she finishes feeding Jasmina, Pereira begins cooking dinner for the rest
of the family. Her husband comes home from his job as a building manager in
Clearwater Beach. He kisses and hugs his daughters.
Jasmina puckers up for a kiss. She plays with the glasses hanging around his
neck. She smiles as he strokes her hair.
"So pretty, right?" he says.
-------------------------
A good friend will come and bail you out of jail . . . but, a true friend will
be sitting next to you saying, "Damn . . . that was fun!"
-----Unknown
Buddy walk
By SHANNON TAN
Published October 11, 2004
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
------
Jasmina is sobbing uncontrollably.
She's tired. Her mother knows this because when she got up at 5 a.m. to change
her diaper, the 13-year-old was already awake.
She's cranky. A physical therapist is trying to make her walk. Resistant,
Jasmina grabs onto the branches of a hedge outside. She refuses to bend down to
pick up her teddy bear or stuffed Ernie doll.
Jasmina sits down on the couch. The therapist puts an arm around her.
Six years ago, she couldn't stand being touched. She had never been outside.
Now, she puckers up when her father, Roberto Pereira, asks for a kiss. She
walks haltingly toward him. And she laughs out loud as they dance to music on
the radio.
"She was in another world," says Pereira, 51. "Look at her ... she's alive
now."
* * *
The room was big and white and cold. Jasmina lay in a baby crib that looked
more like a cage. Her raggedy sweat suit was taped at her ankles and wrists.
Abandoned by her parents, Jasmina had lived at Mostar hospital in
Bosnia-Herzegovina since birth. No one wanted a child with Down's syndrome.
She was given two bottles of milk in the morning, two at noon and two at night.
Nurses changed her diaper twice a day.
Her fingernails were so long they had curled under. A tumor had eaten away the
bone in her right ear, robbing her of hearing in that ear. Two surgeries for
intestinal blockages left long, deep scars on her stomach.
Her arms and legs felt like jelly.
Sandy Tobin, who lives in Crystal River, was delivering medical supplies to
victims of the war in Bosnia as part of Pilgrims' Peace Center, a Clearwater
humanitarian organization. She noticed Jasmina, then 3.
Tobin and her husband, Mike, had just become godparents to a boy with Down's
syndrome. As their godson learned to walk and talk, they continued visiting
Jasmina. She rarely smiled.
Bosnian law, however, prevents adoptions by foreigners. The Tobins fought for
four years to get a judge to allow Jasmina's adoption.
The hospital was going to send her to an institution near Sarajevo, where no
one would help her drink from a bottle. Jasmina would have starved to death.
The Tobins called Channel 10. Jasmina was featured on the station's Wednesday's
Child program, which seeks homes for special needs children. They received 25
calls after the show aired.
Migdalia and Roberto Pereira of St. Petersburg were the 17th family to apply.
They had been thinking of adopting a girl so their daughter, Monica, who has
Down's syndrome, could have a sister. After reading about Jasmina in a
newsletter, they knew they had to do something.
They were selected as Jasmina's new parents. In 1998, they went to Bosnia to
bring her home.
Jasmina had never been outside the hospital. As they pushed her in a stroller,
she felt the wind blow. She screamed and screamed.
The only way to calm her down was to place her on her stomach - the way she had
spent the first seven years of her life.
At 71/2 years old, she weighed 29 pounds and was a size 3. She slept in her
2-year-old brother's crib. She couldn't hold a bottle and hated being touched.
Until two years ago, she wouldn't make eye contact.
Her new parents have taught Jasmina to sign "eat" and "more." She sleeps in a
twin bed in a room she shares with Monica, 15. She'll scoot around the house
and throw clothes from the hamper on the floor.
"The Pereiras have done wonders," said Mike Tobin, 63.
When she became a U.S. citizen two years ago, the Pereiras decided to burn
Jasmina's old sweat suit. They invited the Tobins, and watched as the flames
ate at the clothes.
Jasmina had a new life now.
* * *
Jasmina is home from school, and she's hungry. She won't stop crying.
Migdalia Pereira brings out a bowl of blended broccoli, beans and rice. Lee
Anne Burney, a therapist, starts feeding Jasmina spoonfuls of sliced banana and
a Jell-O-like mixture of corn starch and water.
Jasmina won't drink water unless it's thickened.
"She's trying to chew, did you see that? That's cool," said Pereira, 50.
As Burney feeds Jasmina in her wheelchair, Pereira hugs her 8-year-old son,
Jesus, before telling him to do his homework.
When Migdalia Pereira was four months' pregnant in her native Puerto Rico,
doctors told her her unborn daughter had a 25 percent chance of having Down's
syndrome.
"Lord, I don't understand this, but give me the know-how to handle it," she
prayed daily.
Monica suffered heart failure when she was born. As she watched her daughter
clinging to life, Migdalia prayed, "Let her live."
The Pereiras and their son, John, now 18, moved to the mainland United States
when Monica was 3. Monica, now a teenager, is training for the Special Olympics
in bowling and swimming.
She gripes that a boy at her school, Pinellas Park High, didn't notice how cute
her outfit was. She shows off her toenails, which are painted pale green. She
loves having her picture taken.
When Burney, who is also her speech therapist, pushes her too hard, she goes to
her room, crying, and won't come out. Later, she tells her mother to go away,
please, so she can speak to a couple of visitors.
"You see how sassy she is," said her mother with a laugh.
Migdalia Pereira's wish is for her daughters to live a normal life. She'd like
to see them get jobs and live in their own apartment.
"They're like any other kid more than we understand," she says.
Pereira is involved in the upcoming Tampa Bay Area Buddy Walk to promote
acceptance and awareness of people with Down's syndrome. A small portion of the
proceeds will be donated to the National Down Syndrome Society. The rest will
go to health care professionals, school systems, and parents of children with
Down's syndrome.
After she finishes feeding Jasmina, Pereira begins cooking dinner for the rest
of the family. Her husband comes home from his job as a building manager in
Clearwater Beach. He kisses and hugs his daughters.
Jasmina puckers up for a kiss. She plays with the glasses hanging around his
neck. She smiles as he strokes her hair.
"So pretty, right?" he says.
-------------------------
A good friend will come and bail you out of jail . . . but, a true friend will
be sitting next to you saying, "Damn . . . that was fun!"
-----Unknown
