Winter 2009

Inside a Bruises, Scars Dust to Dust:

Neonatal ICU: and Nightmares: Hospice patients
Premature infants A victim of domestic prepare to say
fight for a future abuse speaks out goodbye
 F CUS EDITOR’S
NOTE

Walking down a crowded street, you’ll run into people at all stag-
es of life with their own worries. One man may be thinking of how
he is going to help his wife beat cancer. A woman may tug at the
sleeve of her sweater, pulling it to cover the bruises on her arm
from the night before. Still others are concerned with the issues
affecting each of them at their specific stage of life. We may all
be walking down the same street, but on the road of life, we’re in
very different places.
This issue focuses on concerns people may face during differ-
ent parts of their lives. It’ll let you look into the lives of those
who could be your peers, your parents, your grandparents or your
children. It may even be you who’s reflected in the pages of this
magazine.
The range of people you’ll read about goes from premature ba-
bies in a neonatal intensive care unit all the way through a woman
whose long life is about to come to a close in hospice care. In the
back of the magazine, you’ll find a list of the nonprofit organiza-
tions throughout the Waco community that helped those in each
story come through life’s ups and downs. These groups offer nu-
merous ways to volunteer your time or find support if you are in a
similar position.
Hope you enjoy every step of the journey on this Road of Life.

{ Jenna DeWitt & Bethany Poller

}
& Special Thanks To:
Julie Freeman, Mike Blackman, Dr. Brad Owens, Rod Aydelotte,
Carol Perry, Dr. Clark Baker and the Baylor journalism department

2
 13 6 25
Editors:
Jenna DeWitt

8
Bethany Poller
Writers:
Lela Atwood
Lead Designer:
Melyssa Brown
Cassie Mills
Megan Dahle
Designers:
Jhoanna Peterson
Amy Archibald
Chelsea Quackenbush
Addie Aro
Ashleigh Schmitz
Melanie Crowson

7 9
Chad Shanks

4
Lindsey Disher
Cody Winchester
Taylor Eastman
Joanna Wuertz
Brooke Ezell
Tori Mays
Photographers:
Jessica Reynolds
Kendel Argo
Jenna Williamson
Daniel Cernero
Colton Wright
William DeWitt
Stephen Green
Brian Martinez
Jhoanna Peterson
Denton Ramsey
Rachel Scott
Shanna Taylor

GUIDE YOUR FOCUS

1. Fighting to Survive (p.4) 2. More than Just Kid Stuff (p.7)
3. Teaching Confidence (p.8) 4. A Second Chance at Home (p.11)
5. Poor on Purpose (p.15) 6. Safe (p.18)
7. Cancer Never Looked So Good (p.24)
8. Q&A with Local Volunteers (p.26) 9. A Good Death (p.27)

Focus Magazine is owned and published by Baylor University. It is produced through the student publications division of the journalism department. The entire content of
Focus Magazine is protected under the Federal Copyright Act. Reproduction of any portion of any issue by any means, mechanical or otherwise, is not permitted without the
consent of Baylor University. © 2009, Baylor University 3

Fighting to
A premature baby is cared for by the staff at Waco’s Hillcrest Baptist Medical Center’s level-three neonatal intensive care unit.
S
tephanie Ramirez holds her
3-day-old daughter, Mi-
chelle, in her arms while the
tiny newborn sleeps in the
Neonatal Intensive Care Unit at Hillcrest
Baptist Medical Center. Michelle was
delivered five weeks early.
Ramirez knows she is fortunate to
have her daughter in stable condition.
Although she only weighs 5 pounds, 3
ounces, Michelle had no complications.
“The feeling you get when your child
is in pain is like no other. I hurt when
she hurts, so I’m glad she is OK now,”
Ramirez said. “I can’t help but to be sad
for those babies that have to remain in
the NICU.”
Watching babies come in and out of
NICU reminded her of earlier days when
she didn’t know whether Michelle would
pull through.
“Michelle gets to go home tomorrow,”
a nurse sitting with Ramirez said as
Ramirez smiled. Ramirez is still holding
Michelle and rocking her to sleep. Mi-
chelle then grabs Ramirez’s finger with
her tiny hand, the perfect picture of their
4 Dr. Darrell S. Wheeler monitors an infant in the
/ story by Jhoanna Peterson
/ photos by Brian Martinez
Survive:
and Jhoanna Peterson
Inside the Neonatal Unit
photo by jhoanna peterson
bond as mother and daughter. to stay in NICU for treatment or obser-
Dr. Darrell S. Wheeler said, “Any- vation. The length of time they stay
thing less than 37 weeks gestation is a depends on how early they’re born.
premature baby. Forty weeks is what we Smaller babies born at 24 weeks stay in
call a normal term baby.” the hospital for months, whereas a baby
Moderately premature babies are born after 30 weeks stays just a few
born between 35 and 37 weeks gesta- weeks.
tion; extremely premature babies are
born between 24 and 28 weeks.
For preterm babies born around
the Waco community, Hillcrest Bap-
tist Medical Center offers the only
level-three neonatal intensive care
unit in McLennan County. It is also
home to the only board-certified
neonatologist in Waco, Dr. Darrell S.
Wheeler.
Since Hillcrest’s NICU opened its
doors in 1990, more than 4,500 ba-
bies have been treated there; before
that, premature infants had to find
specialized care out of town, accord-
ing to Hillcrest’s Web site.
“Our average census is about 15
[premature] babies a day, but we’ve
had 24 here recently,” Wheeler said.
Premature babies are required photo by jhoanna peterson
NICU at Hillcrest Baptist Medial Center.

photos by Brian Martinez
Heidi Hall and her mom, Dr. Mia Moody, look
through pictures of Heidi as a premature baby.
Moody is an assistant professor of journalism at
Baylor University.
Michelle Ramirez, five weeks premature, sleeps
in the NICU at Hillcrest Baptist Medial Center.
Dr. Darrell S. Wheeler examines a premature
baby at the NICU.
“The earliest baby that Hillcrest can
take care of is 23 weeks gestation,”
nurse practitioner Andrea Dossey said.
“They’re normally about 1 pound, and
they’re in NICU for about four and a half
months.”
Allyson Ray, a junior at Baylor, was
just a few weeks older than that when
she was born. At 26 weeks, Ray was in
Scott & White Hospital in Temple four
and a half months after birth. Ray had to
be on a ventilator to assist her breath-
ing. She was born early because doctors
decided to induce labor on her mother.
“My mom was getting very sick, and
so they had to take me out then or risk
losing the both of us,” Ray said.
The doctors told her mother that Ray
would be behind mentally and slow
to develop, “but thankfully, they were
wrong,” Ray said.
Preterm labor tends to cause several
long-term and short-term complications
for the newborn. Wheeler said babies
who survive a preterm birth face the
risk of serious lifelong health problems
including cerebral palsy, blindness,
learning disabilities, hearing loss and
other chronic conditions.
Samir Alabsi, author of A Primer on
Preemies, discussed some common
problems caused by a preterm birth: low
birth weight, underdeveloped organs,
intraventricular hemorrhaging, apnea,
infection, respiratory distress syndrome
and even death.
Intraventricular hemorrhaging, or
bleeding in the brain, is one of the most
common problems caused by preterm
birth. Arlene Eisenberg, author of What
to Expect the First Year, wrote that intra-
ventricular hemorrhaging strikes 15 to
20 percent of premature babies weigh-
ing less than 3 pounds, 5 ounces “most
often within the first 72 hours of life.”
There are four levels of intraventricular
hemorrhaging, from really mild to very
severe.
“The kids with grades three or four
grow up to have significant cerebral
palsy,” Wheeler said.
Infection in premature babies is a big
threat because they’re less able than
full-term infants to fight germs that can
cause serious illness, Dossey said.
Wheeler said he advocates breast-
feeding to help fight infection.
Premature babies who are 23 or 24
weeks old often have breathing com-
plications that full-term babies don’t
typically face.
“Their lungs aren’t developed, so we
have to get them through that phase
first. They have to survive that,” Wheeler
said.
Underdeveloped lungs can lead to
respiratory distress syndrome, or RDS.
Dr. Mia Moody, assistant professor of
journalism at Baylor University, is
familiar with RDS. Her daughter, Heidi,
developed the syndrome after a prema-
ture birth.
Heidi was born two and a half months
early and weighed 3 pounds, 5 ounces.
After she was born, she remained at
Hillcrest’s NICU for about five weeks be-
cause of complications. When she was
5 months old, she was hospitalized with
the respiratory syndrome, Moody said.
Like any loving mother, Moody was wor-
ried about her daughter’s health. Heidi,
now 17, remembers her mother telling
her the story.
“She said I was in there for a long
time, and they had me hooked up to
needles,” she said.
Doctors had predicted Heidi would
have vision problems in the long term,
but according to Moody, her vision is
very good. Heidi is happy and healthy
with little resemblance to the tiny baby
born premature.
After Heidi’s preterm birth, Moody’s
doctor was able to take better precau-
tions during her other two pregnancies.
Although her sons, Timothy and William,
were also born premature, she was able
to carry them longer.
There are many reasons women go
into preterm labor, though they can vary
greatly among women and are not easily
predicted.
“Sometimes moms have medical
conditions where it’s too dangerous to
continue the pregnancy,” neonatologist
Wheeler said. “At some point the obste-
trician weighs the risk of delivering a
little bit early versus the risk of continu-
ing the pregnancy to term.”
“Sometimes, they’ll deliver a little
early so mom isn’t in the risk of dying.”
Harvey Alvarez, a former Baylor
student, was born five weeks early.
Because he was tangled in the umbili-
cal cord, doctors induced labor early.
Although Alvarez had no complications,
5
he was kept in the hospital three weeks and couldn’t,” Sandoval said. being born premature and have their
for observation. He expressed his overwhelming feel- entire future ahead of them. Many pre-
His mother, Janie Garcia, remembers ings of anger, frustration and panic. He mature babies, however, lose that battle.
being afraid for her child and said it is said a big part of his heart was in the Healthcare professionals said that by
something she will never forget. hospital with his daughter. raising awareness and informing people
“I just felt so helpless. I couldn’t do “I was worried, and I kept trying to tell about ways to reduce the risk of having a
anything but cry. I became so anxious myself it would be OK. It’s hard to do that premature baby, the number of preterm
about the situation that I couldn’t even when your child is in such a fragile condi- births may decrease.
think straight,” she said. “Unless some- tion,” he said. For pregnant women, reducing the
one experiences it, they can’t understand Sandoval said Emily, at 14 months, is risk can be accomplished by following
the pain and anguish a mother goes growing up to be a healthy child. the doctor’s orders and knowing their
through when her son is fighting for his “I feel so blessed that she is a healthy own bodies. Doctors advise that expect-
life, and she has photo by jhoanna peterson
no idea what
the outcome will “I CAN’T EVEN BEGIN TO EXPLAIN HOW
be.”
From the
reasons that
HAPPY I AM THAT MY SON WAS GIVEN
are known to
cause preterm THE OPPORTUNITY TO LIVE.”
labor, the most
common ones - JANIE GARCIA
are infection
and gestational
diabetes.
Wheeler
emphasized
the importance
of having good
obstetrical
visits. He said
that if a woman
develops signs
of preterm labor,
she should go
to the hospital
instead of wait-
ing. If she shows
up early, there
are medicines
that doctors
can give her to
slow down labor. Dr. Darrell S. Wheeler holds the hand of a premature baby in the NICU at Hillcrest Baptist Medical Center.
But once she’s
dilated, it can’t
be reversed. and happy baby, and I couldn’t ask for ing mothers go to all their scheduled
Robert Sandoval’s daughter, Emily, anything else,” he said. doctor’s appointments and tell their
was born a month and a half premature. For families who have had a premature doctors if they are having any symptoms
Sandoval believes his wife delivered early baby, lost a premature baby or now have that may concern them. These signs are
because she didn’t go to the hospital their premature baby in the hospital, sup- sometimes early warnings. Doctors may
right after contractions began. port groups can help them cope. Current- be able to deal with problems if they’re
“She figured that it was nothing since it ly, there are no support groups in Waco caught early, increasing the chances of
wasn’t her due date,” he said. dedicated to premature babies, but there having a healthy full term baby.
Emily was in the hospital for several are online support groups and nonprofit “After all, children are our future,”
weeks, her parents growing more and organizations such as Parents of Prema- Sandoval said.
more eager to take her home. ture Babies Inc. that provide information
“My heart was in pieces, and I was in and encouragement to families.
pain because I wanted to bring her home Some babies survive the obstacle of

