Category: My girl

One of a kind…

Published on by beatingcowdens9 Comments

It probably started in the spring.  Meghan’s class had been working on a fundraiser for Alex’s Lemonade Stand. (alexslemonade.org)  The entire third grade was raising money for childhood cancer, and she took her fundraising work very seriously.

Meghan decided to make a bookmark, with a picture of my cousin Meghan – Angel Meghan as we speak of her – who died from Leukemia in 1991.  She wanted to make her connection to the fundraising personal.  As we prepared baskets of bookmarks to leave with people we knew, Meghan decided we should sell ribbons too.

So, I asked her what color?  She wasn’t sure what I meant, but I really didn’t know if there was a color ribbon for childhood cancer.  So, she took out her iPad and a quick search found us gold.  The gold ribbon was the color for childhood cancer.

 So we headed to Michael’s and bought up as much gold ribbon as we could find. We bought lots of safety pins.  We set to work cutting and pinning.

We dropped baskets off with my Uncle Chris and cousin Katie (“Angel Meghan’s” Dad and sister.)  They were eager to help, and passed baskets off to friends of theirs.  Before we knew it we were making more ribbons, and more bookmarks.

Meghan was so absolutely thrilled to raise over $500 for the project.  It was such a huge success and we were so proud.

That project raised her awareness of her ability to do for others, and helped her confidence so much.  It also made her aware, acutely aware, of cause ribbons.  She would identify the ones she knew, like the pink ribbon for breast cancer, and she would look up ones she didn’t know.  She learned about the puzzle piece for autism, and even yellow ribbons being used when soldiers are away from home.  I think that is the project that truly got her using a search engine too.  (Thanks Mrs. Azzarello!)

It seemed only natural, that months later, having watched me receive pink ribbons after my breast cancer surgery, and after countless surgeries and appointments of her own, that she would ask what “our” ribbon was.  Not sure of course exactly what she meant, I had her clarify.  “What is the ribbon for genetic diseases?”

So back to the search engines we went.  We tried a few other places. but eventually decided that this was the one.

It made sense.  The Global Genes Project had a logo that reflected her cause.  This was the ribbon for Rare Diseases – genetic disorders like our Cowden’s Syndrome.  It Made sense, their saying, “Hope – It’s in our genes” was catchy enough, and it left you thinking about the connection between genes, and jeans – the denim ribbon.

The next question should have had a simple answer – but it didn’t.  She said, “Can I have one?”

Once she clarified that she needed something, something to represent her, and all she has gone through, I understood.  She needed a symbol, something to wear that would make it easier to talk to people, that would help her feel proud, and strong, like it all mattered.

Sure, I thought.  We will get you something.

Well I looked, and I looked, and I looked.  There was nothing.  Beyond the sticker I had gotten as a thank you when I sent a contribution to The Global Genes Project, I could find NOTHING for her to own or wear, no jewelry or clothes with this “denim” ribbon.

Well sometimes the best ideas are born out of lunchtime conversation.  So, as I sat with some teacher friends the next day, I recanted Meghan’s desire to have her own cause ribbon.  One friend, the pure hearted Mom of an autistic son, who was wearing a beautiful diamond puzzle piece around her neck, “got it” on so many levels.  And, her husband happens to be a jeweler.

She said, “give me what you have, let’s see what we can do.”

Well I think we all thought it would be easier than it was.  But after weeks of searching her husband determined that there was nothing, anywhere like what we were looking for.  If we wanted it, we could have it, but they would have to make the mold.

Fortunate to have good and generous people in our lives, we paid only for the cost of the creation of the piece.  My friends husband generously donated his time, because he too “gets it.”  Their goal was only to make my girl happy.  And for that I am so grateful.

After anxious months of waiting, the piece arrived last Friday.  She treats it like a rare gem.

It is RARE, a one of a kind beauty – just like my girl.  But, never staying focused on herself for too long, she thought – wouldn’t it be nice if we could do a fundraiser, and sell these so that we could raise money for The Global Genes Project?

