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Tiny red caps boost spirits of families with heart-sick babies

The tiny red hat on Atticus’ head was one of more than 15,000 the American Heart Association passed out in February for Little Hats, Big Hearts — a campaign to spread awareness about congenital heart defects and heart disease.

(TNS)

CHICAGO — Anna DiCicco slipped on a yellow gown, snapped latex gloves on her hands and covered her mouth with a mask.

Gone was the gray T-shirt with the bouncing, grinning heart screen-printed on the front. DiCicco, of suburban Woodstock, Ill., looked like a "yellow blob." Her humor and calm demeanor belied the circumstances: Her 4-month-old son was in isolation and battling a rhinovirus and respiratory virus. He was scheduled for open-heart surgery to fix a hole in one of his ventricles. The garb was protection against the germs she carried.

Atticus, clad in a bright red hat, wheezed and coughed in his hospital bed at Lurie Children's Hospital of Chicago. Tubes and wires snaked out of his chest, hands and legs. The surgery, slated for mid-March, would come after tiny Atticus gained strength.

"Oh, my love, my love," DiCicco crooned to the baby, pressing an ice pack to his stomach. "I wish we could see him smiling and laughing."

She readjusted the hand-knit hat on his head.

"He hates all kinds of hats except for ones like this," DiCicco said. "He's a spunky little guy."

The tiny red hat on Atticus' head was one of more than 15,000 the American Heart Association passed out in February for Little Hats, Big Hearts — a campaign to spread awareness about congenital heart defects and heart disease. The hats went to 19 area hospitals, as well as hospitals in Michigan, Missouri and Indiana.

"It's such a sweet thing for babies who are so profoundly sick," said Kathleen Keenan, a spokeswoman for the hospital. "It helps the parents remember that, underneath all of the tubes, they're real babies."

Congenital heart defects, the most common type of birth defect in the country, are a leading killer of infants. About 32,000 children born in the United States, or 8 of every 1,000 infants, have some form of congenital heart defect, according to the heart association.

Volunteers from all 50 states and some countries — including South Africa, Denmark, Switzerland, Canada and Australia — knitted the caps. Anne Schullo, who works for the American Heart Association and helped organize the campaign, said it helped families feel less alone.

"It's a handmade hat that started a conversation about what heart defects mean to people and how it can affect their lives," Schullo said. "We really wanted people to feel like they weren't in it by themselves."

Schullo started Little Hats, Big Hearts last year in memory of her friend, Courtney, who died from a cardiac arrhythmia at 25. Last February — during American Heart Month — she and other volunteers passed out 275 hats.

"It can affect anyone at any given time," Schullo said. "It was a wake-up call for Courtney's friends and family. I wanted to do anything I could to prevent this from happening to someone else. This year it just really spread like wildfire."

Karen Plomin, a spokeswoman for the Windy City Knitting Guild, said the plight of the infants resonated with knitters.

"These little, little babies, they just tug at you," Plomin said. "They need as many people as they can to fight for them."

The guild knit and donated more than 300 hats from September through November using skeins of yarn donated by local businesses.

"It was a community effort from start to finish," Plomin said. "We found patterns, did research and solicited donations. It's a sweet thing, being able to help someone with knitting needles."

Heidi Gustad, 27, knit a half-dozen miniature hats for the campaign. She's been knitting since her grandma taught her when she was just 8 years old, she said.

Nine years ago, her 18-year-old cousin Courtney — no relation to Schullo's friend — died unexpectedly. The autopsy revealed an undiagnosed heart defect as the cause.

"The way she died was so out of the blue," Gustad said. "No one had any idea that she had this condition. Had our family known, she might still be alive. She's the reason I knew, right away, that I wanted to get involved."

Gustad designed patterns for the hats and knitted them while watching movies.

Months later, on a clear day in February, one of her hats was delivered to 3-month-old Lincoln Baisch.

Earlier in the week, Tom Baisch, of suburban Grayslake, had taken his son to the cardiologist for a regular checkup. When the doctor couldn't find a pulse in his legs, Lincoln was rushed to emergency open-chest surgery — his second since November.

"Lincoln had zero symptoms," Baisch said. "He was a fine, normal baby. It was hard because he was completely OK. We didn't expect it at all."

Baisch unwrapped the red hat from its plastic wrapper and slipped it onto Lincoln's head. The baby had a breathing tube down his throat. The room was quiet, aside from the beeps and whirs of medical equipment.

"It's like a Pharrell (Williams) hat," Baisch said, cracking a smile as he referenced the singer-songwriter with an affinity for beanies. "That's something he would totally wear. It's such a kind thing to do for those of us in such scary circumstances."

He adjusted the hat once more and caressed Lincoln's face with a finger.

"It's nice feeling like we're all in this together," he said.

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