I am rarely at a loss for words. Yet, today I am struggling.
This was not an easy week here, for reasons that are valid and important. Yet, they will keep. Sometimes it’s not about Cowden’s Syndrome. Sometimes it’s not about our struggles.
This is one of those times.
I messaged with a dear friend all day yesterday as she evacuated her beautiful home in Florida and drove up the coast to her parent’s home in New York. That decision came for them after a week of sleeplessness and worry. After a week of waiting and wondering. It came when Hurricane Irma took a west turn and it was just too dangerous to stay.
And I thought about her all day, even when we weren’t messaging. We have plenty in common, and I thought about the drive, with her husband, and their daughter, and their dog. There was not much I could say.
There are no words of reassurance when your home is in the path of a category 4 or 5 hurricane. And while she gets the big picture, and understands and is grateful for her safety, I can not fault her one bit for worrying, with a sense of terror and dread, about her home.
Because the truth is, things do matter. I am not talking about things with a price tag. I am talking about sentimental things. Even the simple comfort of sitting in your own home – matters. I will not be one to pass out trite phrases, that I would not want to hear myself. I’d rather tell the truth. I have no words…
It was just last week that I sought out a flood relief organization in Houston to make a donation to. So much loss. So much devastation.
There are so many. Those we know, and those we don’t – who are just like us. They are us.
It reminded me of a beautiful Tuesday 16 years ago when I had the same feelings of despair.
I sat down this morning to try to find the class picture from the second grade class that was mine on September 11, 2001. It’s one of the few I don’t have. But, I remember.
I remember their faces, and many of their names. I remember the phone calls that morning, and the day that slowly unfolded into weeks and months and years of gut wrenching heartache. I remember thinking that day that those young children – many of them 6 or 7 – would have no idea how much their world had just changed forever.
I thought about them today. Wondering how 16 years later, their lives have begun to unfold. Wondering if they remember being picked up early from school by a frantic relative or friend. Wondering how the events changed their lives.
I woke up suddenly at 1:30 this morning. I instinctively checked Facebook to find my friend had just made it safely to her destination. She has seen unspeakable tragedy in her life, yet she lives in gratitude, and with a conscious focus on paying it forward. I don’t get it.
I tossed and turned with my perspective for a few hours. I thought about something I always am aware of. We are all just 2 steps away from someone else’s worst nightmare. Be kind always. Not because you may need it repaid one day, but because it is the right thing to do.
I woke this morning with my heart heavy. We’ve struggled as a family to find our way into a home church these last few years. I walked myself down to the closest one I have. I sat down to the Mercy Me song “Even If”
And I cried.
Quietly, in the back of that church the tears flowed.
The reality is, right this minute it is not “well with my soul.” My soul is struggling. Even as I don’t doubt the existence of God – I wrestle to comprehend what is not mine to understand.
And even later in the service as we sang the hymns “How Great Thou Art,” and “It is Well with My Soul” and I could clearly hear the voice of my deceased grandfather belting out these beloved hymns – ones that he lived with his whole self… I still struggled.
The Pastor did an excellent job on Psalm 42 and “Hope for Our Souls.”
I was glad I went.
But, my heart hurts.
Tomorrow is 9/11/2017. 16 years from the worst tragedy we have known in my lifetime.
Tomorrow Florida will survey the damage in the sun. Friends and family will check in. Shortly after, they will begin the process of rebuilding wherever, and whatever is necessary.
Tomorrow I will wear red, white and blue. Tomorrow I will be proud to be an American. I will be united with all those that are facing trying times that I can not fathom.
Tomorrow I will seek ways that I can help, whether it’s placing pencils in a box for school supplies, or sending a financial donation to a front line charity.
We have every single day of our lives to spend
This is not at all about us. This is about those who could be us, and those who are just like us.
I will continue to pray for the strength to be able to say “It is well with my soul…”
Don’t you sometimes just want to hit the delete button?
We were going through vacation photos and I was struck by how easy it was to eliminate images that we found unflattering. We were able to simply click a button – and they were gone, for no one else to ever see. Eventually our only memories of the trip would be reliant on the images that remained, so in some ways it was almost like those unflattering moments never happened. Right?
