When we started this journey I never would have chosen this path for you. I never would have selected a life of hospitalizations, tests, rare diseases and pain. I would have chosen an easy life for you. But, I didn’t get to choose.
And, maybe that’s better. Don’t get me wrong. Everything that you have endured is overwhelming. I wish I could take it away. But, this adversity and these struggles, they have guided you as you have become a young woman I could not be more proud of.
This has been a twisty and winding road, and we are still only at the beginning.
Since you were very young you have had an unimaginable determination to accomplish whatever you set your mind to. You never cease to amaze me.
From the days of Early Intervention and CPSE Speech/OT and PT, you just never quit.
You decided early on that you would do well in school. And you exceed any expectation I’ve ever had. You continue to seek classes because you genuinely want to learn new things. You want to be your best self.
You have always had the heart of an athlete. You tried every sport you could and constantly had to reroute due to pain. Then, you landed in the pool. The pain there is pain you can manage. You are continuing to set, meet, exceed and reset goals. Despite some seemingly insurmountable physical obstacles, you are an athlete.
You are deeply principled, a trait that has made you the young woman you are becoming. It also makes me want to scream out loud some days. Sometimes balancing socially was a struggle. You look for the good. You make your decisions based on the heart of the people you are with. You would not compromise your beliefs. You had patience. You have friends now who love you for being “fiercely yourself.”
You have faith. You believe in a God who loves us all. You believe in GRACE and forgiveness, and even though you haven’t had a traditional church upbringing, I am proud of the questions you ask, and your desire to learn. I am mostly proud of your heart.
Every day you are growing, stronger, wiser, and more confident. Every day you are seeking out ways to improve. You are constantly reflecting and growing.
No one outside of our home can fully understand this journey. And while having TWO rare diseases I think may give us magical unicorn status or something, there is no one I’d rather have to traverse these trails with.
I could go on forever. My heart spills over with love when I think of the young woman you have become. I am full of anticipation and excitement about where the journey will lead you.
Know that forever and for always I will always be your biggest cheerleader and your most vocal advocate. Know that I love you to the moon and back times infinity. FOREVER!
Remember – sometimes we don’t get to pick our path. Yet, if we open our hearts we can make the bumpy roads the most meaningful.
I love you more – ALWAYS
Happy Sweet Sixteen! Enjoy the day!
And if you’ll take a bit of motherly advice – most of it can be found in these three songs….
A new diagnosis came our way this week. On top of the existing one. I have wavered between frustration and relief. I have felt some questions answered and developed a lot of new ones. My girl got her words together before I did…
My name is Meghan. I am a 15 year old high school student. I just finished my second year of high school in a place I love. I am an A+ student, who loves to learn. I am in all honors classes. I strive to learn and grow as much as I am able. I live, laugh and love. I hang out with my friends. I lay outside and tan. I take my dog for walks. I swim for a competitive travel team where I work my butt off in the water 6/7 days in a week. I improve. I grow. I train. To anyone who only knew me superficially, it’d seem like I was living the dream. I’ve got a couple close friends, good parents, a nice house, a dog who loves me. It’s perfect. Right? Wrong.
Here’s the other side of my life most people don’t know; I’ve got some shitty genetic luck. Because on the inside, I am far from an ordinary high school student with the perfect house and parents.
I was diagnosed with my first- yes that’s right, my first- rare genetic disorder when I was eight years old. By then I’d already had so many surgeries it was hard to keep count, and a bunch of random medical problems that never seemed to add up. That disorder is Cowden’s Syndrome. It’s a mutation on the PTEN gene that causes benign and malignant tumors, increasing cancer risks and letting things pop up all over my body that hurt like a mother.
I’ve lived with this disorder my entire life. Hospitals, waiting rooms, specialists, MRI’s, and every other extremely uncomfortable medical situation you can think of became my life. To date, I’ve had 18 surgeries, multiple procedures, over 30 hospital visits, and 25+ MRI’s that have put wayyyy to much metal into my body. From countless medical traumas I’ve developed PTSD, anxiety, and depressive disorders. What doesn’t help that is the fact that I’m always in pain. I fight every damn day. I fight to live my life, and to get my body to the levels that others can reach with half the effort.