6
More than just
Waco nonprofits provide aid, resources for autistic children
/story by Megan Dahle
/photo by Lara Lazenby
T oday 67 children in the
United States will be
diagnosed with autism:
more than AIDS, juvenile diabetes
and cancer combined. With so many
children and families affected by the
disorder, the Waco community has
come together to help.
Autism is a disease
that affects the brain. It is
characterized by impaired
social interaction and
communication skills
and repetitive behaviors,
according to Autism Speaks,
an autism advocacy
organization.
Today autism affects one
in 91 children, which is an
increase from two years
ago when the rate of autism
was one in 150 children,
according to Autism Speaks
studies.
Sarah Skipper, a senior
psychology major at Baylor,
has a 14-year-old autistic
brother named Gage.
Ashley Noble and Kendra Kerley read with Daniel Sumrall
“Growing up with Gage
in his small group at the Baylor Autism Resource Center.
taught me the value of
patience, understanding and
courage,” she said.
Skipper said she plans to go to
graduate school in clinical psychology years,” she said. “These folks can
to focus on autism research so in
the future she can help other autistic do not need to be shunned.”
children and their families.
“I believe that the general public
may not completely understand
and is quick to think that all autistic
children are dealing with the same
kid
stuff
issues,” Skipper said. “It is important
that the public realizes that although
there are general characteristics
of autism, it affects each child
differently.”
Baylor library information specialist
Laura Sumrall is a mother of three,
including a 10-year-old son with
autism.
“We need so much help to find a
cure and to support the generation
“We need so much help families
to find a cure” autism.
- Laura Sumrall
that is being diagnosed now and
have been diagnosed in the past 10
contribute in a positive manner and
Currently there is no definitive
answer to the cause of autism or
a cure, said Dr. Julie Ivey, director
and founder of The Baylor Autism
Resource Center.
The Baylor Autism Resource Center,
located on Baylor’s campus, is a
place where children with autism and
their parents can go to learn about
the disorder. The center also provides
social skill groups, resources, training
workshops for educators, parents and
paraprofessionals, and aid to those
affected by the disorder throughout
Central Texas.
“The center is a safe, controlled
environment that helps autistic
children practice skills,” Ivey said.
“Our hope is that they go out in the
community and use the skills they are
learning here.”
Waco is also home to a large
support group called the Heart of
Texas Autism Network. Ivey described
it as a strong support group for
children
and
that are
living with
The future
of autism is
unknown, but places like the Baylor
Autism Resource Center and Heart of
Texas Autism Network are helping the
Waco community to work through the
transitions of the children as well as
the parents.
Sumrall said she and her son have
found great support within the Waco
community.
“We have been so overwhelmed
and thankful for the resources we’ve
been blessed with through the love
and care he has received the past six
years, from the incredible bus ladies
to the outstanding teachers he’s had.”
7
 Teaching Confidence
Tiyun Kendricks and Ramses Lee laugh and talk during lunch.

/ story by Chelsea Quackenbush

/ photos by Rachel Scott

Rapoport Academy plays to students’ strengths

A
fter Hurricane Katrina swamped his hometown, 15-year-old New Orleans native Killian “Bingo” Zacharias would soon
find himself in a new state and a strange community – Waco. He would also find himself repeating his freshman year
because his academic records had been destroyed by Katrina, along with everything else in his old neighborhood.
Officials at Midway High School determined that Bingo would be a freshman, since they had no record that he completed ninth
grade. He was frustrated and unchallenged at Midway, he said. He hated having to retake Algebra 1 and English 1. Both his
grades and his interest in academics were slipping.
Life was tough for the shy newcomer, soon gutted of self-esteem. At the end of the first year, Bingo’s future looked as dismal as
the storm-tattered landscape he’d fled back home. He didn’t try, and he didn’t care. He had no goals.
Then he found Waco’s charter school, Rapoport Academy.

I
n 1995, Nancy Grayson was an angry woman -- angry at the social injustice many children suffered in East Waco. Among
the largely poor and minority students, only 30 percent were passing by third grade and only 10 percent were passing by
fifth grade on the Texas Assessment of Knowledge and Skills. Better known as TAKS, this standardized test is used in
primary and secondary schools to assess students’ knowledge of reading, writing, math, science and social studies.
“Enough,” Grayson said. “We can do better.”
At the time, Grayson held a doctorate in psychology and had been teaching since 1971, but she had no experience running a
school. She was convinced, though, that she could do better than what she saw, that she could make a difference. The school
she envisioned would make the students the priority, built on a foundation of six core values: respect, responsibility, curiosity,
creativity, integrity and hard work. Everything thereafter would be trial and error.
After Grayson spent months dedicated to grant writing, the State Board of Education issued the school a charter in 1998.
The school started with 16 children in the basement of Wesley United Methodist Church. The next year it grew to 74 students,
requiring a move to a one-story building that housed the pre-kindergarten through second-grade students. Rapoport Academy
today boasts 380 students and 60 full-time teachers in three schools in Waco.