I love my social media accounts. I do. But sometimes I scroll through feeling a bit down, inadequate and lonely. Everyone looks so happy. Everyone is surrounded by friends. Everyone’s house is clean. Everyone is taking wonderful vacations. Everyone is resting in their pool on a weekday afternoon…
Then I realize I do the same thing. No one wants to see a picture of my unmade bed, my tears of frustration, or the times when the family doesn’t really like each other too much. No one wants to hear videos of me bickering with insurance companies, or dealing with the day-to-day realities. No one wants to know how often some type of issue simply keeps us house bound.
I started this summer as I do every summer, full of hopeful anticipation that it would bring health, and rest, and time to read, and do lots of nothing. And, like most of the summers before, that is not at all how it turned out.
I could insert a photo of my unread books, or closets that never got cleaned out, or the files that never got shredded. I could flash you a shot of my EZ Pass statement, for the countless trips to the doctor… you get the idea.
As we journey through this world of rare disease, and chronic illness together, I use this blog to keep my perspective straight. Yet, some days it’s hard not to feel like the plate is just a little too full. And somehow, some way…
This summer Cowden’s Syndrome took a run at us- hard. The knee has been, and continues to be a work in progress. The isolation it causes is hard to describe. The sinus infection caused chaos because the medications wrecked a sensitive stomach. The knee medicines added fuel to the fire. Renegade hormones took their toll too. We are still deep in this journey to figure out PTSD and its manifestations, and ramifications, and where we all fit in. Cowden’s Syndrome has done some damage.
Yet, despite all the things we want to delete from the summer, there were some beautiful, simple, and just fun times. There were friends that visited. There were connections with dear old friends, and some new ones too. There was a fun birthday party – something we have not had in YEARS! And, there was Disney… still magical.
With all this on my mind as I went through the vacation pictures, I opted to save some that in previous years I might have deleted.
It was late one night and Meghan wanted to go back to the Magic Kingdom. I took her back myself. We made our way up main street and headed to “Dumbo” the first ride she ever rode in Disney – 10 years ago. We waited on line, and rode our elephant side by side.
I’ve never been so pleased to take a “selfie” in my life.
Then we used a Fast Pass for the Seven Dwarfs Mine Train. Three years ago I didn’t even ride roller coasters. Now, I’m so used to the ones in Disney I don’t give them a second thought. As we headed over the first hill the sky lit up with the fireworks display over the castle. We were in awe. I think it will probably be one of my most magical Disney memories ever. This picture, although not flattering, captures that moment so well.
There were many moments this summer I wanted to “delete.” But, then there were others.
So in an effort to give you a little more “real” and a little less “facebook fancy” I decided to keep these. And, I even decided I like them.
Because life is not pretty. Sometimes its downright nasty and ugly. Most of life is not us in our best clothes, and hair. Most of life is sweats and sneakers… that are hopefully clean and matching. And if we delete all of that, and spend all of our time looking for the perfect, well, I think we’ll miss some magical moments.
Cowden’s Syndrome is not going away. Plans are going to get messed up and changed at inconvenient times. There are going to be lots of housebound days full of isolation and loneliness.
But, as I go through my camera roll, I am going to concentrate on deleting less. I am not going to judge a picture by a random perfection scale. I’m going to judge it by the magic within.
And with this girl, I will learn every single day. I am just so lucky to be her mom, and I won’t delete any of it simply because it’s hard.
This week we are in Disney World. It’s our 10th summer vacationing here, and we’re not tired of it yet. Most importantly – neither is Meghan.
Disney has magic. There is laughter and singing and smiles. There are rides and shows. There is a lot of what this overtaxed family needs way more than one week a year, but we count our blessings and take what we can get.
Disney is also not without its reality checks. Seven knee surgeries have not been gentle. The orthodopedist at this point disallows walking distances greater than .5 mikes at a time. This is the week my girl spends becoming one with some of her greatest fears. For most of this week she is wheelchair bound.
She also brings her allergies, even to Disney. Which means- when I can I sneak out early to try and order her breakfast before everyone else arrives. If I get there 15 minutes early, usually she can eat with us. She brings allergies, that are always on her mind as she walks past kids with drippy ice cream treats, as I sheepishly hand her things I packed. This is the week where everyone else’s desert looks delectable and hers is sometimes packaged cookies.
She brings her determination, and her inner strength, as she worked the lap pool before 8 this morning. She wheels herself when she can, determined to prepare for swim season.