Well, last Friday we sent them an Email with several pictures.  It is a crazy time of year, but we are anxious to hear from them, and hoping that Meghan’s idea, can benefit many others.  It would be fitting.  That’s just the kind of kid she is.

For now though, the necklace is “one of a kind,” just like her!

Bookends

Published on by beatingcowdens1 Comment

So my little girl took some of the influence of her Dad and has taken a liking to comic books.  She has been reading them on her Ipad, and although I might not admit it to either one of them, I kind of like the idea.  I like Superheroes, and their “Good beats evil” message.  I know it doesn’t always work out that way, but she is 9…

I sat in the MRI room with Meghan tonight – again.  And even though it is a wonder I could think of anything over the banging of the machine, and the remnants of this migraine I have been fighting for days, I kept thinking of bookends.

Yep, bookends.  See, back in June, on the first day after school was out for the summer we went for an MRI of her knee.  It was a Thursday, the Thursday before July 4th.  So, how ironic I thought, when earlier I was sitting in another MRI, this one of her brain, on the Thursday before Labor Day.

Bookends.  Our summer ends the way it began, waiting for test results.  Although I am starting to get the feeling that this testing and waiting will transcend all seasons.  I will just notice it more in the summer – the season where I have one full time job (Mom to Meghan,) rather than two (Mom to Meghan AND teacher.)

And I am reminded of the image of the dog digging up the street that Meghan found for me a few weeks ago.  This is what we do.

We do not accept anything less than an answer that makes Mommy comfortable.  When the doctors tell me that puberty is just starting earlier these days, I buy it – to a point.  When they tell me to consider all the hormones in the milk, and the chicken, I raise an eyebrow.  My girl who has been dairy free since she was 15 months old, and has almost never consumed a piece of nonorganic chicken, who is at or below the weight for her height, and who has a mom who went through puberty LATE, should be one of the early ones… I just don’t buy it.  So when the hormone tests don’t match, and I get doctors refusing to answer me, I push harder.  That is what the MRI was today.  My fault.  I needed to have them rule out a pituitary tumor.  We have Cowden’s Syndrome.  We grow things.  Someone should check.  Just sayin… Then, when the results are clean in a few days I will breathe deeply and accept that this just IS.

And the recurrent strep… well lo and behold, the ENT said there is regrowth of the tonsil tissue.  He wants to see her the next time she has strep.  He shouldn’t have to wait too long.  He also told me the right lobe of her thyroid was quite enlarged.

So we wait for the thyroid panel, and wonder if it has changed drastically.  And, we think of those nodules on her thyroid and the doctor who told me they will turn… not if – but when.

Bookends.

We started the summer at the doctor.  We spent most of the summer at the doctor.  Scan this, check that.  It will never happen like this again if I can control it, but it was necessary this time.

And in between the bookends of MRIs, we fit in some fun stuff.  There were some great play dates. a day trip to the beach, some swims in the pool. a FABULOUS trip to Disney, a week of Vacation Bible School – (although not our “favorite”one.)  There were some lazy days, and lots of just being together time.  We can get a lot of talking in on all those trips to the doctor.

I guess the summer wasn’t a total loss, and yet still somehow I feel sad.  Cheated.  I stress at the thought of the scheduling complications being back at work brings.  Holding up the appointments of a regular kid (eyes, orthodontist, swim class, PT, dance…) is tough enough.  Complicate it with Cowden’s x2 and it gets hairy.

Maybe I feel like this every summer.  Maybe I just love my girl too much.  Time marches on.  School next week ready or not!

My beautiful 9 year old!

“It’s not fair!”

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“It’s NOT fair Daddy!”  Came the screech from the basement.  I held my breath. 

“You can’t do that Daddy!  It’s NOT fair!”

When I heard my husband return the challenge with an “Oh yeah? Watch this!”  I knew all was well.  The giggling that followed sealed the deal.

I couldn’t help but find it a bit ironic that of all the things that have gone on in her life, she chooses a helicopter game in the basement with her Dad, to shout the words,”IT’S NOT FAIR!”