Now here’s the best part, so I’ve got a crazy smart mom, who wouldn’t stop poking around to figure out the other piece to this puzzle. Because, we both knew Cowden’s wasn’t it. There was something more, because this debilitating chronic pain in a relatively healthy 15 year old, plus other random symptoms that just didn’t add up, had to come from somewhere. So, we went back to my geneticist. And, guess what? We BOTH got our SECOND rare genetic diagnosis. hEDS( the hyper mobile sub type of Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome). Fun, right?
I know it’s a lot to write at once. It may seem crazy to anyone else who lays eyes on this post. But guess what? One very valuable life lesson I’ve learned from living this life is to stop giving so much of a damn what other people think.
We don’t post the awful pictures. We leave out the ones where we look less than our best. Social media allows us to live in the delusion that everyone’s life is “perfect.”
I’ll be the first to admit the ugly truth. It’s far from perfect. It’s not neat or clean. There is no bow. And yes, most of the time I do delete the awful ones. Those images and experiences are seared into my soul.
I prefer to go with the theory that the body forgets pain… At least your own. It’s how we survive. But, if you live watching a loved one in pain – you know the memory will not slip even a tiny bit. If you hold your child as they cry out in pure agony, or when they are weak from fever, you can remember where you were each time. If you watch your teen wince simply through a series of steps, or check to make sure they are breathing as they sleep the better part of two or three days at a clip – you don’t forget.
Recently, Meghan was in a production of “Beauty and the Beast Jr.” with the Staten Island Children’s Theater Association, Inc. She loves the experience of working with a theater group and has been with this one a few years now. It is such an enjoyable time in her life. She spends months of Saturdays with genuine quality people preparing for the show.
And during those same months she is thriving academically.
And training for swimming.
And making regular appointments, routine, follow-up, and therapy.
And contending with seasonal allergies that are nothing less than relentless.
And, she is, every single day a person living with Cowden’s Syndrome and the effects it has on her, both physically and emotionally.
The show was almost 2 weeks ago. It took me a little bit to get my thoughts together.
I think I have it now.
Living with chronic illness, chronic pain, chronic life altering physical ailments, is in some ways similar to putting on a production.
You set your sights on what you want to accomplish – large or small. In some cases it’s going to a party, and in other’s it’s going to the backyard. But, you plan for it. You practice it. You consider every detail. You may have to select the right costume and even stage it so you don’t sit or stand for too long. You know just what your body can do and there is a short window where you have to make it all work.
The rest of the time you are backstage.
You are in pin curls and shorts with a tank top.
You are rubbing your feet. You don’t have make-up. Backstage and rehearsals, these are what life is made of. But, we don’t take the camera out while we are there.
Everyone’s preparation is different. I can only write about ours and confidently say everyone has some level of preparation before the “show”. Some people make it onto the stage more often than others. Some people have fewer performances, but make them count as much as they can. Those people take nothing for granted because they have no idea when they will step out into the “stage” again.
That’s what social media looks like to me, anyway. Every picture is on the stage. Some have more than others. But, because of the world we live in it is easy to judge based on what we see without considering what we DON’T see.
The night of the show Meghan went to the diner with her friends. She got home close to midnight. It was Sunday, and a school night, and I had already decided she’d stay home the next day. It wasn’t a reward. It was a necessity. The amount of energy her body had expended could not be recovered quickly. She slept until 2pm the next day, and was asleep again by 9.
I sent her to school that Tuesday – ready to roll. She swam at 5am, did a full day of school, an hour of physical therapy and another 2.5 hours of swim practice.
Probably not the best plan.
The physical therapy is in place to try to strengthen her overall. Joint laxity, ligaments subluxing… all sorts of cracking, popping and shifting. The search for answers is on, but in the mean time we do PT…
By Wednesday she couldn’t move. She made it to school – barely.
Her IEP meeting was that afternoon, and we had lengthy conversations about all sorts of physical and emotional needs relating to school. We also spoke at length about the service dog we are in a holding pattern waiting for, and how he will fit in to the big picture. So many questions…
Thursday we got in the car to go to school. By 7:30 I had her back in her bed. She just could not. She slept until early afternoon Thursday, followed it with and early bedtime and slept again until early afternoon Friday. There was a little less sleep as the days went on but it was a slow process.
The show that was so incredibly worth it in every way – cost her a full week in recovery time. Her body hurt so deeply. This is not an out of shape child. This is a person living with a chronic pain and illness that is affecting her body in ways not even the doctors fully comprehend yet.