This is a week of contrast. Of hiding on benches and taking calls from doctors for things that won’t wait. It’s also a week of sitting on that same bench hours later watching the most awesome fireworks show.
Contrast. Life is about contrast.
I’m going to go have a drink while we watch the funniest entertainer.
Tonight she’ll stretch her legs and walk. Short distance. Tomorrow. There will be more time in that chair.
Laughing. No matter where you are, life has to have a lot of laughing.
Sometimes you’re on top of the world. Stay HUMBLE.
Sometimes you’ve hit a low. Stay HOPEFUL.
The Lokai bracelet nailed it with real world advice.
Meghan as you turn 14, there is little more I need to tell about our back-story. Anyone who wants to know whatever we are willing to share, need only look through the posts on this page.
Tonight my thoughts are on moving forward.
You’ve seen some low lows these past years. But, you have also been blessed with some very “high” highs. You are no stranger to struggle, but you are also well-acquainted with overcoming any obstacle, large or small, even if they are thrust repeatedly into your path.
You are true to yourself at all costs, a rare quality in a teen these days. And while you wrestle with normal questions, I can tell you that your values, developed through your own processes, are strong and logical in that complex brain of yours.
We spend a lot of time together- more than most mothers get with their daughters. And, while I am not a fan of the medical circumstances that cost us hours on the Belt Parkway, the Gowanus, the BQE, and the FDR, I am so grateful for the HOURS we have to talk. About everything. I am grateful that we have learned a mutual respect, and have even (almost always) safely figured out ways to agree to disagree.
The person you are impresses me. And not just because I am your mother. You have worked through adversity your entire life, and you have become stronger, wiser, introspective, and compassionate.
You have learned you actually enjoy (many) people.
You want to help others who have lived lives full of struggle. And you will.
All of this will shake out with its details in the years to come. But I want you to always remember this:
Your recent PTSD diagnosis was not a shock to either of us. Nor is the “head-on” way you are meeting the challenge of learning more about yourself. You will not sit back. You will not let life happen with out you. You will always persevere.
You my dear are taking that same pressure that can burst pipes, and you are “making diamonds.”
As you face the year ahead, and you look at the new adventures you will undertake in High School, move forward with the knowledge simply that the past happened.
And now – It’s the present.
While some things will always remain the same, some things will change all the time.
Learn. Grow. Laugh. Take risks. You might get hurt, but you also are likely to have some of the most magical experiences of your life.
Set goals. Carry them through, and when you need to – modify and reset.
I will be forever nearby, your cheerleader, and your guide on the side.
The days are sometimes long, but the years are short my love.
We listen to a good deal of Contemporary Christian music. There are other tastes among us, but often, especially in the car – we listen to this. It’s been a few years since we’ve had a church where we all felt comfortable and at home, although we possess strong, deeply rooted faith. This music helps keep us focused when things can otherwise seem blurry.
This particular song surfaced a few weeks ago. Meghan was battling to make a comeback from knee surgery 7, and seven was NOT a lucky number.
When you’ve been through the operating room 18 times and it’s still a week before your 14th birthday – you can call yourself somewhat of a professional at recovery.
We left the hospital with our list of directions. We went to the surgical follow-up. We scheduled PT. We even held an extra week before restarting swim. There were crutches for a very long time – used responsibly. So, when she had done everything right, and her body decided to push back – hard, she was understandably angry and very frustrated.
No one really had a solid explanation for the fluid that overtook that knee almost 5 weeks post operatively. But, there never really is a solid explanation. I’d like to say we’re used to it. But, I don’t like to lie.
There were more crutches, and more PT with the BEST PT in the whole wide world. (We LOVE Dr. Jill – because she works on the WHOLE kid. She gets that they are more than the body part giving them trouble. I know of NONE quite like her.) There was increase in strength and range of motion. There was a return to (half) swim practices.
There has been diligent icing after swim. There has been stretching and strengthening because, quite frankly, she WANTS to feel better.
We joked around during the month of June, how nice it would be if we could make July a “doctor- free” month. We longingly imagine the same scenario every year. What if summer could be time to relax? What if we could take day trips? What if we could come and go, and rejuvenate?
I just counted 20 medical appointments between us over the last 31 days. There are 2 more tomorrow.