She didn’t use those words once, all summer, when we spent what I equate to an OBSCENE amount of hours in doctor’s offices and waiting rooms.  She didn’t utter those words as she was poked and prodded and asked the same questions over and over. “They never find the answers anyway, Mommy.”

She didn’t tell me it wasn’t fair, when instead of planning playdates, or camp experiences we were trekking back and forth to Manhattan, for her, or for me.  She simply wiggled in the play time when there was room.

This morning, when I sprung on her the idea that she needed bloodwork, after the bank, and before the orthodontist, she could have EASILY told me. “It’s not fair!”  And I would have understood.  I know very few people who have given up more blood than she has.  And when the lab was full, and we had to come back later, so she could think about it all day, she definitely could have told me, “It’s not fair!”  But she didn’t.

This morning when we learned that her braces are imminent, and that she is going to need to contend with them in addition to her new grade and ever changing body – I expected a yell.  Nope.  “Won’t it be great to have them off before most of my friends even get theirs on?”

So as I scheduled one more MRI this week.  This one for her, to make sure the pituitary is its proper size with no extra features… I thought it would be a big foot stamping, “It’s not fair!”  Nothing.  Just the typical, “Can you stay, and will I need a needle?”  Followed by, “I hope I can watch a movie this time because I don’t like having my head done.”  How disturbing that this will be her third brain MRI.

This has been one hell of a summer, following one seriously wild spring.  I have lost count of the appointments, and it is probably better.  They aren’t going anywhere and we will continue to have to roll with it.  As the last week of summer vacation comes to a close, and I lament the lack of relaxation, the cleaning that never happened, the day trips that never came to pass, I want to shout, “IT”S NOT FAIR!”

But then I look at my 9 year old.  Wise beyond her years.  Content to live in this house where she is so loved and appreciated.  We have had many talks about the suffering of others through the years, and especially this year.  She knows she is not alone in having a tough path to travel.  She also knows it could be worse.

Maybe that contributes to the poise and grace under pressure.  Maybe that is why she is so insanely mature.  Or maybe, in the midst of the chaos that is Cowden’s Syndrome, we – her father and I – are just the luckiest parents in the world.

But God is good – all the time!

The Carousel of Life

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How can you tell if it’s really progress?
When we were in Walt Disney World, one of the rides we went on was “The Carousel of Progress.”  Now I must admit this isn’t one of my all time favorites, but it does serve to cool you on a hot August day, and provide some food for thought.

For those of you who have never been, it starts out in the early 1900s and has several scenes detailing progress through the years.  Of course, with all progress, there are a few snags along the way.

The state of the art kitchen in the mid 1900s, looks nothing like the state of the art kitchen in the 21st century.

 

 

 

 

 

 

And I think the lesson to be learned by those of us cooling off in the comfortable Air conditioning, is that with every new change, we lose a bit of the old.  It is often beneficial, and frequently necessary to improve, but we need to keep an eye to where we have come from so we don’t lose ourselves.

So why was this on my mind – aside from sorting out the Disney Photos?  Today was a doctor day  – again.

Today we took a 2.5 hour (should have been 75 minutes) road trip to Long Island to see Dr. E.  People ask me all the time who he is, and why we see him.  Well, the truth is, he is kind of our “think outside the box” doctor.

We first met him in 2005.  Meghan was severely delayed in many areas.  Her behavior was at times scary, as she was having fits of rage that were tough to manage.  She was bloated, and her belly was in terrible shape.  She wasn’t speaking much, and her speech and occupational therapists were starting to whisper “autism” to me.

Not feeling at all like that was where she was, we headed to see Dr. E, a DAN! (Defeat Autism Now!) practitioner.  He had been a pediatrician for over 20 years and had recently made the change to treating children with biomedical interventions.

It was a scary commitment to see such a doctor.  There was no insurance at all, and the initial out of pocket fees were frightening.  But when we sat and spoke with him, and he told us about the ways he was going to help Meghan – he meant it. 

It is 7 years later.  My daughter is a far cry from that sensory sensitive, sickly, silent, little girl we brought him in 2005.  We have gone through countless lab tests, various diets, vitamin and mineral supplements, prescription and non prescription medication.  He has seen us through her gall bladder attacks, and has answered my texts and Emails at the most obscene hours.