T
he definition of charter schools has often perplexed those not involved. It is not a private school; it is not an alternative
or remedial school for “troubled” children. Grayson created Rapoport as an educational choice for children who, for
whatever reason, don’t do well in public school but don’t have the resources to attend private school. Rapoport strives to
embrace the most innovative and effective educational model.
The school does not charge tuition, another common misconception. While Waco ISD schools are funded by property taxes
from each district, a charter school is funded by the state. Rapoport Academy’s budget is $3 million a year, provided largely by

8

two national private foundations. State
funding for Rapoport amounts to 65
percent of what Texas provides public
schools, Rapoport officials said.
Even the name has misled people.
Many believe that the school is funded
by the Bernard and Audre Rapoport
Foundation of Waco, but it’s not.
“We named the school ‘Rapoport’ to
honor Mr. Rapoport,” Grayson said of
the longtime Waco businessman and
philanthropist. “He once said ‘Education
is the great equalizer.’ We want to
cement that philosophy.”
B
ingo Zacharias felt like a failure.
But despite his uninspired
academic performance at
Midway High, he knew he could do
better. Eventually he heard about
Rapoport Academy and took the entrance
test, even though it would mean that
because of its accelerated curriculum, he
would have to repeat his freshman year
once again.
“There is nothing wrong with Midway,”
Bingo said. “It’s a great school. My
brother goes there; it works for him.
Rapoport wouldn’t work for him, but it
works for me.”
At 19, Bingo will soon have six years
of high school behind him. When he
graduates in May 2010, he will also have
finished two years of college hours at
Texas State Technical College. Awaiting
Paul Schattschneider works diligently during
class at Rapoport Academy.
him already are academic scholarships
from across the nation. Rapoport has
allowed him to accomplish above and
beyond anything he imagined.
“I was always a shy kid who tended to
sit on the sidelines and watch others,”
he said. “Here at Rapoport, I am forced
into the spotlight because it is so small,
and there is so much individual attention.
But it has given me self-confidence and
made me realize my potential.”
Although not involved in one of five
varsity sports offered at Rapoport,
Bingo is a member of the choir and an
officer on the Community Council, an
honor court designed to hold students
accountable to the school’s core values.
Seniors, selected by their teachers and
their peers, must show high integrity to
be considered for the position. He also
works at a local Pizza Hut restaurant
about 25 hours a week, while balancing
a full course load at TSTC. Bingo is at the
top of the first senior class to graduate
from Rapoport’s Myer High School.
T
aking classes at TSTC is a
unique opportunity for Rapoport
students. Starting as early as
ninth grade, students can eventually
earn up to 72 hours of college credit.
In addition, the Rapoport curriculum is
based heavily on preparing students for
college and the professional world.
“If you ask our preschoolers, they can
tell you what year they’ll be in college,”
Grayson said.
Their curriculum is much like that
of the public school system, but with a
twist. The teachers are able to be more
creative and don’t have to “stick to the
books.” They believe they have set the
bar higher than most schools, even for
those performing above the curve.
“We are constantly saying to them,
‘You’re doing well, but how can you
do better?’ Because in this world, you
can’t be good. You have to be great,”
Grayson said. “In a job interview, you
can’t be at the same level as all the other
applicants; you won’t get the job. You
have to be better than everyone else.
And we give them the tools to do that.”
M
iddle-school history and
geography teacher Jennifer
Hadley admires the school’s
ability to teach professional and social
skills, along with its rigorous academic
curriculum.
“I can’t say enough positive things
about the school,” she said. “There is
respect between students and teachers.”
Hadley explained that students are
taught to stand up when speaking in
class, to make them more comfortable
speaking in front of a group. They are
taught to make eye contact and to shake
a person’s hand upon first meeting. They
look at each other when they talk. They
are taught to challenge one another,
challenge what they think is wrong. They
are not afraid to speak up. They are
taught that life isn’t fair, and it is not
enough to settle for status quo; they
need to be smarter, better and work
harder to be successful.
“It’s great that I can expect a lot from
students, which is what you think of when
you envision being a teacher,” Hadley
said.
She applauds the nurturing support
of the teaching staff, the small classes
where she can interact personally
with students and the overall high
expectations of the school.
This is Hadley’s first year as a teacher
at Rapoport. Previously she taught at
another Waco ISD school but decided
to apply for a position after enrolling her
daughter this past summer. The rewards
go beyond education. For Hadley and her
daughter, Lenore Wright, it’s personal.
9
 “I have seen such a change in Len,”
Hadley said. “It used to be a struggle
to get her to get up for school, to get
her to do her homework. After her first
week here, it was like, ‘Where is my child
and where did she go?’ She has done
a complete 180. She is motivated to
come to school; she’s excited and happy.
She has double the amount of work, but
she has a desire to do it and to be here.
I am thrilled.”
C
oming from China Springs and
six months of home-schooling,
the transition to Rapoport
was easy for Lenore, a 15-year-old
sophomore. Like Bingo, she didn’t feel
challenged at her previous school. She
didn’t feel like she fit in.
“Obviously you can tell I’m different,”
she said, referring to her black fishnet
stockings, plaid skirt and layers of
silver chains that adorn her neck.
“At Rapoport, no one cares because
everyone here is different. You don’t
feel alone because you aren’t judged.
Everyone just gets along.
“At my old school, I was always upset.
I had no friends and no one cared. I
felt very alone,” she said as she gently
tucked her shoulder-length light brown
hair behind her ears. But within the first
week of school, Lenore beamed, she’d
already made five new friends.
The social aspect is not the only
reason Lenore is thankful for Rapoport.
Even though she won’t start classes
at TSTC until next year, she still feels
like her opportunities are greater.
She thrives from the one-on-one time
with teachers, as well as the everyday
challenge to work harder. Lenore admits
it’s more work than she’s used to, but
she likes being pushed. She knows that
when she isn’t doing well on something,
there is always extra help. She feels
encouraged by her teachers, even when
she makes mistakes.
“We learn from our mistakes in a
positive way, so we don’t repeat them
the next time around,” she explained.
“I can look at something and feel good
because I got this right, but it makes it
easier to accept when I don’t do well on
something else.”
R
apoport’s innovative
educational model has
been recognized state- and
1o
nationwide. It received an $800,000
grant to disseminate its best practices
among other charter schools. In
fall 2008, Rapoport was awarded
the prestigious T-STEM and ECHS
designations by the Bill and Melinda
Gates Foundation, as well as the Michael
and Susan Dell Foundation. These
designations highlight the school’s focus
on science, technology, engineering, and
math, as well as its early-college high
school option.
The six core values of Rapoport are
prominently displayed throughout the
schools. Master teacher and co-dean
of students Heather Franks said she
believes the core values are the soul of
the school.
“We all have a shared vision,” she
said. “Everyone wants to work together
for the sense of community.”
A
s Bingo Zacharias looks to
the future, he says he’ll never
leave Rapoport behind as a
distant memory. Aspiring to study either
mathematics or biomedical engineering,
he now has a greater goal than “not
being in poverty.” He wants to be a
leader in his field. He wants to have
enough for himself and more, in order
to give back to others like him in his
adopted hometown.
“I see the vision the school has of
not only helping other students and the
school but the surrounding community,”
he said. “I see where it’s going and I
want to be a part of it. The school has
done so much for their students, families
and community that my first priority is to
come back and help the school.”
Top universities across the country
have approached him for admission in
fall 2010, including Tulane University in
New Orleans, Cornell University in New
York and the Massachusetts Institute of
Technology.
Four years ago, Bingo thought all was From top: Pete Bukowski, Ayanna Harper, Kiara
lost. He was uprooted from his home Luke and Lyndon Keys work together to com-
and thrust into a strange environment, plete their assignment at Rapoport Academy
set back by a lack of academic records Middle School.
and dispirited by having to repeat his Joshua Browning and Kiara Luke use the
freshman year. But his search for an Internet to research topics for an upcoming
education that would not only challenge paper.
but prepare him to make a difference Zoey Monroe focuses on the task she has
in life took a dramatic upswing when he been given at Rapoport Academy Middle
discovered Rapoport. Now, with three School.
freshman years behind him,
he has found his future.
 A Second
chance
at home
Life
at the
Methodist
Children’s
Home

Kaleigh leads her horse during an equestrian class with others from the Methodist Children’s Home.

/ Written by Joanna Wuertz

/ Photos by Daniel Cernero

T
he weather was unusually mild for Texas, the air barely warm in spite of the bright sun. The grass
was still a bit damp from the previous night’s storm. Green fields stretched for miles in all direc-
tions. It was a perfect day for riding horses.
You can tell a lot about people by the way they interact with an animal. Horses can provide peace
and tranquility to troubled souls, as evidenced by the teens from Methodist Children’s Home who prac-
ticed riding that day.
A cloud of dust blew up as the SUV rolled to a stop on the gravel drive. Suddenly teenagers were
piling out, eager to begin Equine Class. Already saddled, the horses stood ready to go. A few of the kids
ran forward to pet the animals right away; others hung back, preferring to watch.
One teen adjusted the cinch on his horse’s saddle with practiced ease. Another boy ambled over to a
different horse and stroked its head fondly, whispering into one flicking ear.
One by one the students led their horses out to the corral to begin the day’s lesson.