But I didn’t post pictures of her wincing in agony, or sleeping for days.
To the outside world she doesn’t look sick. She’s 5 foot 8, full of muscle and extremely well-rounded.
She works hard at it.
Some days are easier than others. But every day she works. She is fierce and relentless and she does not quit.
Next time you catch a photo of her smiling or singing in a pretty dress know that it took a lot of staging to pull that off, and there will likely be a lot of recovery on the back end.
But, she wouldn’t have it any other way. Not for a moment. She is my inspiration to remain…
The call came to my cell phone on a Friday afternoon a few weeks ago. It took me a few minutes to process that Sharon from the Teddy Atlas Foundation was telling me Meghan had been selected to receive the Dr. Theodore A. Atlas Humanitarian Award. The award is named for a local physician who epitomized the concept of what it meant to be a physician through more than a half century of people centered care on Staten Island.
I knew of Dr. Atlas, who did most of his work before my time, because I followed the work of the foundation, started by his son, Teddy Atlas Jr. The Dr. Theodore A. Atlas Foundation is a name known to locals who are inspired by stories of people helping people. I had watched this foundation through the years, grateful that people who genuinely want to help are not afraid to just do it.
I know I stumbled, and may have sounded like a bumbling fool as I asked her to repeat herself. “Yes,” Meghan will accept gratefully, I replied without asking. I was given the date and time for the dinner.
I’m not sure either of us really grasped the enormity of the honor until we looked up the event on line.
We had just struggled to get 100 people in a room for a fundraiser. Here they were looking at close to a thousand – from big names to community favorites.
When she learned she’d need to give a brief acceptance speech, she took a deep breath, and then thought. A whole lot.
We talked about humanitarian, as a word and as a concept. The more we bounced it around, the more we both knew the concept suited her. Meghan has always wanted to make a difference. She has always done what she can to speak for those who can not speak for themselves. She is not sure what her future career will be, but she is sure that she must know she is ‘helping.’
We talked about quotes. I gave a few suggestions. She came back to me with Dr. Seuss. She nailed it. As usual.
The Lorax speaks for the trees. They can not speak for themselves, so the Lorax advocates for them. It resonated with her.
Here is Meghan’s speech:
Good evening, I am extremely humbled and grateful to be standing before you tonight.
When I was 7 I never thought my life would turn out this way. I never thought I’d be accepting a prestigious humanitarian award. When I was 8 and my life was turned upside down by a diagnosis I didn’t understand, I was in shock. By the time I was nine, I realized that no one even knew what my disease was. Then I realized that if I didn’t do something, there was a chance no one else ever would.
Cowden’s Syndrome is a mutation on the PTEN Gene, a tumor suppressor gene. Because of this disorder I have extremely high cancer risks, and grow a lot of tumors. I am in the hospital being poked and prodded on a regular basis. I am constantly scanned and monitored. Every time I step into a doctor’s office I am holding my breath, praying that I will get even just two more months of peace, without a procedure. I am 15, and I have had 18 surgeries. This disease has tried to break me over, and over again. And, because of this, with each passing day I become more determined to overcome these challenges, win my daily battles, and lend a helping hand to others in need.
I am living the life of a rare disease patient. I am closely acquainted with the downfalls and struggles of my disease, and others. Because of this, I am fully cognizant that there is very little awareness about rare genetic disorders. Some of these disorders are fatal, and others can just make your daily life torturous.
My disorder specifically is sometimes classified as an “invisible illness.’ No one sees my scars and my struggles because I don’t ‘look sick.’ I present as a healthy and intelligent teenager. When I was little I used to wish all my scars were able to be seen, and that they were all over my skin. I thought that maybe people would start understanding what patients like me go through a bit more if they saw some of the ramifications of these diseases.
Cowden’s Syndrome has not just impacted my body. There are undeniable, severe mental ramifications that have come with my struggles. I have a depressive disorder, an anxiety disorder, and PTSD secondary to medical trauma. In no way am I even close to normal. I have to fight ten times harder for what someone else can do physically. I struggle mentally to live a normal live and get past the anxieties that control my daily life.
I have been bullied since elementary school there are some days where I come home, curl up in a ball and cry. It’s really hard to make friends when you’re at the doctor so much, and it’s even harder to deal with teenage drama when you’ve had to act so much older then you are your whole life. Whether it’s been because I’m different and they don’t understand, or because I catch on to things quickly, I always find myself that kid with the target on my back for bullies.