Progress.  At a cost.

Not just a financial cost, but an emotional one too.  And now we hit a crossroads again.  Progress is at a standstill in many ways.  (Not in the bright, articulate, funny girl, but in other ways people don’t see.)  The strep is returning to life on a regular basis.  Her development is not agreeing with her hormone tests.  Her belly bothers her, and she needs medicine to help her sleep.

I spoke with him at length today.  He wants me to see a very intelligent nutritionist in NJ for a very specific test.  It will uncover some of the “mysteries” we are missing, he says.  We are past the point where we can look at her and treat her.  She appears well, but there are too many things that don’t make sense.

What about the Cowden’s I ask?  What about the PTEN?  Isn’t that the cause?

To which he gives me the honest, “I don’t know.  There isn’t enough research.” 

But, he insists what he does know, is that we will gain a wealth of information from this test.

It is costly, and there is no guarantee the insurance will cover it.  But, she is worth it, and we will likely set it up.  The question is when?

School starts in a week and a half.  I have 2 appointments tomorrow, she has 2 Monday, and another Weds.  There comes a point where we have to stop running like this.

The Carousel in Ocean City, NJ

When I was a little girl we vacationed in Ocean City New Jersey.  I used to like the carousel, but I wasn’t as daring as my sister – who would lean over and reach out for the rings.  I liked to hold on – tightly.

Some things haven’t changed.

I think about this carousel as well, moving in circles, sometimes seeming to get nowhere.

I find all these appointments all consuming, almost overwhelming.

Then I stop and think – it’s not about getting there, it’s about enjoying the ride.

Progress will come…

You STILL don’t LOOK sick (reblog from 5/26/12)

Published on by beatingcowdens1 Comment

We are headed home tomorrow from a wonderful family vacation. I will have lots of lovely things to tell you about the fun we had and the great people we encountered. Unfortunately there are still some ignorant people… even here, who do not realize you can look perfectly healthy and still be “sick.” There were a few times… especially today when the monorail operator gave us an attitude when we asked for a ramp into the handicap accessible car (even though her chair is clearly marked as a wheelchair.) People can be so frustratingly ignorant. She notices now, and it bothers her, but she is awesome, and she tells me she hopes they never know what it’s like because no one should feel this way. So here it is one more time…

beatingcowdens's avatarbeatingcowdens

“You don’t look sick!”

If I had a dollar for every time someone directed that comment at my daughter or I, I would be retired – a wealthy woman.

We don’t “look” sick.  As a matter of fact we look alike.  A lot alike. It’s probably due to the fact that I, having the ‘honor’ of being the first in my family known to have the PTEN mutation that causes Cowden’s Syndrome.  To look at us, you would see a vibrant mother and daughter duo – 8 and 38.

When I push her through Disney World in her modified wheel chair each summer, I get the stares that say “spoiled.”  When I pushed her through the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer walk last fall so we could support my mom, a survivor, someone actually said “Why don’t you get the ten year old out of the stroller?”  Actually she is 8, and she would…

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What do these three have in common?

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Many simple species, such as the star fish, have the ability to regenerate severed appendages. [©Jupiter Images, 2008]
Many simple species, such as the star fish, have the ability to regenerate severed appendages. [©Jupiter Images, 2008]
The leopard gecko, like many other lizards, is able to voluntarily shed its tail as a strategy to escape predation. These lizards are able to develop a replacement appendage through epimorphic regeneration that resembles the original, complete with nerves, blood vessels, and skeletal support.
Days after the tonsils were removed in 2008

So, what do these three have in common?   Give up?  I bet a few of my Cowden’s Syndrome friends could guess…

They all can regenerate tissue that has been removed!

Except the first two tend to do it in a much more productive way.

I had heard tell that lymphoid tissue (especially the thyroid and tonsils) could regrow – especially in Cowden’s Syndrome patients.  (It makes sense in a way, PTEN is a tumor suppressor gene that is broken, so cellular overgrowth is common.) But, I chose to ignore it.