11
T
he Methodist Children’s Home serves at-risk youth who
don’t necessarily fit the stereotypical definition of an or-
phan. Some come from abusive homes or homes where
the situation is not suitable for raising a child. Others have
made choices that are harmful to themselves and to others
and need a place to restart.
“It is important to understand that the young people we
serve do not come from one zip code, economic group, skin
color or area,” Vice President Trey Oakley said. “We have chil-
dren who are entrenched in cycles of poverty and others whose
parents are CEOs or executives. We serve children who have
never stepped foot in a church and others whose parents are
ministers.”
For a teenager who has had more troubles in life than many
kids, the home provides chances to succeed and grow in an
environment that is safe from some of the problems they have
faced before.
They have adults present who fill the roles of parent or
mentor. They go to school daily either at the charter school
on campus or at one of the Waco schools. Some get part-time
jobs. They have chores and hobbies, extracurricular activities
and homework. There are rules and curfews.
The houses on the Methodist Children’s Home campus all
vary, depending on the residents and the house parents or
staff. Oriented to accommodate 10 to 12 residents, the units
bear some resemblance to the typical suburban home. Too
“I wake up every morning to
eight beautiful girls with whom
i have shared much
laughter...”
- Ally
During their Equestrian class, Jessica and Jennifer chose the option of observing, preferring to socialize with each other.
12
large to be called cozy yet not sterile enough to feel like a dorm,
their rooms are as unique as the teens living in them.
Posters, photos, doodles and notes adorn the walls. Personal
items such as curling irons, books or art supplies are tucked
here and there. In one room, someone has built a shrine to
SpongeBob Squarepants. In another, the kids are obvious Dal-
las Cowboys fans.
Ally, a senior in high school living at the home, is active in
JROTC and hopes to attend Baylor University someday soon.
She has a love for people that she wants to channel into
missions work.
“It is hard to compare my life to that of an adolescent who
grew up in an ‘average home.’ It is hard for me to compare be-
cause I lack the knowledge and experience and therefore base
my assumptions on my observations,” Ally wrote in an e-mail.
“But I know that I am not strikingly different in any way. Though
my brokenness is heightened, my friends have brokenness,
too.”
Ally has lived in Waco for two years, the longest stability she
has ever experienced. Her friends and the now-familiar places
are important to her healing process.
“I wake up every morning to eight beautiful girls with whom I
have shared much laughter, many tears and numerous stories.
They are good friends and close sisters, and through our faults,
we forgive, grow and struggle,” she explained. “There is often
irritation, tears and just simple confusion at the cards that life
 “Coming from a bad neighborhood where I
fought every day and had to constantly look over
my shoulder and be careful what colors I was wear-
ing was unnerving to say the least,” he remembers.
“Coming here to Methodist Children’s Home where
it is easier to relax has been nice.”
Saddiq has made friends since coming to the
home, sometimes in spite of himself.
“When I first moved to the Home I was sad to
leave my friends from back home. The first few
days were hard; I am not a very social person if I
have the choice. All the kids bombarded me with
questions and it was hard to get to know every-
one,” he wrote in an e-mail. “In fact, during my first
few days, I tripped and fell, and it was one of the
most embarrassing moments of my life. Luckily, my
future best friend came along and helped me up.
We’ve been close ever since then.”

T
he Methodist Children’s Home is prepared
Jocolby prepares the horses for riders. Saddling horses is one of to field the various challenges that accom-
his responsibilities at the Boys Ranch. pany being a young adult with a difficult
upbringing or personal problems that need to be
dealt with.
At the charter school on the home’s campus, the
seem to have dealt us. We express great frustration at our past
student-to-teacher ratio is 4 to 1, so students receive the atten-
choices and the choices others made that affected us. We are
tion that they need to thrive in subjects that may otherwise be
fighting and embracing community all at once.”
difficult for them.
Also in high school, Torie comes from a difficult home life as
Emphasis is
well.
placed on the
“Before I moved to Methodist Children’s Home, I was not in
child’s strengths
a normal family. It was a very broken one. I did not know my
and how to use
mother or my father. I lived with my grandparents and my sister
them to succeed,
and brother,” she said in an e-mail. “I was going through ev-
instead of concen-
erything you can possibly think of. My life is very different from
trating on a weak-
those children with a ‘normal’ family. But it is hard to describe
ness that needs
how I am different, because I do not really know how a normal
to be overcome.

T
family works.”
his fall
Torie is in the National Honor Society and plans to get a cos-
there are
metology license at McLennan Community College before going
76 gradu-
on to Texas A&M University to become a veterinary technician.
ates from MCH
She has internships at Methodist Children’s Home, where she
who are currently
helps with Christmas shopping for the kids they serve, and as-
in college or train-
sists in the Grandparents as Parents Program, a program that
ing programs at
helps grandparents who are filling the role of parent to their
varying institu-
grandchildren.
tions across the
“Methodist Children’s Home is a blessing to kids like me who
state, including
do not have a place to call home, as well as other children who
Baylor, the Uni-
could not stay in their home for a while,” she said. “I am thank-
versity of Texas at
ful that I have a place to stay because otherwise, I do not know
Austin, A&M and
where I would be today.”
the University of
Saddiq, another student living at the home, pointed out
North Texas.
that “generally, kids are living at Methodist Children’s Home
Methodist
because they have problems. Problems that make them a bit
Children’s Home
more vulnerable. We have distinct personalities and different
also focuses on
cultures. I have learned things here about life, and people in
restoring the family unit. The residents can receive counseling
general, that I do not think I could have learned at home.”
and healing so that they are able to return to their families.
Saddiq, an aspiring writer, has not always had the freedom
to be himself.

13
 O
n other occasions, the home serves as a place
to stay for a child whose family is going through
a difficult time, anything from a parent with an
addiction to parents and children who just can’t get along.
strive for that. But we also recognize that there are healthy
relationships and there are unhealthy relationships,” she
said. “A big part of what we do is helping the children real-
ize what healthy and unhealthy relationships look like.”

There are roughly 180 youth at the Waco campus of Meth-
odist Children’s Home. The average length of stay is 18
months.
Carrie Anderson, the community relations officer, ex-
plained a bit about how the home works with families, and
with the children as individuals.
“If there’s hope for redemption in the family unit, we
T
he youth at MCH are all a bit like the small group
of teens learning to ride that day. Some have
conquered their obstacles and eagerly await their
chance to climb back on the horse. Others have reserva-
tions, unsure of how to approach things that are unfamiliar.
In time, they may grow and gain the confidence they need
to ride, too.

“We are fighting

and embracing community
all at once.”
- Ally

Brad, a student at the Methodist Children’s Home, has found great comfort in the home, as well as his horse.

14
 poor on
purpose

/ story by Chad Shanks

/ photos by Shanna Taylor

S
ix friends sit together outside of Common Grounds on a damp and drizzly evening.
The table’s overhead umbrella keeps them dry as they discuss theology and the true meaning
of Christian community, conversation foreign to most university coffee shops, but
typical at Baylor.
A woman emerges from the darkness to briefly interrupt them, her black hair matted to
her head, her deep wrinkles evidence she has seen better days. Her plea begins like most,
with a tearful tale of misfortune followed by a passionate request for the funds to get her wherever she
happened to be going.
The six friends, mostly 2009 Baylor graduates, appear to be stereotypical college students with their par-
ents’ money to burn and a strong sense of sympathy.
She moves on without receiving any money, only the names of multiple Waco organizations that
could provide her assistance.
Would she have saved her breath if she had known the six she solicited were intentionally living well
below the poverty line?

/ photo illustration by Stephen Green & Cassie Mills 15

 I
n 2008, The American City Business Journal ranked children.
Waco the 10th poorest city in America, and its “There are better paying jobs and jobs that are less stressful,
violent crime rates are jobs where I don’t have to deal with people
consistently well above state
and national averages. necessarily have everything,” Thornton said.
As a result, many Baylor Griffin Kelp joined Thornton in moving to North
students’ four-year stay includes Waco, gaining employment through Americorps
anticipation for the day they building homes for Habitat for Humanity.
finally get out of Waco. He rides his bike through the neighborhood
However, a growing number and is frequently greeted along the road with,
of graduates are choosing to “You’re in the wrong neighborhood, white boy.”
remain in their college home
and join the community, even The warnings do not detract Kelp from his
forsaking the comforts of their sense of calling to the area, however.
familiar Baylor neighborhoods “It’s definitely not Baylor, but I love it,” he said.
and venturing across Interstate The group is not ignorant of the racial tensions
35 into parts of North Waco that
have helped form the city’s bad going into a traditionally black neighborhood and
reputation.
After meeting and bonding Ray Small and Ben Carroll, who live and work
at Baylor, the six friends at
Common Grounds agreed to teaches inner city youth sustainable farming
dedicate their post-college lives techniques, understand the fine line they must
to changing that reputation. Ray Small shovels pecans into a shelling walk.
As their contemporaries mount machine at the World Hunger Farm. “Growing up in Chicago, I could avoid the parts
the bottom rungs of various of town that forced me to face reality, but not
corporate ladders, they each set up residence locally, choosing in Waco,” Small said. “It’s not our position to go into these
jobs that neglect the higher salaries their new degrees could neighborhoods
have provided in favor of positions that impact the lives of their and say, ‘You
new neighbors. should be a

J ohn Thornton remained in Waco for Gederion white person,’

Wilkerson, an 11-year-old only child living in Parkside and completely
Village Apartments, a North Waco complex frequently neglect aspects
blamed for the area’s high crime rate. of their culture.”
The unlikely friendship developed after Thornton began While
mentoring Parkside kids during his senior year. Today, the pair tensions exist
can be spotted together all over town, from Baylor basketball and some are
games to Chick-fil-A. not fond of
Thornton’s friendship with Gederion led to relationships with the group’s
several other Parkside kids, making it a common sight to see presence in the
him and a large group of children having lunch together after neighborhood,
church. most are
However, these outings can be expensive, and Thornton supportive, and Ray Small chases a chicken at the Waco Hunger
usually picks up the check, even though his earnings as a tutor their newfound Farm. Small says taking care of the farm animals
helps him learn to love people better.
do not necessarily cover food for other people’s children. relationships
Regardless, to Thornton, the relationships formed take form the
precedence over the numbers on his monthly bank statement. foundation of their work.
“This isn’t something I just did for fun senior year; I’m still “They treat us better when we go into their neighborhood
here,” Thornton said. “These are people I’m committing my life than we usually treat them when they come into
to. I can’t imagine life without Gederion and his friends and ours,” Carroll said.
can’t picture going out to eat without a group Still, not everyone understands college graduates rejecting
of kids with us.” the basic premise for getting an education.
Still, the pressures of building relationships in such a volatile Kelp spent last summer working with his father as a financial
area can take a toll. analyst in Cincinnati, but turned down a
Recently, a drive-by shooting in Parkside left a resident dead, permanent position to return to Waco and take a job that
and Thornton had the task of explaining the situation to the makes him eligible for food stamps.

