Iraqi boy leaves Morris for home after lifesaving surgery 'Now I have great energy'

BY ROB SEMAN
DAILY RECORD

TYSON TRISH / DAILY RECORD
Salih Abed lifts his son, Asaid, 14, onto the examining table during a checkup at Montefiore Children's Hospital in the Bronx. Performing the exam is pediatric cardiologist Rajesh Shenoy.

MORRIS PLAINS -- Asaid Abed boarded a plane for his home in Baghdad on Saturday much the same as he had a month ago when he arrived in New York City -- with his heart swelled.

The difference: When he arrived, it had been swollen to the size of a basketball with blood, unable to pump out the fluid because of a hole between the organ's upper and lower chambers. That took a toll that one could easily see in the pale, shrunken and lethargic 14-year-old boy.

On Saturday, weeks after a surgery that repaired the heart defect, Asaid's heart was now swollen with hope. And it showed in the boy's newfound smile.

"When I came, I was really exhausted and tired," Asaid said with the help of a translator. "Now I have great energy and can't wait to try it out."

"The first thing I want to do is go back to school," Asaid said.

He'll likely have plenty of time to figure out where he goes from there, said Dr. Samuel Weinstein, the surgeon who oversaw the operations on Asaid and four other Iraqi children with congenital heart defects who were brought to Montefiore Medical Center in the Bronx.

Three boys -- Wsam Rabea, 11, Abed, 14, and Sivar Mohammed, 6 -- and a girl -- Ashjan Khaled, 12 -- were flown to the United States through the Gift of Life, a humanitarian arm of Rotary International. The program brings children overseas to the United States for medical procedures not available in their own countries.

A fifth child, Ali Abid Ali, 14, whose arrival was delayed, also underwent surgery this month.

Asaid made his final visit to Weinstein's office for a checkup on Tuesday and looked the best he had since the frail boy arrived.

"I told the father he should definitely make arrangements for him to go to school," Weinstein said. That earned Weinstein a smile from Asaid's father, Saleh, as well as an embrace and kiss on the cheek -- a customary greeting or expression of gratitude among Iraqi men.

"I've gotten a lot of kisses this month," Weinstein said.

Left unchecked, Asaid's defect likely would have caused congestive heart failure, or would have sent too much blood to his lungs, causing irreversible lung damage.

To fix the problem, surgeons used a patch made from Gore-Tex and material from Asaid's own pericardium, the membrane around the heart. They also repaired a damaged mitral valve.

Asaid's heart shrunk to half its size by the end of the procedure. Today, it is about the size of a normal human heart.

Arrangements will be made to have the children visit a pediatric cardiologist in Amman, Jordan, each year, or until Iraq becomes stable enough to lure back medical professionals.

The scar on his chest no longer itches, but Asaid still is getting used to his new heartbeat.

"Before, my heartbeat was much faster," the boy said. "Now I feel it is much slower and I hope it is normal."

While recovering, Asaid and his father stayed with Morris Plains Rotary Club member Larry Ripley and Denville Rotarian Aref Assaf. With Assaf, a Palestinian native who speaks Arabic, communicating was easier for Asaid and Saleh. For Ripley, it was a learning experience for all.

An Arabic-to-English translation book was kept on Ripley's coffee table. When that wouldn't do, a list of translators was never far from reach. But most of the communication, Ripley said, took place through gestures. That seemed to have sufficed.

"We've become really good friends," Ripley said. "There's been a great deal of communication of the eyes between Saleh and me."

While Ripley went to work, Asaid was content with a Playstation that Ripley borrowed, while Saleh spent his time either watching television or people through the window.

Their excursions outside the houses were far less ordinary. Saleh and Asaid and the other children and their fathers were ferried to events such as the circus and landmarks such as the Statue of Liberty by representatives of the hospital and Gift of Life.

Each trip had its share of memories. Saleh said he was taken aback as he stood on the observation deck of the Empire State Building, looking out "to see the vastness of the city."

The street-level view was just as breathtaking.

"He was kind of amazed to see the different colors and backgrounds (of people) and the size of the city," Assaf said.

While every description of the city and New Jersey was peppered with the word "beauty," the conservative, pious father also believes that American society is somewhat too liberal.

"Even in the hospital, there was too much openness," he said, with the help of Hala Al-Saraf, one of the translators for the group.

As they boarded the ferry for the Statue of Liberty at Battery Park, Asaid and most of the children kept their eyes fixed on the Hudson River.

"He said he has been three times next to a lake, but never in a boat," Hala translated for Asaid.

The children were in store for an even bigger treat. Capt. Peter Giblin allowed the children to take the wheel of the ship, and, following his directions, steered the ship to the statue dock.

The boat ride turned out to be a bit more fascinating -- and relaxed -- than the tour of the statue itself. A guide from the National Park Service rushed the group along its tour, pressed for time before the general admission crowd was to be let in.

Wsam Rabea, who underwent surgery because of a reduced blood flow, turned and giggled as small blasts of wind from the General Electric EntryScan3 blew a young woman's blonde hair around.

"It's different when people check people by hand (in Iraq) and here they use machines,"Hala said, explaining the children's fascination.

The children understood that the machines were a precaution, even if not specifically as post-9/11 security features that included closing off everything above the statue's pedestal. The winding staircases leading to the top of the statue now were visible to the children and their fathers only by looking up through Plexiglas inside the pedestal.

The quick visit still seemed to have an effect on the children. Ashjan, who studied English for three years, told Hala that she'd like to learn more.

The children and their fathers felt a little more at ease as they sat down for a meal to celebrate the Muslim holiday, Eid Aldaha, at the Arab-American Family Support Center in Brooklyn.

"We wanted to give them support, make them feel at home,"said Maha Attieh, an official from the center.

While the surgeries seemed to have immediate positive effects for the children, it took longer to ease the dour outlook their fathers had long ago adopted. But as their children grew stronger, that, too, changed.

Khalid, Ashjan's father, said he and his wife named their daughter with the Iraqi word for "sorrow," because of her heart condition. Now, he plans on renaming his daughter Farah -- the word for "happiness."

"Because her heart is fixed,"Khalid said.

The kindness shown them will be the most enduring memory, Saleh said.

"What will always touch us deeply are the never-ending smiles from people who offered their assistance," he said.