Sometimes ignoring things for awhile allows you to deal with other things.

When Meghan had her tonsils and adenoids COMPLETELY removed in May of 2008 she was in the middle of a 12 week strep infection.  Three months of antibiotics, and they were still pulling “heavy positive” cultures every 2 weeks.  By the time they were to be taken out she was admitted for several days of antibiotics prior for fear of rheumatic fever.  She was a chronic, almost constant strep sufferer.

Then for about 2 years – nothing.  No strep.

I don’t remember the first time it came back.  It was about 2 years ago.  A full year before I ever heard of a PTEN mutation, or had any idea what Cowden’s Syndrome had in store for us.  I thought it was odd, the strep coming back without the tonsils, but I chalked it up to a rotten immune system.

Slowly the cases have become more frequent.  It is almost constant.  We don’t leave the pediatrician without a throat culture and a script for an antibiotic.  Not all the cultures come back positive, but you can tell.  The food avoidance, the tough time swallowing, the swollen glands, the puss in the throat.  You just know.

Lately it has been about once every 3 weeks.  Way too many antibiotics to be good for anyone, but strep is way to serious to ignore.  So, we keep treating, and wondering.

Today we had a routine visit to the oncologist.  I mentioned the strep.  She looked in the throat.  She said, “Have you ever considered having her tonsils out?”

That’s when I knew we were in trouble… again.

Guess I should schedule that visit to the ENT!

Mommy is on a mission…

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I am dating myself now, I know.  I was definitely one who watched the “A-Team” in the 80s. 

I have no real idea as to how my subconscious works, but tonight as I sat through a few hours of sorting out that $750 bill, I kept thinking of Mr. T.

I PITY THE FOOL WHO MESSES WITH THE MOM OF A MEDICALLY FRAGILE CHILD!

I have it all straightened out.  Clipped together and ready.  It took me 2 hours, but I figured out the billing error they obviously haven’t rectified in 3 years.

I know exactly what they need to do.  But tomorrow I think I will mess with them a bit.  Make them send me a few detailed, itemized bills.  Then, after they send it all to me, I will let them know if they bill my medical, not my hospitalization (like it says in the fine print) they will get paid the deductibles they are looking for.  See, we are fortunate enough to have 2 insurances, and smart enough to use them.

No doubt we could pay the bill if we had to.  But, why?  There will be something else… like superhypoallergenic sunscreen… that I can better spend it on.

Tomorrow.    I will start with the garden.  Move on to the billing department, and finish by calling Boston, all before PT at 11:45. 

No time for tears of frustration tomorrow.  I am a Mommy on a mission.

Photo: LOVE THIS! <3

The Mommy Monster is BACK!

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The “Mommy Monster” is back in focus – eye on the prize!

See…  all it really takes is for the wrong person to tick me off, and the tears just dry right up!

 We went out today.   I told you I like Saturdays.  Family days.  No doctors.  We went to visit my parents, and my grandparents.  Saw my sister and my nephews.  Then we spent the afternoon with friends at a birthday party for  3 year old twins.  Good times. I was even able to eat a slice of pizza.  I have had less than no appetite these last few months, so I was impressed. Feeling pretty good we got home around 6 – and took in the mail. 

   Mail symbol

 It was clearly a bill, but I wasn’t prepared for it to read $750, “previous balance.”  Followed by an admonishment that we should pay immediately. 

Again I repeat, “HAS EVERYONE LOST THEIR EFFIN MINDS?” 

There are things we don’t do in this house.  We never give money to phone solicitors, and we NEVER pay a non itemized bill – ever.  Not even if it is for $7.50. 

So I went down to my very thick “pending” file, to find that on November 29, 2010 (because this is for surgeries in December of 2009 and April of 2010) I sent them a LONG and detailed letter with all the EOBs attached, stating why I owe them nothing. 

Really, stupid people who choose not to do their job, and make work for other people REALLY annoy me!

As I got all fired up for Monday’s battle, I noticed the answering machine was flashing.