16
 Naturally, his parents, like most of the group’s parents, are
not exactly thrilled with their child choosing to live in poverty,
Small said.
“My parents wish I had made different decisions. They’re
not completely opposed to the idea, but they still bring up grad
school every time I talk to them in hopes that I’m going to get
this all out of my system,” Small said.
Julie Leary turned down a teaching job at La Vega ISD to
work for less money with traumatized children, a decision her
mother is attempting to get behind.
“My mom is surprisingly supportive. She’s not happy about
me turning down a job but is supportive of what I’m doing,”
she said.
Baylor graduate and current McLennan Community College
and Waco Centers for Disease Control employee Gabriela
Gatlin grew up on North 15th Street.
As a child, seeing prostitutes and people strung out on
drugs walking up and down her street was commonplace.
Gunshots were so frequent she would hit the ground upon
hearing a car backfire.
She has seen the influx of outsiders to her neighborhood
and recognizes the good work done, but questions whether
the results are due to true healing or simply the problems
moving to other parts of town.
“People struggle all over the world, not just here. The
reputation of this neighborhood says more about the fears
and prejudices in the area rather than the neighborhood
itself,” Gatlin said.
Gatlin, who still lives in the area and dedicates her life
to improving it, believes it needs more societal structural
change, such as increased educational opportunities and the
chance to earn a living wage, rather than middle class people
simply moving in and saying, “God loves you. Now be like us.”
She remembers a church group moving into her
neighborhood and proclaiming a well-known local resident
was demon possessed and putting hexes on neighbors’
homes, when, in fact, his odd behavior resulted from having
damaged his brain on drugs years earlier.
“I appreciate all the work the various groups and
organizations have done, but sometimes a passion for
ministry can lead to an over-blowing of the situation,” she
said. “People need to first look and listen and learn the history
of the area before just jumping in and trying to fix everybody.”
W
hile the six new Wacoans credit their Christian
faith with motivating their choices, they do not
consider themselves urban missionaries.
“What we do here is absolutely tied to our faith in Christ,
but when people come in here with Bibles blazing saying,
‘We’ve got a week to convert everybody,’ it’s a very incomplete
view of the gospel,” Kelp said.
Grace Ladd started the Waco Arts Initiative to give children
hope through art but says it is a mistake to believe her
presence is necessary for their well-being.
“We don’t have the mindset that these poor underprivileged
people need our help. They’re actually really interesting
people,” she said.
The
kids John
Thornton
mentors
do not see
him as a
pastor or
a minister,
but as a
friend who
wants what
is best for
them.
“Normal
for them Grace Ladd enjoys a student’s work at the Waco Arts
growing up Initiative, an after school art program for kids.
was not
normal for me,” Thornton said. “For them, being a drug dealer
is a viable option. I hope I can help show them there are other
options.”
Every one in the group emphasizes that they actively chose
Waco as their home and plan on staying.
“I don’t want to leave. I don’t care if I only make a little; I
love living here. I love my neighborhood and talking to the
people and actually caring about them,” Small said.
H
owever, their tenure as non-student Waco residents is
in its infancy and has yet to stand the test of time.
Will they give into the temptation of better jobs in
other cities after years of scraping by on meager wages? How will
they support their eventual families and will they want to enroll
their own children in a school district that ranks near the bottom
in the state?
Some have labeled them young, wide-eyed idealists and predict
they will follow the rest of their classmates out of town sooner
or later, a possibility they recognize but refuse to let hinder their
current work.
“Sure, we may be young and idealistic, but at least we’re giving
it a shot,” Thornton said.
As their conversation at Common Grounds continues, a second
panhandler emerges from the night.
His bushy beard, tinged slightly yellow from a buildup of filth,
hides his deep-set eyes.
He avoids a sob story and simply asks for money.
As before, the group provides none. If they gave money, they
would then be needing money, transforming themselves into the
very impoverished they stayed to help — a circle of irony best
avoided.
Again, they recommend a plethora of options for the man to
seek help, options of which their new lifestyles have given them
first-hand knowledge.
The man doesn’t respond, simply turns and moves to the next
table.
As their conversation continues, he goes from table to table
until there are none left, then continues down the street,
disappearing back into the darkness.
17
safe
When abuse hits home
L
ast August, Karen finally did it.
“And he’s outside and he came up, just like a tor-
nado, screaming in the front yard, hollering at me. “
He told her they needed to talk.
Her friend begged her not to get in his truck, but it “was a
matter of getting in the truck or making a scene there.”
Karen didn’t want to embarrass her friend in front of all the
neighbors. She didn’t want her friend to see how he was
going to act.
They drove down to the corner where her ex-husband
grabbed a fistful of her golden brown hair and smashed her
head into the dash of his truck. The truck swerved and his yell-
ing crescendoed.
“You whore! I know where you were last night!”
It didn’t matter that Karen spent the night at a girlfriend’s
house, helping her get ready to move, or that she had never
been unfaithful (God as her witness) in all of the years of her
shattered marriage.
Her head hit again and again, the sickening thwack! all she
could hear in her ringing ears. Black, red, then searing white
lights shot through her vision — her ice-blue eyes, bloodshot
and swollen. And with each collision, tears spattered the dash,
her hair, her face.
She yelled back. “You know what?! I don’t have to do this
anymore. I don’t have to do this!” He wouldn’t let go of her
neck, wouldn’t stop bashing her head into the dashboard.
“Yes, you do! You’re gonna hear everything I have to say.”
“No! You need to let me go. Stop. Let me out.”
18
/ story by Melyssa Brown
/ photos by Stephen Green
“You’re not going anywhere.”
She got a hold of the door handle but couldn’t get out. He
still had her ponytail in his fist. After turning the wrong way on
Bosque, he’d need to pull into the AMF Lake Air Lanes bowling
alley to turn around. He’d have to use both hands to make that
sharp of a turn.
The second his hand touched the steering wheel, Karen flung
the door open.
She jumped. And she ran.
“I
n my relationship, [physical abuse] wasn’t all the
time, every week, every day. The everyday stuff was
him eating off my plate, or timing me going to the
grocery store. It was more verbal and mental. Intimidating.”
They’d go out in public and he’d whisper stuff in Karen’s ear
to hurt her feelings. If she’d get giggly, or get a little silly, he’d
condescendingly grab her hand and pat it, murmuring, “Now,
now, Karen,” as if she were a naughty child.
“I don’t know how to explain it to you. It doesn’t happen all
the time. And when it’s good, it’s really good, but when it’s bad,
it’s really, really bad and the in-between times, you can deal
with — you know? And that’s what kind of keeps you going: the
in-between times and the really good times. And absolutely
the children, too, because you want your children to have their
father around. By the time you realize how bad it is, you’ve lost
your self-esteem, your self-worth.”

S “H
he hit the pavement on her hands and knees, but
she didn’t care. “At that moment, it was either live or
die. How much more is it going to hurt to land on the
concrete than it is for him to keep hitting me like this? I mean,
all of the abuse from my past — hitting that concrete couldn’t
possibly hurt as bad.”
Karen ran through parking lot and down the street. He fol-
lowed her all the way back up to Lake Air Drive. She knew he’d
be forced to take either a left or a right at Lake Air, so she
doubled back and hopped across a couple fences.
Her nose was still bleeding, but not broken. Her knees were
scratched up; her hands were raw. She had a “headache from
Hades.” She wandered around and found some large bushes
over by the Heart O’ Texas Coliseum, and she hid there for a
few hours, hoping her husband wouldn’t find her. It began to
get dark. She checked her cell phone. A single bar blinked up at
her; she didn’t know how much longer the battery would last.
Karen couldn’t go back to her friend’s house — he’d look
there. All of her other friends lived in South Waco, nowhere
near where she was. So she started walking. Karen made five
or six calls and got five or six answering machines. She kept
walking.
She made it to the Lowe’s parking lot before she reached a
friend who would let her crash at his apartment for the night.
The next night, she stayed at another friend’s house, then
another — always moving so he wouldn’t find her. She bounced
from couch to couch for a couple of weeks.
“At that moment,
it was either
live or die.”
-karen
e was drunk after the wedding. We were sup-
posed to go out of town for our honeymoon. We
were going to go to Austin, but we were going to
spend the night in Temple. All we had was a checkbook and
the hotel didn’t take checks. And he got mad. So we came back
home. We lived in this itty-bitty house out in McGregor — it was
kind of funny — and it had the pretty little glass panes all in the
door.
“He passed out in the truck. Well, this is a 6-foot-3-inch
man — almost 6 foot 4 inches — and a good 200 pounds.
Easy. Well, what am I supposed to do with him? So I let him
sleep in the truck. I went in and went to bed. Well, I locked the
door. I didn’t hear him when he tried to get in. So he punched
the door, broke the glass, opened the door, cut his hand and
punched me in the face for ‘busting his hand open.’
“That was it. That was the very first time.”
I
n 1999, nine years before she left him, before she leapt
from his truck last August, Karen’s (then) husband went
out to Sam Rayburn Lake on a bass fishing trip. “He came
home, drunk as Cooter Brown … and didn’t say a word. Next
morning, he looks over and the first thing out of his mouth is, ‘I
want a divorce.’ Knocked me through the roof.”
“I don’t want a divorce!”
“I didn’t ask you what you wanted. I want a divorce.”
“But … I don’t want a divorce …”
“You’ve got three days and I’m leaving.”
He never said why he wanted it. Never offered any
19
 explanation. Terrified at what he would do if she didn’t,
Karen went to her lawyer and filed for the divorce and cried
as she signed the check for $2,500.
“I felt like my heart had been shattered into pieces that
could never be put back together again; there weren’t even
tweezers that could’ve put it back together. He was my world.
Even though he did all this stuff to me, my world
was my children and my husband.”
The night after Karen filed for her divorce, her
husband started crying, saying he didn’t want
divorce after all.
“It’s too late. I done paid it,” she said.
“You useless piece of trash!”
He took her by her throat, pinned her against
the wall and screamed into her face. “I don’t
love you and I haven’t loved you for a very long
time!”
“Well, you won’t have to deal with me any-
more. You got what you wanted.”
He dropped her onto the floor and walked
down the hall, crying. “You don’t understand…”
“I haven’t understood for a while … I don’t
understand at all.”
He moved out. He’d come by the house, trying
to get her to take him back and she wouldn’t let
him in. Slowly, Karen realized that she couldn’t
pay for the house and two cars on her own. She
told him he’d have to help out.
He issued an ultimatum: “The only way I’m
going to help you is if you let me come home.”