People like to say to ‘not let your hardships define you.’ Personally, I think that’s idealistic and impossible. The events that you have gone through in your life have created who you are. Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if I did not have this rare disease. Then I shake myself out of it, and realize that I’m a pretty cool person who has the ability to change lives. And, that if I didn’t have Cowden’s Syndrome, I wouldn’t be growing into the person I am.
My mother and I host annual fundraisers called “Jeans for Rare Genes.” They started out with all of the profits being donated to the Global Genes Foundation, a 401C3 organization that raises money around the world for the purpose of providing support to patients with rare diseases. Then, the PTEN Foundation, an organization specifically devoted to patients with PTEN Hamartoma Tumor Syndrome (Cowden’s Syndrome) was born. Once this organization was created, we began fundraising for them. To this day, our annual fundraiser is one of the biggest donations that goes into this organization and I am proud to know that our work is making a difference.
There are less than 2,000 diagnosed Cowden’s Syndrome patients in the US. Sometimes it is hard to see the light at the end of a lonely tunnel. The PTEN Foundation is close to putting up a patient powered registry that will start things moving in the right direction. We have a long way to go. We need funding for research, and then we need medication and hopefully a cure. There is far too little awareness about Cowden’s syndrome and all rare diseases in general. They are very real, and very present in our society.
This honor will serve as a stepping stone for me. My awareness efforts are not nearly done. In fact, I view this as a new chapter in my life, where I will have the confidence and courage, needed to continue raising funds and awareness, and that I may hopefully be a part of changing the lives of other rare disease patients.
In the words of the Lorax in the famous Dr. Seuss book, “Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not.”
With the number of people who care in this room tonight, I look forward to a future of hope and promise. Thank you.
The speech ended with Teddy Atlas committing $5,000 to the PTEN Foundation on Meghan’s behalf.
It made me extra glad that Kristin, the PTEN Foundation President, who has become a dear friend, had made her way to New York from Alabama to celebrate with us.
Yesterday, November 15, 2018, NYC was almost totally crippled by an unexpected snow storm. In all of my years here I have never ever seen anything like it. I have seen worse storms, but NEVER the crippling state of things I saw yesterday. I left work to get Meghan at school at 2:20. On a busy day it takes me 22 minutes to arrive at her school for pick up. At 4:10, after crawling for HOURS and getting so close, I was being pushed up a hill out of a pile of snow. I was in such a state, feeling frantic that I was literally not able to get to her. And even though I knew she was safe, it was a helpless feeling I’m not looking to duplicate any time soon.
At 4:15 she sat in my car while we turned around to head back. At 5:35 the 8 mile round trip was complete, but we weren’t out of trouble. Three hours on the road and I never saw a plow or a salt truck.
My parents agreed to drive in their very capable pick up truck. My husband made it safely off the bus from Manhattan. It was far from the poised and put together departure I had hoped for, but we got there.
I’m not going to lie, there were a few moments there where I thought, “WHAT THE HECK? Why does EVERYTHING have to be surrounded by drama?”
But I pulled myself together. There are far bigger problems in the world. We made it. We were safe. We were together. Meghan’s dear friend greeted us there. I looked around and soaked up the enormity of the honor my 15 year old was receiving.
I looked around the room full of energetic, generous spirits.
I looked in the booklet on the table and found this. Despite a few minor errors, the idea that this was published here. Now. For everyone. Well, it kind of blew me away.
I listened while Ciaran Sheehan sang, with chills down my spine. Having played leading roles in two of Meghan’s favorite Broadway shows, “Les Miserables,” and “Phantom of the Opera,” he was the one she wanted to meet. And she did.
My girl is not perfect. She struggles. We argue. She sometimes acts like a teenage girl and I have to remind myself she is one. She is intense. She is focused. She is determined. She is deeply principled.
She is learning to find balance. She is learning to laugh. She is learning to pause. To believe. She is letting herself be successful. She is working daily on becoming the best version of herself. She is my hero.
And Meghan, as one of the “trees,” I am happy to have a “Lorax” like you.
Because as Dr. Seuss said, “Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not.”
You are way more than
You’re going places kid. And I’m so grateful to be along for the ride.