Chronic illness is a real drag at any age. When it happens to a child or a teen it makes everything that is already hard about growing up – even more of a challenge.
When you are in an almost constant state of recovery, you can find yourself tired. Fighting so hard just to get back to where you were can make you feel like a hamster stuck in a wheel.
Chronic illness, constant pain, surgical recovery, ongoing surveillance, and all the other “fun” things that accompany Cowden’s Syndrome – or any other “it’s sticking around FOREVER” illness can leave you wiped out.
It’s hard to build relationships, friendships, or even a social group when you aren’t able to do so many of the things people take for granted every day. There are days you quite simply run out of “spoons.”
But, in life there are more times than not that we have choices. I try to model for my daughter, but so often she models for me. You can choose to sit alone. You can choose to let pain, fear, anxiety and frustration take hold. You can choose to be sad. You can choose to be mad. Or you can realize that life is hard. Everyone’s life is hard. Life is also full of blessings.
When you realize that this is your life, and you decide you’re going to make the best of it- that’s when you dig in. You climb up that mountain, one step at a time…
I admire many things about my daughter. She is not perfect – neither am I. But in her soul, there is a “Never Give Up” attitude that permeates all things. There is a constant quest for equity and justice, not just for her, but for all she interfaces with. There is a compassionate need to help others. There is a desire to be successful in spite of her circumstances – not because of them.
She always says she loves to swim because regardless – she has to meet the same time standards as everyone else. Somehow it makes each comeback a little sweeter.
No one else would likely know, or realize, or remember. But, we know.
First year on the high school team. The season starts right after school. She’ll be ready.
That’s why we will always remain
“…There is no mountain you can’t face
There is no giant you can’t take
All of your tears were not a waste
You’re one step away…” Danny Gokey
This video is worth your time…
Danny Gokey – The Comeback
After a season of nightfalls and pushbacks
After the heartache of wrong turns and sidetracks
Just when they think they’ve got you game, set, match
Here comes the comeback
Just cause you laid low, got up slow, unsteady
Don’t mean you blacked out or bought out you’re ready
Just when they think there’s nothing left running on empty
Here comes the comeback
This is your time, your moment
The fire, the fight, you’re golden
You’ve come so far keep going
Here comes the comeback, comeback
You feel the lightning, the thunder, your soul shakes
Under the roar of the heaven, the tide breaks
And from the ashes you will take your place
Here comes the comeback
This is your time, your moment
The fire, the fight, you’re golden
You’ve come so far keep going
Here comes the comeback, comeback
There is no mountain you can’t face
There is no giant you can’t take
All of your tears were not a waste
You’re one step away
Just when they think they’ve got you game, set, match
Last week my daughter pulled on a shirt before we headed out to the doctor for the umpteenth time this summer. I didn’t think much of it at first. I was grateful she was dressed and pulled together, and ready without event. As a matter of fact, I was in full on grown up mode, rushing her almost 5’8″ frame and her crutches along to get us prepared for the obligatory ridiculous traffic as we traveled what seems to be the longest 30 miles ever.
I don’t think I even read the shirt until we were in the waiting room a few hours later.
I had read the Harry Potter series as each book came out – beginning as a 5th grade teacher more than 20 years ago. My daughter enjoyed the series in its entirety in a brief period during her year in second grade. I enjoyed the books, each one, but it took a reread or two to analyze things on a deeper level for me. Dumbledore, the wise guide had an infinite amount of wisdom to offer.
Whether she realized it or not, my girl was sending a message that morning – to both of us. There is an ongoing battle, here, and I suspect in many lives, to live the days as they come. We try to “get out of our own way” and “our own head” as the case may be. And it is not easy. When we look further ahead than the day, sometimes even the hour, or moment, it is easy to get swallowed up. The darkness comes hard and fast. Too many appointments, too much worry, too many “what ifs,” too much time wasted, too many plans unfulfilled. No one likes the dark.
So don’t stay there. Turn on the light.
Thank you J.K. Rowling, for giving us Albus Dumbledore.
That appointment Tuesday, it wasn’t great. There are still no real answers. There is swelling on the knee. There is pain. There was confusion from the surgeon. He decided we had rested the knee. Now, it was time to add two medications to treat the knee, a neoprene sleeve for swim, and PT back in the equation. For 2 weeks we will move it and see if that helps. Nothing more than educated guesswork.
