OncologiaPediátrica.org

[Jorge Machado]

Olá Manuela,
É bom saber que existem finais felizes!
Que tudo continue a correr pelo melhor...os heróis(inas) MERECEM!
Também eu passei pelos corredores do H.S. Maria, IPO e H. D. Estefânia, acompanhando sempre a minha querida Francisca, que infelizmente não conseguiu vencer a batalha...mas que lutou...lutou!
Um bem haja para todos e muito especialmente para a os amigos Isabel, Diogo e FilipeBotelho

[isabel botelho]

Pois é Joge,
Aqui estamos nós por várias vias, a comunicar.
O Mundo é de facto muito pequeno e fico feliz por estar tambem em contacto com este site.
A Francisca está e estará sempre nos nossos corações
Bjs grandes
_________________
Never give up

[Manuela]

Bom Dia Jorge,

Depois de tanta luta, dor, desespero e todos os sentimentos que quem passa por este processo, experimenta é com muita felicidade que todos os dias olho para a minha filha e penso: - Conseguimos, Graças a Deus.
Tambem penso que nem todas as crianças tiveram a mesma sorte e que depois de tanta luta e sofrimento, não foi possivel... Continuo a achar que é muito injusto para as crianças e para nós, Deus me perdoe mas nessas situações não será melhor leva-las logo??? Para de uma forma ou de outra termos paz!Não sei.....
Muito obrigada pela sua mensagem e de certeza que a sua menina está a descansar em paz depois de tanta luta.
Um beijo e bem haja
Manuela

[isabel botelho]

[quote="jose carvalhinho"]Olá a todos,
Eu sabia que o Nuno tinha de ter algum defeito... é do Dragão!

Adriana e Isabel, não consigo sequer imaginar aquilo que vocês passaram com o desfecho tão dramático das vossas situações. Contudo quero manifestar-vos o meu comovido e sincero agradecimento pela vossa coragem e dedicação à causa da Oncologia Pediátrica. São um verdadeiro exemplo para todos nós! Adorava que se juntassem à Acreditar para fazer apoio emocional aos Pais / Mães. Acho sinceramente que reunem todas as qualidades necessárias para o fazerem. Pensem nisso, por favor. Não podemos de forma alguma perder a vossa experiência e capacidade de entrega. Quero também dizer-vos que podem contar comigo para tudo aquilo que necessitarem, até para vos dar apoio, pois não duvido que de vez em quando também precisem. Não tenho nenhuma formação especifica, a não ser a minha experiência que infelizmente já é muita: o meu filho já teve 5 recaídas, e são já oito anos consecutivos a visitar o IPO quase sempre em tratamentos.

Manela,

Um grande beijo para ti e para a BIA. Já sabes que estamos por perto, se precisares de desabafar é só ligares.[/quote]

Olá José,
Como estão a correr as coisas com o seu rapaz.
Tudo bem, espero
Um abraço e m excelente fim de semana
isabel botelho
_________________
Never give up

[Jorge Machado]

Manuela,
Concordo consigo... pior do que partir é sofrer. o único conforto que sentimos nestas situações é sabermos que finalmente os nossos filhotes podem descansar em paz! Mas é duma crueldade atroz! Ninguém devia sofrer...muito menos uma criança!

Isabel,
Sim este mundo é verdadeiramente pequeno, mas felizmente está povoado com alguns verdadeiramente Grandes!
A nossa vida nunca mais foi a mesma... levaram-nos a alegria de viver e deixaram-nos amputados de felicidade... mas temos de continuar e dar o nosso melhor pelos que cá estão!
Vocês tem um lugar muito próprio no nosso coração, foram a nossa primeira âncora de sobrevivência.
A Inês é muito especial, e estará sempre de mão dada com a nossa querida Francisca.

Para todos,
Vivam o agora, porque o logo ainda está distante!

Um bem haja e muita coragem

[isabel botelho]

[quote="Jorge Machado"]Manuela,
Concordo consigo... pior do que partir é sofrer. o único conforto que sentimos nestas situações é sabermos que finalmente os nossos filhotes podem descansar em paz! Mas é duma crueldade atroz! Ninguém devia sofrer...muito menos uma criança!

Isabel,
Sim este mundo é verdadeiramente pequeno, mas felizmente está povoado com alguns verdadeiramente Grandes!
A nossa vida nunca mais foi a mesma... levaram-nos a alegria de viver e deixaram-nos amputados de felicidade... mas temos de continuar e dar o nosso melhor pelos que cá estão!
Vocês tem um lugar muito próprio no nosso coração, foram a nossa primeira âncora de sobrevivência.
A Inês é muito especial, e estará sempre de mão dada com a nossa querida Francisca.