I’m aware of Breast Cancer. As a survivor now of 6 years and the daughter of a 21 year survivor, I am aware as I dry from my shower facing my mastectomy scars every morning, that breast cancer is reality. As my Facebook feed and my memory are both too full of those we have lost and those who still face this disease, we are aware. What I wonder, is how much help is the awareness? It is a topic that could be debated forever, but I’ll change gears first.
Something else I am very aware of is the PTEN gene located on chromosome 10q23, and the perils its associated mutations can cause. So when the PTEN Foundation let us know that 10/23 was designated PTEN Awareness Day, we were all in.
This blog has, for years been designated to the ups and downs of this mother- daughter duo dealing with Cowden’s Syndrome, the diagnosis we both received in late 2011 after a PTEN mutation was first diagnosed in Meghan, and weeks later in me.
The few years following were an absolute whirlwind of appointments, scans, screenings and surgeries. We worked to keep our heads above water and just exist. We considered keeping my job, and maintaining honors status in her school quite the accomplishment.
We were told things over and over, like “don’t let it define you…”
I’ve got some news for you. You can only walk so far into the fire without retaining the scars.
True awareness of PTEN for us comes with comprehension of the gravity that you have to remain in a vigilant stance of preparation, awaiting attack from your own body at all times. PTEN patients have ridiculous cancer risks pretty much all throughout, and the VIGILANCE required to stay ahead is utterly grueling.
We are faced with choices to keep the most high risk organs, or remove them prophylactic ally. We are asked to play the odds. With our bodies. All the time.
With Meghan the AVM (Arteriovenous Malformation) in her right knee, though quiet now, has caused damage she will deal with forever. She is 15. God willing she will walk on those legs another 80 years, each day aware of the pain, and of the symmetry removed from her body forever.
When you have to be vigilant, you have to plan. There are trades. You have to decide if you’ll miss school with friends and fall behind in classes or give up the breaks designed to recharge you.
There are no breaks. February – months away has 3/5 of its break and 2 other days devoted to appointments. Martin Luther King Jr. Day in January. Yep – that one too. Don’t worry, the brain MRI is scheduled for April break….
You have to pick and choose. And the decisions are hard. You want to give it all to everything, but HOURS of your world are wasted in bumper to bumper traffic, waiting for the hopeful news that you have another 6 months before you come back. And if, in fact you don’t get that news the schedule is tossed and it’s game on for scans, analysis and biopsies.
The pain. No one can really tell us yet from why, but it seems to exist throughout. The fatigue. Maybe the thyroid issues, maybe some immunological stuff. Maybe some connection yet to be determined. But it’s real.
It’s as real as the number of times we had to decline invitations before most people stopped asking.
We’re not blowing you off. We’re holding it together – by a shoestring.
Chronic Illness is hard to live, and we get that it’s difficult to watch. But, it’s real. And short of a cure, it will never “run it’s course.” It will not BE us, but it will be PART of us – FOREVER.
“You don’t look sick…”
“You don’t look anxious…”
No, as a matter of fact she looks strong and determined. She’s been practicing for quite some time.
Sometimes I have to bite my tongue to keep from replying, “You don’t LOOK ignorant either – but at least you can fix that if you WANT to…”
Our rare disease journey has opened our eyes to not only PTEN disorders, but “Lhermitte-Duclos disease,” “Nail-Patella Syndrome,” “Lynch Syndrome,” “Spinal Muscular Atrophy,” “Muscular Dystrophy,” “Neimann- Pic Disease,” ” Neurofibromatosis,” “Acute Myeloid Leukemia” to name just the very tip of the iceberg. I am more aware than every that everyone struggles.
I’m also a big fan of real pure awareness, for the sake of learning something about other humans I share the planet with.
One of the humans I share my home with has grown up in a totally different direction courtesy of this disease. And while I am grateful for her diagnosis, as it surely saved my own life, I am sad that she has had to see so much, and manage so much already in her life.
So today, on 10/23, if you’re not living with it yourself, direct yourself to http://www.PTENFoundation.org, or the PTEN Facebook Page and learn an little more about PTEN.