I hate it when we have to guess. But, I am grateful for a surgeon willing to logically troubleshoot. We visit him again in 2 weeks. He is confused, but he is smart. And he will not quit.
So with a surgeon who made the choice to keep working on it – my girl did the same. Every day we have choices to make… all day… every day. Those choices shape and mold us.
My daughter was to be part of a beloved theater group these first two weeks of July. Some of the most compassionate, talented and caring young people are in that group, guided by adults that are not afraid to give everything they have for the betterment of the children in their charge. Last year, she had arguably one of the best experiences of her life, and when the word came that she could not participate, that the knee was not prepared for that amount of standing – she was crushed. But, being who they are, the staff, and the students alike not only allowed her, but welcomed her to be with them during rehearsals. As we watched two amazing performances of “Aladdin Jr.” on Friday night, I know she wished to be on the stage, but the pure joy of excitement for the success of these children – her peers- was evident.
She could have sat home and sulked. They could have said she could not come. Instead, the best possible outcome came from unfortunate circumstances. Another major life lesson. Executed flawlessly.
My daughter has dreams. Big dreams. She aspires to be a better human, and to assist those who struggle. She wants to learn her voice, and sing to the best of her ability. She desires to perform, on stage, often. She seeks venues for community outreach and has goals to raise awareness and funds to cure PTEN Mutations like our Cowden’s Syndrome, and other rare diseases. She strives to be an athlete. The same thrill of competition that creates great anxiety, lights a fire deep in her soul. She also has hopes, standards, and expectations for herself. She actually, most days, can do a lot of the parenting work without me. But, sometimes when those dreams and goals are forced to pause, and rest for whatever issue is going after the body at that time, its nice to remember the words of Dumbledore, “It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live. Remember that.”
Exact, precise language. That is how my girl likes it. We sometimes kid that she will be an attorney. At the very least, an advocate for herself, and maybe others. There is little gray area with Meghan. She likes people who are kind. She does not like people who are not. End of story.
Or is it? In this age of adolescence there are times when lines are clear, and times when they are blurry. Emotions run high. There are times when things are said, and done that are deliberate, and mean and awful, and other times where things FEEL deliberate and mean and awful where that was not the intention.
That changes things for the speaker, but rarely for the recipient. With intent being often left to the interpretation of the recipient, words can cut more sharply than a sword, and pierce the soul and the spirit. Words hold great power.
The absence of words, those kind sentiments, thought, but never spoken, can injure as well.
My girl is far from perfect. I myself am far from perfect. We have many conversations between ourselves about the power of words. Sometimes we hurt each other’s feelings. Usually we talk it through. Our relationship invariably gets stronger.
That’s because we speak. And we hear. So many times when words have hurt, a conversation could clarify so much. An honest reflection that not a single one of us is perfect in our speech or actions is invaluable for growth. Friendships grow, not over text messages through an iPhone screen, or photo exchanges… friendships grow when we take the time to talk, and laugh, and listen and hear and care.
And, perhaps many times, when you are lonely or simply alone, those are the times words, or their absence, can hold the greatest power.
Nature vs. Nurture.
An especially complex conversation in light of genetic discoveries happening every day.
In this house my daughter, although she first learned of it as she turned 8, was born with Cowden’s Syndrome- a PTEN Mutation leading to a high incidence of benign and malignant tumor growth. She was born with this condition, because I was born with this condition. That statistics and numbers are real. They are hard core. They are disturbing.
However, because we are BORN with this Syndrome, it does not mean we will develop every possible manifestation. We have AVMs and thyroid issues, and lipomas, but of yet, no colon issues at all. I had breast cancer, early stage. So did my mom who is not a PTEN patient. We have large head size, but not autism. You get the idea.
I believe we are born with certain things. I believe that Meghan and I were born with Cowden’s Syndrome, and I even have theories about its origin.
I also believe that EVERYONE has something. We are either born with it, or it develops. Whether it is a physical ailment, or an unfortunate circumstance, there are forces affecting each of us.
Life is not smooth. But within life there are choices. Every day there are choices.
Choose to find your “Never Give UP.”
Choose to trust.
Choose to take risks.
Choose to care.
Choose to push yourself.
Choose to believe you can.