Checking the message I saw it was a Massachusetts number.  At 4:30 PM today, apparently Dr. K from Boston was in his office reviewing Meghan’s MRI.

I sent him the report yesterday after my visit in NYC.  I also sent him a cover letter which essentially said, what Dr. R had concluded – that there was no mass in the knee, and that Meghan is still having some pain in the knee.  I closed the brief cover letter by asking him to keep the report in her file should I need him at some point in the future.   I made a point of telling him “If I do not hear from you I will assume you are in agreement with Dr. R’s findings.”

SURPRISE!  More opinions weighing in from up north in Boston.

 Dr. K’s message said the knee MRI “looked good” in terms of him not seeing blood on the joint.  He said, ” I know what you wrote about Dr. R not seeing a mass.  I just think if she has symptoms you should bring her to me for evaluation.  Give it another few weeks and come up in the early fall.”  (Sure…. no conflict with the school calendar there)

Sunrise over Childrens Hospital

 Relieved to hear the “old boys club” doesn’t supersede professional opinion in this case. 

As for  what happens next – who knows?  Every day is a great adventure for sure.  At least the Mommy Monster is back in full swing.  Looking forward to fighting the good fight Monday morning. 

I will probably call Dr. K – just to be clear on his thoughts too. It’s Saturday night.  Monday’s agenda is set.  And I have set my own internal countdown to Disney – the family vacation.  Keeping my eye on the prize.  God willing the doctors can’t find us there.

 Headed to bed now.  Tomorrow I will take my family to a cute little church a few miles away from the one I grew up in.  The people I love aren’t there, but they are nice people too.  And we will thank God for the blessings that have come from a week of ups and downs.  

Cowden’s Syndrome is exhausting… but we can take it!

I really wish I had kept my broken genes to myself!

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Apparently this has become like a sleeping pill to me.  This is the place I go at night, to sort out all the emotions of the day before I can try to find some rest.  I can’t imagine that will do anything to gather more readers, but it is certainly helping my sanity.

I am trying to find the balance, for both my daughter and myself.  The balance between being properly scanned and “on top” of all our countless risks, while not letting doctors take over our lives.  Because the truth is, they don’t know a whole heck of a lot about Cowden’s Syndrome.  Most of them don’t care to find out, and the few that do, well – I will let you know.  I think we have 3 between us that seem truly willing to learn.

So today I took Meghan to the vascular surgeon.  The same doctor that has embolized the AVM in her knee 4 times.  The same doctor who in February, right after the 4th procedure, handed me the name of a doctor in Boston.  “We just drained  30 ccs of blood from under your daughter’s kneecap.  I don’t know why it was there.  You should go meet with this doctor and see what he has to say.  He will likely want to put a scope under her kneecap after she has healed.” 

After ascertaining it wasn’t an emergency, but not something we should sleep on, we met Dr. K in Boston over the April break.  He examined her, without the CD images that I had pleaded with the NY doctor to send up 3 weeks PRIOR to our appointment.  He said he wanted to keep an eye on it, and to repeat the MRI/MRA in 6 months.

So we did.  And on Monday the PA who had been in the OR with the surgeon and my daughter 4 times tried to tell me there was nothing in her knee.

Today, armed with a 2 page report and the paper the surgeon gave me in February with the Boston doctor’s name on it, we went for our visit.

I am still confused by the number of inconsistencies that happened in one small room.  The surgeon began by taking back his concern from February and telling me he just wanted the Boston doctor to get a baseline on Meghan “just in case.” 

Which, I though to myself, I am sure is true because I definitely would have made a 5 hour drive 4 weeks after a double mastectomy if he was so nonchalant.

Then, he held to his story that there was nothing in her knee.  Even as I pointed to an obvious bump he told me it was nothing.  I questioned him on the report, the one that says there is a stable 2.8 x0.7cm mass.  He told me he reviewed the CD and disagrees with the report.  Even as I told him I found the report to be strikingly similar to the December report, he offered to sonogram the knee to confirm “nothing.”  On sonogram he said there is a gathering of tissue (do I need to define mass?)

So, he said to bring her back in 6 months.  They will reevaluate.  Then we will repeat the MRI in a year.