My own girl is working every day to make herself better, physically, mentally and emotionally. When I have down days, or I just don’t feel well, she reminds me to forgive myself. “You have it too Mom.” Indeed I do, and it’s quite a ride…
Together we prepare for the climb each day – and seek out that ‘One Perfect Moment’
For as much as this disease has taken, I am grateful that she is starting to take back control, and is finding her voice as an advocate for herself and others. (And I love listening to her sing too…)
Bring It On the Musical – One Perfect Moment Lyrics
Bring It On the Musical – One Perfect Moment LyricsI’m not freaking out, I’m really okay
I’m totally chill or I will be someday
‘Cause I’m so near the top but there’s so many mountains to climb
There are plans to be planned, drills to be drilled
‘Cause this dream that I’ve dreamed is becoming fulfilled
And I plan to enjoy it but right now, I don’t have the timeFade in on Campbell, an average teenager almost grown
Close-up on average grades from the average life she’s known
Now zoom in the lens on the rest of her friends as she stay alone
Doing the work, getting it right
‘Cause I know we’ll have to be practically perfect
So I’ll go above and beyond and pull through, this I can do
All that I’m asking is one perfect moment in time
I’m seventeen, there are so many things that I can’t control
If I start to freak, or feel weak, I focus on just one goal
Turn down the panic, attack this routine like it owns my soul
Turn up the music so loud that it swallows us whole
And then there we are, we burn like a star
We’re safe inside the world we know
Then suddenly I’m in prep for the climb and here I go
High in the air, there is a moment just before you start to fall
Live in that one moment
I know that if I can just stick the landing
Then I’ll know that somehow my life will be fine
And I’ll go through the rest of my life understanding
What it feels like to shine
The future’s full of mysteries
So please let this be mine
My one perfect moment in time
Recently I asked that Meghan’s “Present Levels of Performance” on her IEP be updated. She no longer receives many services, but I find great value in keeping this section current.
There is a great deal of misunderstanding involving Individualized Education Plans (or IEPs) and many people feel only children who struggle academically have an IEP. This is just not true.
My daughter has had one in place since Kindergarten. She has consistently maintained high honors, and as a matter of fact was Salutatorian of her 8th grade class, and is in an intensely challenging International Baccalaureate program at her high school.
IEPs by definition, are to “Individualize” the Education Program as needed. Meghan’s needs are not academic, as much as they are residual connected to the Cowden’s Syndrome, the PTSD, and the medical trauma. The resulting anxiety affects every area of life, and is far deeper than “teenage angst.” We work extensively outside of school to address this in many ways, but sometimes we need the school to be on the same page.
Much like you give a medical history to a doctor when you see them for the first time, and you update as situations change, the IEP is to be fluid and updated as changes occur so all personnel will be aware of Meghan’s needs.
I make a habit on the first day of school of copying a few key pages of the document and giving it to her teachers. Even though they have access, and technically it is their responsibility, I am also a teacher. I get the pressures placed on us. So, I make their lives easier by giving them what they need and an invitation to reach out to me with any questions. Her teachers are historically receptive and appreciative.
This year I was reviewing that section on the document realizing how much was no longer accurate, and how it should be more detailed.
I sat with Meghan to write the summary below:
Meghan is a 15-year-old sophomore in the IB program at School. Academically she is consistently above average in her classes, attaining high honors every marking period for the 2017-2018 school year.
She is a student athlete as well, participating on the School varsity swim team, as well as Trident Aquatics, a 12 month competitive swim program on the Island.
Meghan has several medical diagnoses. The most far-reaching is “Cowden’s Syndrome” a mutation on the PTEN (tumor suppressor) Gene, causing benign and malignant tumors as well as vascular malformations. Recently PTEN mutations have been correlated with low levels of (infection fighting) immunoglobulins, which Meghan also suffers with.
Because of the low immunoglobulin levels Meghan has frequent infections that often require antibiotics for resolution. She suffers with gastrointestinal distress with each course, and needs to avoid gluten and soy. She also has an allergy to dairy.
Meghan’s medical challenges are far-reaching. She has had 18 surgeries, 8 of which have been on her right knee. There was an arteriovenous malformation (AVM) in that knee. While it has been controlled, the long-term effects will last forever. Meghan has leg and foot discrepancies on her right side. The blood was restricted from flowing to her right foot for so long, that it stopped growing 6 years ago. The left foot is a full size larger than the right foot. That right-sided weakness has been repeatedly treated in physical therapy, but still presents as a struggle with stairs, and long walks. While she endures these activities, they can cause pain and excessive fatigue, and extra time may be necessary between classes located far apart.
Meghan had her thyroid removed in 2014 and the resulting need for synthetic medication has yet to be regulated. Her current endocrinologist follows her 4 times a year, adjusting, tailoring, and trying to balance her levels.
