A note from the founder
4 min read
Why this work.
For most of my childhood, I assumed that the part of my story worth telling was the surgery itself — the long lines on the imaging–room floor, the sterile drape, the count backwards from ten. I assumed the scar was the headline.
It wasn’t. The headline, I have come to believe, is what happens around medicine. The hours families spend in waiting rooms parsing what a surgeon meant. The phone calls placed to nurse lines because no one is sure which sensation is healing and which is alarm. The pamphlets handed to parents whose first language isn’t medical English. The recoveries spent reaching for words that don’t exist yet.
I underwent reconstruction at five months old for coronal craniosynostosis, and again in high school. My family had health literacy, proximity to major hospitals, and a physician in the family. We could read the pamphlets. We could ask the questions. And still, much of medicine remained difficult to interpret — difficult to know which sensations marked healing and which warranted a phone call back to the surgical team.
Only later did I understand how much of that was a privilege.
For families without a physician at the kitchen table, the gap is not metaphorical. It determines whether a child is brought to follow-up, whether a parent recognizes a complication, whether a family arrives at surgery prepared or in the dark.
A Child’s Face Foundation began with a question, asked over and over again at clinic visits and parent gatherings: what comes next? Families could describe their child’s diagnosis with remarkable precision. They struggled, however, to articulate the next step — when to schedule follow-ups, how to prepare for surgery, which specialist to see and when. The gap was not in the science. It was in the translation.
Translation, I have come to believe, is care. A timeline that makes sense without a glossary is care. A children’s book that lets a five–year–old see herself in her own surgery is care. A community of families willing to say we have been there too is care. None of it replaces the surgeon, the speech–language pathologist, or the orthodontist. It accompanies them.
This is the work this foundation tries to do. It is small, and slow, and built one family at a time. I was once the child waking from anesthesia. I am now in a position to help make sure the next family waking with her finds the path already lit, already steadied, already accompanied.
Dina Kaplan · Founder & Patient Advocate
Brown University, Class of 2026