Knowing, that sometimes those choices will hurt. Sometimes they will leave you angry or even furious.
Know in your heart that those are the only choices.
As you “grow to be…” it is those choices that will help you navigate the path to be the very best version of yourself.
Some people go their whole lives and never meet their hero. I gave birth to mine, and her stamina and drive continue to inspire me daily.
Sitting, sopping wet, in the middle of the ocean, in your small row boat. Your feet are wet. Your fingers are wrinkled. You are cold, exhausted, and often frightened. There is no access to the weather channel. Your connections to the real world have all but vanished. You focus every ounce of your strength on keeping the boat afloat.
You try to maintain a sense of calm, but your insides are turning worse than after a serving of spoiled mayonnaise at a summer barbecue.
There are moments when you think. Hope. Pray. That it will settle down. There are moments when you dream of enough sunshine to shed your wet clothes and warm and dry yourself. There are moments when you can almost see what appears to be a friendly ship in the distance. And in those fleeting moments you even remember what it felt like to socialize, to chat, and to laugh – about every day life.
Your faith reminds you that Jesus is in the back of that boat. You know better than to let your insecurities wake Him. You know in your core that you are loved, and protected.
And then another wave crashes over the side. You can not put your hand on the oar. You lock eyes with your husband in front of you – always with you. You put a hand on your girl, sopping wet beside you. You strengthen your resolve.
I have been fading out of touch these last few months.
I love writing. It is my therapy and my release. It clears my mind and cleanses my soul. Except there is a balancing act to be had -tenuously protecting privacy while fulfilling what we believe is our calling to share a raw, honest view of our lives “Beating Cowdens.”It is hard to realize breaks in time. Things blend together so readily it is hard to discern where one event starts and another stops. There is only rarely a pause between medical appointments, some for the same issues, some for new ones, and others for maintenance. Some appointments are mine, and some belong to Meghan. All but a few require hours and hours of travel. It safe to say they cost us on average 5 hours a day. But, those 5 hours are not of my choosing. I can’t say, decide to get up at 5 – deal with the appointment and be ready to start the day at 10. That’s just not how it works. Most are scheduled somewhere between 10 and 3. That means by the time we get home, there isn’t much time to do anything. Or, we spend the day waiting to go – so there isn’t much to get done. There are no summer day trips planned. Making plans to catch up with friends is something we avoid – because we so often have to cancel. The cycle continues. There is just getting by. And some dreams that maybe we can get to the beach one day this summer…
Somewhere early this year Meghan started to be done with it all. This is not an easy place to be in by any means. She is a month shy of 14, and this is her journey for the REST of her life. Teenage years are nothing most of us would want to revisit. The extra complications of finding your way amidst a chronic sense of isolation (the knee precludes too much walking, it prevents basic sports games most of the time, it leaves the competitor side-lined too much, the allergies mean the food has to be different, the pain is unusual and constant and managed in some “unorthodox” ways, the number of times she has to say “no” because she has an appointment, an ER visit, or something else medical is astounding and limits the invitations, ETC., ETC…) coupled with an understandably defensive posture, and a desire to just BE, can make for some lonely times.
Her sleep patterns went off the charts some time in February. My sleeper just couldn’t fall asleep. She’d lay still for hours. Her pattern was restless and fitful. I watched my girl pull away from her swimming. I fought to push her. Even after her best meet ever in March – I could no longer get her up to a morning practice.
Meanwhile, I never made connections that are so clear now. In January we were released from the Interventional Radiologist who had completed the 5 embolizations over 6 years on the AVM in her right knee. He released us to the care of the orthopedist who had already performed an arthroscopic lateral release in 2015 to help shift her patella into place. It had begun to slide as a result of residual damage from small amounts of lingering blood in the knee. By early this year the warning signs had begun to develop that the knee was off.
A visit to the orthopedist in February confirmed what Meghan undoubtedly knew. He offered her the chance to try to intervene conservatively and put a brace on to hold the patella in place. Maybe it could “convince it” to move on its own…
She took it in stride, like always. We bought leggings to accommodate the giant addition to her thin frame. She dug in and pressed on.
While all this was going on the chronic congestion that had begun in November worsened. The ENT noted swelling, but called it allergies, the obvious choice this season. There was a nasal spray added, and a week of a decongestant.
Attendance in school started to be a struggle. There was fatigue. Low grade infections. There was pain. So much pain.