Meghan had 2 D&C procedures during 7th grade. Those procedures yielded precancerous tissue in her uterus and prompted the need for birth control pills to try to stop the cellular growth. Those pills have also been difficult to regulate and balance.
Meghan has been hospitalized countless times in addition to her surgeries. She has also undergone over 30 MRIs and close to 10CT scans, each requiring IV. She spends countless hours being poked and prodded at doctors, monitoring her cancer risks. She is acutely aware of her mortality at an age when most teens are barely aware of their social interests.
In the spring of 2017 Meghan was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, secondary to extensive medical trauma. She was also diagnosed with major depressive disorder.
In the fall of 2017 Meghan began to develop panic attacks. Subsequently, she has also been treated for panic and generalized anxiety disorder.
She sees a social worker weekly and has guidance on her IEP in school. She sees a psychiatrist monthly who manages the medication, which currently consists of and antidepressant and another script for panic attacks.
The panic attacks were well controlled for a time, but flare up in acute anxiety. This summer saw several severe episodes. We are working together to help her through all of this.
Meghan is waiting for a service dog, which should arrive in the next 4-6 months, to address the PTSD. In the mean time, we are teaching strategies to deal with necessary stress, and tools to eliminate unnecessary stress.
I presented this document to the team to update the IEP. I was a little startled when I was met first with a challenge on the diagnoses. No problem I told them. I would send the doctor’s notes.
I love her school, I do. But, I was in fact also told “She doesn’t LOOK sick” and “She doesn’t LOOK stressed.” While I had to breathe a few times before responding, I came up with “You’re welcome…”
We’ve worked quite hard on all of that. My girl has goals. Life goals.
Last week Meghan was approached to remove the section regarding the D&Cs from the document above. She declined. She was pushed, and told the information was “far too personal.”
Forever practical, Meghan reminded them the document was about her, and should include factual information.
Again pressed, she reminded the staff she helped write the document they were holding. She wanted and NEEDED her teachers to understand the validity behind her anxiety and PTSD symptoms.
The final time they told her the information was too personal she reminded them that she had done nothing wrong, and had nothing to be embarrassed about. Meghan is a factual child. She likes actual truth being reported. She knows better than to be embarrassed about truth. She knows ugly truth is a real part of life with Cowden’s Syndrome. She also knows that secrets give power to things that don’t deserve it.
These things happened to her.
She did not ask for them.
She did not cause them.
She will not hide them.
She will not apologize for them.
She will not let them define her.
But the things that happen to us do change us. HOW they change us is the only thing we can work to control.
I will continue to work the Mom end to get this updated.
I am beyond proud of her growing confidence, and her desire to educate.
I am proud of her desire to be a scholar and an athlete in spite of all the adversity.
I am proud of her respect for the clock as she grows as a swimmer, and her desire to be the same as everyone else, by beating the same clock.
My girl is, and shall remain
And that is why we continue to work on the journey towards treatments and a cure.
Please consider joining us or making a contribution. You can reach us at firstname.lastname@example.org
Meghan recently had a drama assignment where she had to write a monologue on non-violence. The teacher appreciated her perspective, and I think it speaks to the long term effects of rare disease, and chronic illness.
I’ve added nothing below…
“A physician’s guiding maximum is non maleficence. Non maleficence means ‘to do no harm.’ And, I guarantee you that screaming at an 8-year-old and burning her neck, all while sticking needles through it, qualifies as the opposite of non maleficence.
Then, I was a scared 8-year-old who just found out she had a rare genetic disorder. Now, I’m a 14-year-old with PTSD and a rare genetic disorder that has caused a lot of hell in my life and is never going away.
As I look back at this biopsy, I realize many things. One, I’m positive this first medical trauma led me to be fearful of all the medical challenges that have befallen me. Also, I realize that my deathly fear of needles and my PTSD originated on this day.
If this doctor had used a non-violent tactic during this procedure, which isn’t pleasant anyway, then maybe my journey would have gone a different route. Maybe I wouldn’t to this day walk into a doctor’s office, see needles, and have my heart jump into my throat.
People don’t realize that actions that may seem small to them can have a big effect on someone’s life. As I think back, I realize that if this one doctor had practiced non-violence, then my preconceived notions of pain and fear every time I walk into an examination room might not exist.”