Have I mentioned I cry when I am frustrated?

Well somewhere about 10 minutes into the conversation, when he was busy changing his story and disagreeing with the report I got overwhelmed.  Shouldn’t have done it, but I cried.  Fatal mistake.  I now look like a complete ass, when that is his job.  And he does it better than I ever could.  He actually had the nerve to lecture me that I would make my daughter upset.  I still can’t believe I took that.  (Still stewing!)  AND, I shot Meghan th evil eye to keep her quiet and remind her of her manners.

I HATE the crying thing.  I have been working on it for years.  UGH!

You know I wasn’t crying because i was sad.  I actually was really relieved at the thought that no surgery was necessary.  I was frustrated by arrogance, lack of clarity, and overall lack of concern for my daughter the whole person.

See, no one else knows the tears she sheds about this damned knee.  The things she can not participate in, or the modifications she has to make just to avoid pain.  She does them effortlessly.  Every day.  No one knows except me.  And it kills me.

So when we were leaving I tried to find the bright side.  I said, “See, at least you won’t need knee surgery this year.”  To which my far too bright, soon to be 9 year old responded, “I am not sure. To me surgery makes it worse, and not having surgery means no one is going to do anything to make it better. Guess my knee is going to feel this awful forever!”

Now I could have tried to tell her that maybe it will be better by itself, but I respect her way too much, because as much as I would love to believe it – I don’t.

AVMs are difficult to deal with anyway.  When you combine them with a PTEN mutation, they are ridiculous to control.

Just one aspect of a multifaceted disease.

I really wish I had kept my broken genes to myself.

You can’t make this up…

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So I waited, again, all day for the phone call about the knee.  I put in my reminder call at 10 this morning and again at 4pm.  I was told they would look it over after their patients.

The call came at 5:20.  It was from the surgeon’s PA who does know Meghan and has sat in on her cases from the start.  The doctor doesn’t make the phone calls- ever.  I must admit for some reason I did not tell the PA that I was holding a copy of the report as she spoke to me.  I really wanted to hear what she had to say.

Actually what I REALLY wanted, was to hear, “You have a stable AVM.”  Let’s look at it again in 6 months.  I would have been jumping up and down.  I am beginning to like ” 6 months.”

That is what I was ready for – but this is what I got…

“We reviewed your daughter’s MRI and it is normal.”

NORMAL?

“Yes it is a normal MRI.”

DO YOU MEAN THERE IS AN AVM THERE THAT JUST ISN’T GROWING?

“No we don’t see an AVM.”

THEY TOOK 5000 IMAGES (and that this point I wanted to shout that the damned report cites a 2.8 x0.7cm mass, but I didn’t) ARE YOU SURE YOU LOOKED AT ALL OF THEM?

“Yes, there is no evidence of an AVM.  I know you wanted Dr. K in Boston to review these images..”

NO, I NEVER EVEN KNEW THERE WAS A DR. K IN BOSTON UNTIL YOU TOLD ME TO CONSULT HIM! SHOULD HE REVIEW THE IMAGES?

“That is up to you.”

WELL WHAT ABOUT THE FACT THAT THERE IS A PALPABLE  MASS ON THE INSIDE OF HER RIGHT KNEE ABOUT THE SIZE OF A PEANUT?

“Oh, you should bring her in so we could look at that.”

IT HAS ALWAYS BEEN THERE!!

“Bring her in so we could look at it.”

(In my own mind…you have a CD ROM with 5,000 images.  You have a report that says there is a mass, but yet somehow you pointing to it and saying, Yep that’s a mass is going to make this better?)

I walked for about 2 hours after this call.  It took that long to shift my emotions from irate to angry.

Once again with my back against a wall, I will call tomorrow for an appointment.

Another wasted day in NYC with its pricey parking garages, and doctors that are supposed to really give a crap.  Another day of summer burned for nothing.

Starting to feel like I am in the Twilight Zone.

Thanks PTEN.  Thanks Cowden’s Syndrome.  I like you about as much as Dr. R. – and right now that isn’t saying much!