The chiropractor visits became more frequent. The leg length discrepancy made more noticeable by the limping to accommodate the brace on the shifted knee cap.
My surgery in March helped nothing. There was so much vocal rest required it tossed us all on edge more than normal.
Swim practice was lessening. Focusing on school was a chore. Sleep was becoming near impossible.
The breathing worsened. We justified the “worst allergy season ever.” Her voice started to feel the effects of this chronic congestion.
In April the inevitable was spoken. The knee would need a repeat of the 2015 arthroscopic lateral release. We wanted to schedule it immediately. The first available day was her the opening night of her school play, a play she had earned the lead in. The next opening was almost a month later on May 20th. We would have to wait.
The pain increased. The frustration increased. The sleep, and subsequently the desire to swim decreased.
The “Coaches Award” at the swim dinner made her feel honored. She respects her coach so much. But, she couldn’t reignite the fire.
The surgery in May went well, even though I had worried with the increased congestion that they could not put her under anesthesia. But, it was fine. She went through the 2 hours like a seasoned veteran. That made number 18.
Rehab was tough. The pain was significant. But, it faded gradually. Our favorite PT began to work her magic.
She got around on crutches, figured it out and made it work. Again. Always.
She got off the crutches exactly in time for 8th grade prom.
She was healing. Physically.
She made it back into the water. She swam the 18th of June, and the 19th too. She started to talk about it in a more positive way. The 20th was awards night for 8th grade.
My 8th grader was named Salutatorian for a graduating class of almost 400. She received several academic awards that night. I sat in the auditorium with the last few months, and years running through my mind. People knew some, but no one, not even I knew ALL of what it took to be her, every day. And here she was, not only doing it, but excelling at it. It was a good night.
Until she came home, and put up her feet. And there, on the side of her surgical leg was a 4cm x 6cm mass, with rapidly increasing swelling. Breathing, we strategized.
We took the crutches back out. I stayed up most of the night making sure there was no bleed on the knee. I sent her to school the next day to get her cap and gown and yearbook “like everyone else.”
Then we headed to the surgeon. His nurse practitioner sent us to the ER. They could not get their acts together and after 7 hours discharged her on crutches with a script for an MRI.
She was to be “minimal weight bearing as tolerated.” They wanted her back at the doctor that Friday. I finally spoke up and said no. She was going to her graduation Friday – NOT tainted by a medical appointment. We settled on Tuesday.
However, with no answer, she was to graduate on crutches. So, a friend suggested if she had to use them, she should “own” them. My husband spray painted them white.
Sunday we drove to Long Island for that MRI. The one I knew they would not do locally. 30 miles. 2 hours and 15 minutes home. We caught up with some friends that day. Good thing. We needed them so badly.
As she was in the MRI machine for her knee she told me something was “blocking” her nose inside her head. If you’re a Cowden’s Mom – you just went to tumor as fast as I did. My head spun.
Monday the ENT was able to ease that worry. He told us it was a mass of infection. That likely she had had a severe sinus infection for 8-10 weeks. He anticipated 14-28 days on biaxin to get after it. That was alongside a short course of oral prednisone. He nose was so inflamed there was almost no air passing.
A sinus infection usually has me out of commission in about 3 days. I just shake my head in awe sometimes.
Tuesday the 27th we trekked out to the surgeon again. The MRI showed the mass to be a huge fluid filled pocket. There is also fluid all through the knee joint. He looked, and looked. He has done many surgeries. He is skilled. He shook his head and finally told us he did not understand. He had “never” seen this before. And now we had to wait for her knee to tell us what to do next.
Cancel camp. No Drama Camp she had loved so much.
Postpone PT indefinitely.
No swim practice yet.
And there we were – facing another summer…
But somehow, all of this seemed to weave together. The perfect storm. The knee, the sinuses, the sleeplessness, the fatigue, the low-grade illnesses, the sinus infection…
Somewhere through all this we spent a few visits with a brilliant doctor who diagnosed Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. PTSD. Like with the soldiers, or other trauma victims. “Secondary to significant medical trauma” she said.
It all made sense, except the “post.” There is nothing really “post” about this ongoing scenario.
That, and the Salutatorian thing. As impressed as I am – I am still in awe.
The journey continues, and we will above all things remain…