W
ith no other way to get financial
support for her family, Karen had
no choice but to let her ex-husband
move back into the house. Karen let him back
in under the strict rule that he would sleep in his
own room while she slept in hers; it was a four-
bedroom house, after all.
Then it started again: the intimidation, the
beatings. But it got worse.
“I’d be asleep at night and he’d come up
behind me and … take it from me. And I couldn’t
stop him. I’m not as big as he is. No matter how
I would try to protect myself, I couldn’t. And that
happened so many times.”
They were “back together” for eight years —
until she escaped last year. They never remarried.

K
aren, a “big ole’ daddy’s girl,” was devastated
when her father passed away 15 years ago. After a
nasty falling-out about what to do with her father’s

20
 possessions, she hadn’t talked to her mother since. But she
wasn’t going back to her ex. No. She could never do that.
After she had exhausted her friends’ couches and a tem-
porary living situation hadn’t worked out, she had nowhere
else to go and no one else to reach out to. She walked to her
mama’s house to beg her to let her stay there for a while.
Mama wouldn’t believe that Karen was abused.
Karen told her mama time and time again

“My dream catcher
was on the wall...
about how he beat her with a crowbar, punched
her in the face. How he ate off of her plate to
“keep her from being a fat-ass,” threatened to
drag her behind his truck with a chain if she
gained weight, or how she was timed going out

I was safe.
to buy groceries and bludgeoned with a baseball
bat if she came home “late.” She told her about
the black eyes, the blood, the broken bones — the
broken heart.
Even Karen thought her ex was an awesome
father, a great employee, a good friend. He “just
sucked as a husband.”

“I
hate admitting this, because it’s so
embarrassing, but he took the bath-
room door off so that he could walk in
there and see what I was doing at all times. If I
would get in the bathtub — and I love taking baths.
I like the candles and the jazz music and the
bubbles — and you know? I get to do that now! I
didn’t get to do that before. I like it. I like it a lot.”
She laughed and hugged her binder full of po-
etry to her chest like a child would her teddy bear.
She tilted her head up, imagining the bubbles, the
warm water, almost hearing strains of “You Make
Me Feel So Young.”
“Anyway, he would stand there with the door off
and just look at me. Just stare at me. It would just
unnerve me. It made me feel like —”

He couldn’t get in here. Her voice just hung there, and her eyes were
far away, remembering, reliving.

This place is so safe.”

K
aren stayed at her mama’s house until
April of this year. Then one day, the
- karen police showed up. Mama told them that
Karen tried to commit suicide. She didn’t; Mama
just wanted her out of the house. Mama snapped.
She told Karen that no one could ever love her.
And Karen believed that.
Emotionally ravaged and homeless once again, Karen

21
 staggered into the back of the police car. They checked her
in at Providence Hospital for a psychological evaluation.
After being discharged a day later, the doctors thoroughly
assured of her sanity, Karen sat in the lobby, waiting, for
what, she didn’t know. A nurse made some calls and a
man pulled up in a big white van. They arrived at the Family
Abuse Center and Karen was shown to her room. Was she
in jail? She didn’t know where she was. She just lay in her
bed, covers up to her chin, and cried, terrified.
A
t the Family Abuse Center, the whole of what
happened to her began to sink in to Karen. Night
terrors left Karen sleepless. If she got even one
hour of sleep a night, she was doing well. She laid in her
bunk, pressed between the mattress and the wall, the air
conditioner cooling her sweat into goosebumps. Then she
would feel somebody breathing on her neck.
And the fear would triple, quadruple.
Karen stared at the wall, eyes transfixed on the dream
catcher hanging by her bed. He couldn’t get her if the
dream catcher was there.
“I kept looking at the wall and I finally realized where I
was, and that my dream catcher was on the wall and that I
was safe. He couldn’t get in here. This place is so safe, it’s
not even funny.”
“O
ne time, he beat me bad. We’d gone out with
another couple, and I really don’t know what
happened. We walked out to the truck — ev-
erybody laughing — and they get in their vehicle and we get
in his truck and as soon as I’d shut the door — and, I’d been
drinking, but I was not drunk, ‘cause I don’t drink a lot. I put
my head against the window and he says something and I
didn’t hear him, but I kind of laughed about it. Next thing I
know, he nailed me in the temple with his freakin’ fist and
started pounding — I mean, just pounding — on my head
the whole way from Cryin’ Shame to where the house was
over in Hewitt.
“And he’s just nailing me, just punching me in the head
the whole freakin’ way. We get out of the truck and he
goes to unlock the door and I went running in there and I
GET THE FACTS:
grabbed the fireplace poker — and this is the only time that
1.3 MILLION: FEMALE VICTIMS OF PHYSICAL ASSAULT BY AN INTIMATE PARTNER A YEAR
85% OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE VICTIMS ARE WOMEN
20-24: AGE OF WOMEN WHO ARE THE MOST AT RISK FOR
BECOMING VICTIMS OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE
22 210: AVERAGE NUMBER OF REPORTED CASES OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE IN
I’ve hit this man back — and I just wailed him in the leg
with it. And it embedded into his leg. And he turned around
and knocked the crud out of me. I hit the floor, busting
my face all up; blood was everywhere. All the way down to
my knees, it was just pouring. And all I could remember
was screaming, ‘Look whatchyou’ve done to me! Look
whatchyou’ve done to me!’
“I got up, put my keys in my purse and ran out to my
car. And driving — this is the most alone I’ve ever felt in my
whole life except when I arrived at the Family Abuse Center.
Driving, just driving. I had nowhere to go. Nowhere to go.
Just driving all over town, crying. I couldn’t believe what had
just happened.
K
aren, now in her 40s, stayed at the Family Abuse
Center for four months. She spent each day talk-
ing with counselors, doing a lot of self-examina-
tion and healing. She worked to find a job to get her back
on her feet. By this point, her children were full-grown and
living on their own, so she could just worry about herself.
Then, she had a “wow moment” with another woman at
the center.
“I was laying in my bed crying and she walked over to my
bed and she looked at me and she says, ‘Someone asked
me to speak to you on their behalf.’
“And I kinda looked at her like, What are you talking
about? I don’t know anybody here. No one knows me. Who
could possibly want to speak to me?
“She said, ‘Why don’t you come down and talk to me?’
So I got down off of the bed because I was really curious to
see who could possibly want to speak to me. So we went
and walked down to the other end of the room and sat on
her bed.
“And she looked at me and said, ‘My Father asked me to
speak to you. My Father wants me to tell you that He knew
you.’ And she didn’t know me from Adam, didn’t know my
situation. ‘He knew you before your mother knew you. He
wove you into your mother’s womb. And he loves you.’
“You think I was bawling before? I was really bawling
after that. I was like, wow. And it was so weird because at
that moment, it wasn’t OK, but it was a little better.
Since that day, I have become a Christian and God is
WACO EACH MONTH
doing some awesome things in my life.” Karen has made an astounding recovery. There is still
much pain and psychological damage, but it is no longer

B
efore she knew it, Karen had been there four debilitating and is being quickly replaced with love and sup-
months and was accepted into the center’s Sup- port from her daughters and from the staff at the center.
portive Living Program. She could live in her own

“W
apartment and still receive support from the shelter for two hen I first got here, one of the things they
years. had us do first was to make a poster to tell
“This is not my doing,” she said. “None of this is my about ourselves: where we were, where we
doing. I wouldn’t be where I’m at were it not for the Family are and where we wanted to go. And I couldn’t do it. Could.
Abuse Center. Don’t get me wrong; I worked for where I’m Not. Do it. So instead, I drew this picture of a saucer and a
at. But if it weren’t for the FAC standing behind me, being cup and I said, ‘I want my cup to runneth over with life, love
and happiness.’
“I couldn’t look back be-
cause I knew where I’d been
and it hurt too bad. I couldn’t
talk about where I was be-
cause I wasn’t sure where
I was. But I knew where I
wanted to go.
“And, four months later, I
actually got to stand in that
hall and say, ‘My cup runneth
over!’ And that’s such an
awesome feeling: that you can
live your life.
“What more can you ask
for?”

so supportive, holding my hand every step of the way — if it

weren’t for my faith in God, I wouldn’t be here.”