Para todos,
Vivam o agora, porque o logo ainda está distante!

Um bem haja e muita coragem[/quote]

Obrigada Jorge,
Não tenho dúvidas que as nossas meninas estão de maos dadas e em paz.
Nunca me esquecerei do nosso 1ª encontro
Um forte abraço de Mãe
_________________
Never give up

[dearljail]

To this day I remember my mum''s letters. It all started in December 1941. Every night she sat at the big table

in the kitchen and wrote to my brother Johnny, who had been drafted that summer. We had not heard from him since

the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor.

I didn''t understand why my mum kept writing Johnny when he never wrote back.

"Wait and see-we''ll get a letter from him one day," she claimed. Mum said that there was a direct link from the

brain to the written word that was just as strong as the light God has granted us. She trusted that this light

would find Johnny.
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I don''t know if she said that to calm herself, dad or all of us down. But I do know that it helped us stick

together, and one day a letter really did arrive. Johnny was alive on an island in the Pacific.

I had always been amused by the fact that mum signed her letters, "Cecilia Capuzzi", and I teased her about that.

"Why don''t you just write ''Mum''?" I said.

I hadn''t been aware that she always thought of herself as Cecilia Capuzzi. Not as Mum. I began seeing her in a

new light, this small delicate woman, who even in high-heeled shoes was barely one and a half meters tall.

She never wore make-up or jewelry except for a wedding ring of gold. Her hair was fine, sleek and black and

always put up in a knot in the neck. She wouldn''t hear of getting a haircut or a perm. Her small silver-rimmed

pince-nez only left her nose when she went to bed.
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Whenever mum had finished a letter, she gave it to dad for him to post it. Then she put the water on to boil, and

we sat down at the table and talked about the good old days when our Italian-American family had been a family of

ten: mum, dad and eight children. Five boys and three girls. It is hard to understand that they had all moved

away from home to work, enroll in the army, or get married. All except me.

Around next spring mum had got two more sons to write to. Every evening she wrote three different letters which

she gave to me and dad afterwards so we could add our greetings.

Little by little the rumour about mum''s letters spread. One day a small woman knocked at our door. Her voice

trembled as she asked: "Is it true you write letters?"

"I write to my sons."
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"And you can read too?" whispered the woman.

"Sure."

The woman opened her bag and pulled out a pile of airmail letters. "Read… please read them aloud to me."

The letters were from the woman''s son who was a soldier in Europe, a red-haired boy who mum remembered having

seen sitting with his brothers on the stairs in front of our house. Mum read the letters one by one and

translated them from English to Italian. The woman''s eyes welled up with tears. "Now I have to write to him,"

she said. But how was she going to do it?
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"Make some coffee, Octavia," mum yelled to me in the living room while she took the woman with her into the

kitchen and seated her at the table. She took the fountain pen, ink and air mail notepaper and began to write.

When she had finished, she read the letter aloud to the woman.

"How did you know that was exactly what I wanted to say?"

"I often sit and look at my boys'' letters, just like you, without a clue about what to write."
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A few days later the woman returned with a friend, then another one and yet another one--they all had sons who

fought in the war, and they all needed letters. Mum had become the correspondent in our part of town. Sometimes

she would write letters all day long.

Mum always insisted that people signed their own letters, and the small woman with the grey hair asked mum to

teach her how to do it. "I so much want to be able to write my own name so that my son can see it." Then mum held

the woman''s hand in hers and moved her hand over the paper again and again until she was able to do it without

her help.
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After that day, when mum had written a letter for the woman, she signed it herself, and her face brightened up in

a smile.

Today all mum''s letters are lost. But those who got them still talk about her and cherish the memory of her

letters in their hearts.

All Mum’s Letters

[Nair Brito]

Muito boa noite a todos!
Eu chamo-me Nair tenho 22 anos e ainda não sou mãe... estou a poucos dias de iniciar um estágio na pediatria do IPO do Porto e ao navegar neste site nao resisti a registar-me neste forum. E ainda bem que o fiz! Não é primeira vez que vou estagiar no IPO, mas é a primeira vez que o faço num serviço de pediatria! Sem dúvida que li aqui muitas coisas que me encheram de força e garra para dar o máximo de mim! Obrigada a todos
_________________
Nair Brito

[luoxiaosang]

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