T
hrough the pain of owning and coming to terms
with her horrific abuse, Karen has become a
strong Christian. She is active at her church and
has begun a crisis intervention program there for other
women who need help to escape domestic violence. She
has also found a new, “God-given” talent: Karen writes
poetry as an outlet for her thoughts and feelings.
She is compiling her poems into a book, called Faithwalk-
ers, dedicated to the Family Abuse Center.

800.283.8401: P HONE NUMBER OF THE 24-HOUR HOTLINE TO GET HELP

30-60% OF PERPETRATORS ALSO ABUSE CHILDREN IN THE HOUSEHOLD

0: HOW MANY TIMES DOMESTIC VIOLENCE SHOULD BE TOLERATED.

INFORMATION FROM THE NATIONAL COALITION AGAINST DOMESTIC VIOLENCE AND THE WACO POLICE DEPARTMENT’S FAMILY VIOLENCE UNIT 23
 / story by Ashleigh Schmitz
/ photos by Will DeWitt

Almost 10 years after recovering from breast cancer,

Deborah Deaton heard what no woman wants to hear:
“Your breast cancer has returned, and it’s worse this time.”
“That time sent me to the deep end,” Deborah said.
“They told me it was more aggressive. They talked about a
mastectomy, not a lumpectomy. I just wasn’t ready to die.
That’s exactly what I told the doctor when I left the first
day.”
Deborah came to the American Cancer Society and the

Cancer never looked

Look Good . . . Feel Better program after her second breast
cancer diagnosis. Deborah’s first diagnosis was caught in

Good
1997 at stage 1 and only a lumpectomy was necessary.
Since Deborah’s first diagnosis led to a quick recovery,

so
when she was diagnosed the second time she wanted to
know what would happen.
“I met with American Cancer Society and had them mail
me everything on breast cancer,” she said. “I had enough
knowledge to question what my doctor was doing. It’s your
life and it’s your decision; you need to be a part of making
your own conclusions.”
More than anything, Deborah thought about her 39-year-
old blind son, John Parker.
“He was as scared as I was,” she said. “He’s my only
son. We’ve always been very close.”
During Deborah’s second bout with the disease, John
was her main caregiver, staying by his mother’s side
through everything cancer treatment brings.
“He was there 24 hours; he was there when I was hug-
ging the toilet,” Deborah said. “I don’t know what I would
have done without him.”
John said that he did whatever his mom needed, wheth-
er he ran errands with his grandmother or helped wash her
when she needed it.
The help from family was well received, but it couldn’t
put Deborah back together physically. After turning to the
American Cancer Society, Deborah found the Look Good
… Feel Better program. Here she rediscovered her confi-
dence.
The program showed her how to apply makeup even
though she did not have eyelashes or eyebrows. When
Deborah’s hair started falling out Look Good … Feel Better
provided her with a free wig and showed her how to use
scarves and hats when it got hot.
The program also holds seminars with a cosmetologist
and provides bags of makeup samples that different spon-
sors donate. Deborah said having the stylist there to guide

24
 her and show her how to apply the makeup made all the
difference in how she felt about her appearance.
“They show you how to accentuate the positives and
forget about what’s not there — even having to wear a
prosthetic; that was the most traumatic of all,” Deborah
said. “After my [mastectomy] I wouldn’t look at myself in
the mirror. Getting in the shower, oh Lord! It took my mom
to force me to get out of bed and in the shower.”
But Deborah soon realized she wasn’t alone.
“Once I got around other ladies who lost a breast who
were dealing with it, things changed. This program
helped me realize I was still the same person I was
before,” she said. “They showed me that I could still be a
complete person.”
Look Good … Feel Better also helped Deborah realize
that being bald was beautiful. Rather than let her hair fall
“They out while at church or at work, Deborah took control and
decided to shave her head. She planned one day to meet

showed me at the hair salon with her sister-in-law, but instead her
entire family showed up to give their support. What began
as a day to take care of another aspect of her disease
that I could turned into a fun family event.
“As the stylist was cutting my hair, it was probably
still be a below the ear, halfway down the neck. As she cut we went
shorter and my sister said, ‘Let’s do a mohawk.’ She put

complete the hardening cream on it and I looked like a rock con-

cert person,” Deborah said. “Then we shaved it totally

person”
smooth.”
Deborah was not the only one to shave her head that
day; her son John showed his support by having his head
-Deborah shaved, too.
While Deborah is a survivor, she is not yet in remission.
Deaton Regardless, Deborah feels so grateful for everything the
American Cancer Society has helped her with that she
now volunteers with one of its programs. She meets with
women who are newly diagnosed with breast cancer and
draws from her experience to answer their questions and
address their concerns.
She recalls having many of the same questions at
the beginning of her diagnoses: What am I going to do?
Where do I get the bra? How do I get the prosthetic? One
of the many reasons, Deborah believes, that God left her
here is so that she can help other women.
“One woman was alone. She didn’t know where to get
a prosthetic; she didn’t have a support group,” Deborah
said. “It just makes you feel better because you’re able to
Women learn make-up give back.”
and wig techniques
through the American
Cancer Society’s Look

25
Good ... Feel Better
program.
 Q&A
Kay FuMrism an
sion Waco
Q
Why should people volunteer?
A
Volunteering brings a different
kind of satisfaction than a job.
You do it solely when you want
to with the satisfaction and the knowl-
edge that you are helping people. You
get a better idea of what you have. It’s
not easy for most people, especially for
those with physical handicaps or MR
[mental retardation]. They have a differ-
ent life than you do that is not always
pleasant.
Q A
How has volunteering benefit-
ted your life?
A
You get a lot more pleasure,
satisfaction and joy for your-
self in a way that nothing
else brings. It blesses others and is
so worthwhile. I would recommend it
to anyone with time to spare. It’s very
fulfilling.
Q
How did you become interested
in helping the poor?
A
Way back in high school I
always had empathy for folks
that don’t have what I have.
I felt some kind of responsibility and
wanted to help them so that they have
dignity and respect. A lot of this came
from my church background. I’ve always
liked working with the poor. People
with MR have no money. Most receive
money from family or get $500 a month
of Social Security if they’re lucky.
26
with local
volunteers
Q Q
How did you get involved with
Mission Waco?
A A
I wanted to work with the
poor. We forget that there are
people in Waco who are pret-
ty bad off. I thought I’d like to work at
Mission Waco, but things didn’t work
out until Jimmy Dorrell [founder of
Mission Waco] spoke at my church.
I decided I needed to go outside of
the church, inside of the community,
to see what was going on, so I signed
up online and talked to the coordina-
tor. I volunteer at the Meyer Center in
downtown Waco where the people off
the street often need psychological
services. There are so many people
in need and not enough hands. We
stay busy.
& Joanne Lux
Meals on Wheels
Q
How did you get involved with
Meals on Wheels?
A
My pastor kept announcing
from the pulpit that Meals
on Wheels [at Woodway First
United Methodist Church] needed
a coordinator. We had a crew but
needed someone for paperwork and
to be a spokesperson. I felt that it
was something worthwhile to do. He
was so relieved.
“Human contact means
as much to them
as food does.”
-Joanne Lux
/ By Lela Atwood
Does Meals on Wheels have
another purpose besides serv-
ing meals?
People we give meals to want
us to stay and visit. Human
contact means as much to
them as food does. They’re lonely and
I feel like the visit means the world to
them. Some elderly people don’t have
family nearby or know their neighbors
very well. Usually just a few minutes of
conversation will mean a lot to them. It
blesses others and is so worthwhile.
Q
How has Meals and Wheels
given you purpose after your
husband’s death?
My husband was a very good
person. It was easy to love
him and take care of him
because we were so close. He had a
stroke in December 1995, so I took
care of him. Since my husband’s death
it’s always been important for me to
do something that brings purpose
and meaning. I have to get up and
be at the church by 8. You can’t help
but have structure. If you don’t have
anything to do, you feel adrift. Meals
on Wheels is worthwhile because I
know the reactions of elderly people
who get the meals. It’s not just a busy
work thing.
 A Good D
e at h

Story by Cody Winchester 27

 / story by Cody Winchester / photos by Denton Ramsey

N
Nina Ferguson Lucy Lupu

ina Ferguson, 91, is resting in a hospital bed in her room in the home she
shares with her friend and caregiver, Lucy Lupu. Nina is slender and frail — Lucy
estimates her carrying weight at 95 pounds — but her eyes are bright and clear,
and she thumps her chest defiantly when Lucy suggests she could be eating
better. Lucy is talking about how, in early February of last year, Nina almost died.
She had been staying in a local nursing home when she developed a sore on her
foot. She said the staff didn’t change the dressing for two weeks, and infection set in.
Her decline was rapid. A doctor recommended discharge and hidden, remote, “cleansed of its organic blight,” as Sherwin
home hospice care; Nina’s diagnosis was “adult failure to Nuland, author of How We Die, puts it. Hospice offers patients
thrive/debility,” one of nine noncancer terminal diagnoses rec- and their families a greater measure of control, as well as a
ognized by all Medicare-certified hospices. This meant, accord- more holistic approach that helps mitigate the loneliness and
ing to the doctor, that she had less than six months to live. anomie of death.
Nina has been on hospice care for more than a year and “I think now we’re just trying to get back to those roots,
a half now. Five months after her ordeal at the nursing home, and trying to get back a little of that comfort and control we
she moved in with Lucy, who built her spacious brick home once had,” Gillentine says.
outside Axtell with patients like Nina in mind. All the supplies Despite this, more people still die in a hospital or nursing
Lucy needs to care for Nina — diapers, pain medication, an home than die in hospice or home care. And America is gray-
oxygen machine, her bed — are supplied by Providence Hos- ing: The population aged 65 and over is increasing at a faster
pice, one of eight Waco-based hospices and one of two that rate than the population as a whole. The Census Bureau pre-
operate on a not-for-profit basis. Additionally, a hospice nurse dicts that a fifth of the Texas population will be over age 60 by
visits Nina once or twice a week. 2030. Hospices generally treat terminal patients of every age,
“It’s a blessing,” Lucy said. “Without them I don’t know but the majority are “natural” end-of-life cases (Providence
how we’d do it.” puts its average patient age in the mid-70s). While the official
The philosophy behind hospice care is often summed up cause of death may be cancer or heart disease or pulmonary
as “care, not cure.” Teams of nurses, chaplains, social work- infection, with elderly people these are often merely proximate
ers and volunteers work with terminal patients to maintain causes. In the end, our bodies simply wear out.
quality of life, providing things like pain medication, speech

therapy, dietary counseling, help with housework, caretaker
relief and, after the patient dies, bereavement counseling for
family members.
“Having people surround you, being in a caring environ-
ment, being at home — but still having professional care?
That’s a good death,” says Dr. Lacey Gillentine, who teaches a
popular class on death and dying at Baylor University.
The idea of hospice care, which dates to midcentury
England, represents a cultural shift in our expectations about
dying, Gillentine says. It used to be that you died at home, with
your family, and people were more apt to view death as a nat-
ural extension of life. Advances in medical technology meant
that more dying people went to the hospital, where death is
P
rovidence is an affiliate of Community Hospice of Texas,
the state’s largest hospice network, which sees patients
in a 60-mile radius of Waco. In 15 years of doing busi-
ness, they’ve seen their average monthly patient census jump
from around 90 to 231 in August. The average stay is 75 days.
They treat mostly home-care and nursing-home patients — at
present, they don’t have a freestanding inpatient hospice,
though they do have rooms on reserve at St. Catherine Center
— and as a nonprofit they don’t turn away charity cases. Last
year they provided $458,469 in charity care, and hospice staff
say that number is increasing each year.
In the two years he’s volunteered at Providence Hospice,
74-year-old Charles Koch has worked with close to 40 patients.

28
He lives in Gholson but drives to Waco twice a week to see pa-
tients for visits that last anywhere from 30 minutes to two hours.
He stays as long as they want to talk, runs errands, sometimes
just sits quietly with them.
“All you can do is try to make it as easy and peaceful as you
can, to see them through,” he says.
It’s difficult, he says, to form relationships he knows before-
hand will be cut short prematurely, but it’s helped him “see the
good in people.” He was with Joe Harrison, an octogenarian
with lung cancer, for three and a half months before he died
last winter. Caring for Joe “touched me very deeply,” he later
wrote.
“We were his family,” he says. “He trusted me with every-
thing he had.”
Because Medicare stipulates that 5 percent of a hospice
staff must be volunteers, Providence enlists the help of 35
people who, like Charles, provide respite for primary caregivers.
“I don’t think that people realize how all-consuming taking
care of somebody that has a terminal illness is, and the more
that disease progresses, the more consuming that becomes,”
says Sonya Rawlings-Aleman, the volunteer supervisor.
Many Providence staff members have watched a friend or
family member die, and although caring for a dying stranger
is less personal than caring for a dying loved one, it’s always
emotionally taxing. To cope, they meet regularly to remember
former patients and hang “bereavement wreaths” on the office
walls.
“It’s tough to say goodbye,” says Deborah Simox, a social
worker. “There is a sense of loss.”
Sometimes, as in Nina’s case, a pat-
ient’s family is able to hire a full-time caretaker. More often,
though, the task falls to a family mem-
ber, often a grown child. Traditional fa-
milial roles are reversed: Children feed
their parents, bathe them, change their
diapers.
“It’s a whole new level of family
dedication,” says Gillentine, the Baylor
professor.
Death, frequently, is a relief — for
family members as well as for caregiv-
ers and hospice staff.
“You have to remember that when
death happens, it’s not about the
person who died, it’s about the people
left behind,” Gillentine says. “It’s tough
for them.”
L
ucy, Nina’s caregiver, migrated
to Texas from Romania in 1983.
She is tender toward Nina, whom
she calls “mammy” and “sweetie pie” —
stroking her hair, adjusting her blanket,
offering a quick glass of ice water when her threadlike voice fal-
ters. Lucy talks in complexly accented English but answers the
phone in rapid-fire Romanian. Her right index finger was severed
at the first knuckle when she blacked out while running a table
saw.
It took about a year for Nina to warm up to her after mov-
ing in, Lucy says. Both women were the fifth of 13 children,
and Lucy was married the same day as Nina’s son. (In another
coincidence, Lucy’s daughter was born the same day as one
of Nina’s granddaughters.) Lucy’s daughters watch after Nina
when she has to visit her other patients; her 16-year-old, Deb-
bie, sings to her.
“We love each other very much,” Lucy says.
Nina was “skin and bones” when Lucy took over her care, she
says, but Lucy nursed her back to health on a regimen of rich
foods: crêpes, lamb, chicken sausage, poppy-seed cakes. Now
she brags about having a little fat on her belly, but she can’t get
out of bed by herself anymore, and fluctuating blood pressure
causes her to pass out frequently.
“Her heart feels young, you know, but it’s just her body being
given up,” Lucy says.
Although her greatest frustration is the loss of independence
that accompanied her creeping infirmity, Nina still finds delight
in little things. Lucy planted a garden in the spring, and Nina took
great pleasure in watching her work, offering suggestions and
playing with the green beans Lucy placed on her chair tray.
“I don’t want to be here, but I’m happy,” Nina says.
Nina’s husband, Harold, has been dead for 13 years. Dur-
ing World War II he lied about his age and joined the Army, a
14-year-old fighting in the Asian Theater. Nina says Harold fell
ill in May of 1996 and, rather than suffer through a prolonged
illness, shot himself.
She looks down. Lucy begins to grow uneasy.
“He learned early,” Nina says quietly.
Nina Ferguson talks about her friend-
ship with her caregiver, Lucy Lupu.
A
side from its social benefits, hospice also offers a fiscal
advantage, one the federal government recognized in
1983 when it made hospice a Medicare benefit. In 2008,
for example, the inpatient Medicare charge for a hospital was
29
$6,196 per day; for routine home hospice care, it was $149.
No one at Providence would say specifically what they’d like
to see out of federal health care reform — at this writing, the
Senate hadn’t yet reconciled its bills with the House version
passed on Nov. 7 — but Director Tammera Ryan said that
personally, she just wants to make sure they can still operate
effectively.
“Let us take care of our patients,” she
said. “Let us take care of our families.”
As hospice care for el-
derly patients has become
“I can tell you one thing: I’ve had a good life
more popular, it has come to
represent a greater portion
.
of Medicare spending, a third of
which now goes to terminally ill
A good life.”
patients in their last two years
of life. Last year the Medicare Payment - Nina Ferguson
Advisory Commission (MedPAC), a Congres-
sional advisory agency, recommended cut-
ting an abstruse component of the hospice
benefit known as the budget neutrality
adjustment factor (soon after, Congress
approved a temporary moratorium on the
funding cuts).
They’re also pushing for a U-shaped pay-
ment schedule in which Medicare outlays
would decrease the longer the patient was
on hospice care, then pay out an adjusted
sum after their death. As it stands, Medi-
care pays a per-diem rate that varies
depending on the level of care needed.
Patients must be recertified for hospice
eligibility at 90 days, 180 days, then every
60 days thereafter.
This restructuring would especially
affect patients who, like Nina, have been
on hospice for a long time. According to a
MedPAC report delivered to Congress in
June, Medicare payments to hospices in-
creased nearly 250 percent between 2000
and 2007. Much of this they attributed to
patients staying on care longer.
Nina says she’s not afraid of death,
though she’s not ready to go just yet. The
longest-living member of her family, she
wants to make it to 100.
“I don’t really have regrets,” she says. “I
just didn’t do enough.” Lucy Lupu helps Nina Ferguson into a chair.
As Lucy fetches Nina’s glasses and
places them carefully on her face, Nina
blinks slowly, owl-like, and smiles broadly. Her voice is clear.
“I can tell you one thing: I’ve had a good life. A good life.”

30
 Contact this issue’s nonprofits to get involved
Parents of Premature Babies Inc.
www.preemie-l.org
Heart of Texas Autism Network
www.hotautismnetwork.org
Baylor Autism Resource Center
(254) 710-6222
autism@baylor.edu
Rapoport Academy
www.rapoportacademy.org
(254) 754-8000
Methodist Children’s Home
Habitat for Humanity Look Good…Feel Better
www.wacohabitat.org www.cancer.org
(254) 756-7575 (877) 227-1618
World Hunger Farm Mission Waco
www.worldhungerrelief.org www.missionwaco.org
(254) 799-5611 (254) 753-4900
Waco Arts Initiative Meals on Wheels
wacoartsinitiative.blogspot.com www.mowaa.org
info@Wacoartsinitiative.org (703) 548-5558
Family Abuse Center Providence Hospice
www.familyabusecenter.org www.providencehospice.org
1-800-283-8401 (254) 399-9099

31
www.methodistchildrenshome.org
(254) 753-0181
visit www.baylor.edu/focus for other stops on the road of life