And then THIS happened…

And in the middle of the summer that wasn’t, Meghan’s drama teacher was out doing her thing, inspiring my daughter to step out of her comfort zone and reach new heights.  I LOVE the drama teacher.  And I LOVE that my girl has no fear.

Summer play.  Broadway scenes.

She is SO NOT defined by Cowden’s Syndrome… Not today, not ever.

Kudos to my Mary Poppins, and the whole cast.  (Even on their crackly public school microphones!)

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I LOVE that she has an outlet that she enjoys so much.  I LOVE that she smiles on the stage.  I really LOVE everything about the peace it brings to her.

This passion, this will help her as she works at BEATINGCOWDENS!

To the Middle School Girls Who Doubt My Daughter…

July 20, 2015

To the Midle School Girls who doubt my daughter’s medical conditons:

I want to start by telling you, I know it’s not your fault.  You are generally healthy.  You were raised by people who are generally healthy.  You get sick.   It gets better.  You want your share of attention.  You resent that sometimes my daughter needs a little extra help in the halls.  It’s not fair that sometimes she needs to sit out of Physical Education.  You are tired too, right?  It doesn’t seem fair that she needs to leave early from the class right before lunch.  You’d like to stretch your legs too.  Why does she “get” to being her own food everywhere?  And is she really “allergic” to all those foods?  Because she doesn’t seem “allergic,” and why does her food wrapper say “milk” when she’s “allergic to milk?  She must be lying, right? Looking for attention again?  Why does she get to leave early so often?  You’d like to get out of last period too.  I get it.  I understand.  You look at people who look sick, and you are probably really compassionate.  Except now that you’re older, it’s time for me to let you in on a well kept secret.

Not everyone who IS sick, LOOKS sick.

Take a moment and process that.

Now I’d like to tell you a little about my daughter.  The real Meghan.  Not the one you always see, but the one I see.  The one who I have kissed before 13 surgeries, as she left me for the operating room.  The one I have slept beside for nights on end as she gets poked and prodded in hospital after hospital.  The one who has shed tears of pure frustration and anger over the things that have been restricted from her life.  The one who longs for you to understand, but will not talk about it in depth, for fear that she will isolate you, or worse, that you really won’t care at all.

Let me tell you about the Meghan who knows your problems.  The one who genuinely hopes you, and your head cold, stomach virus, sick grandmother, and hurt ankle are all ok.  The one who understands deeply your anxiety about getting a blood test.  The one who “gets it” on levels you’ll never understand.

Let’s talk about the paraprofessional.  While she has been blessed with the classiest, most professional women through the years, do you think for a moment she WANTS to need help?  Do you think she WANTS an adult escorting her through the halls?  Think about that for a minute.  She doesn’t WANT to be different.  Six knee surgeries, and a Rare Disease diagnosis have taken that option from her.

And about the trips to the nurse.  Any idea how annoying it must be to have to detour to a nurse to hand you medication before you can eat anything at all?  Any idea what it is like to never be spontaneous about just grabbing a bite of something?  Because your body simply doesn’t make the enzymes it needs to digest food without help.

Please don’t even get me started on the cafeteria.  In our house her Dad is a masterful cook, who makes eating gluten, dairy and soy free taste fabulous.  But, out of the house?  Not so easy.  You want to know about her allergies?  About how she can be “allergic” to milk and eat a product that contains milk?  I get your confusion.  But, here’s a tip; when you are confused, ASK, don’t assume.  She’ll probably willingly share the reasons with you if you are actually interested.

She spent a large part of her very young years vomiting a lot.  Sometimes so much that she ended up in the hospital.  Her stomach hurt all the time, and she even had to have her gall bladder taken out when she was 3.  She had ear infections all the time and her head was full of fluid.  She didn’t talk much, (I know – hard to believe) because her head was clogged up.  She cried because she hurt so badly.  She was allergy tested for lots of things.   Nothing came up.  Nothing at all.  Then I used my brain.  And my instincts.  And we targeted some foods.

And do you know what we learned?  We learned that without milk, she doesn’t get ear infections.  And she learned how to talk right away.  And her head stopped being so full all the time.  And she could rest.

Then I kept looking.  And I learned that soy, in its purest form, caused a rash all over her body.

And when I took out gluten, slowly her joints began to ache less and less, and I was able to decrease the medication she needed just to walk up the steps onto the school bus.

Are they “allergies” in a technical sense?  No, I guess not. But, they are just as important.  I am forever grateful that she doesn’t carry the danger of anaphylactic shock, but she does have the ability to end up in the hospital from dehydration after vomiting for days when she eats certain foods.  Even strawberries.  Or anything with seeds.  Or anything too greasy.  Or cross contaminated.  (Like last year in DISNEYWORLD when we needed a doctor after a FULL day in the hotel vomiting.)

So the meal bars she eats at lunch, yes they say, “conatins milk.”  But, you know what?  They agree with her.  She doesn’t love them, but she eats them for NUTRITION, so she can function through the day.  The “milk” in there is primarily undenatured WHEY protein from NEW ZEALAND where the cows are GRASS FED and roam free.

Why would she be anything less than honest about not being allowed to have regular milk products?  Do you know she has never had ice cream from the ice cream man?  I have to send her own pizza and chips and cake to parties.  Do you think she doesn’t want the donuts and cookies, and hot pretzels in the cafeteria or at fairs?  Does that really make any sense?  Ask yourself of all the things to be less than truthful about, does that even enter into logic?

And about physical education.  Let’s talk about my daughter trapped in a body that likes to betray the athlete inside of her.  Let’s talk about the young lady who can run like the wind, but might trigger a bleed of the vascular malformation in her knee, and at the very least will pay in excrutiating pain.  The girl who wants to play longer and harder than any of you, but can’t.  The child who craves the idea of just coming in in a gym uniform and competing, for better or for worse, all the time.  But, she can’t.  Because the surgeon said not yet.  And even when she’s able to join in, it will likely be on a restricted basis.  Let’s talk about the girl who won’t run Main Street in Disney because she will have to navigate the parks confined to a wheelchair.  Walking more than about 1/2 mile consecutively is too stressful on the knee.

Oh, and the tired.  Yep, you are tired too.  I get it.  You were up late last night.  Probably watching a movie, or doing something fun.  So you are tired. But, she went to bed at a decent hour.  Hers is a different tired.  Hers is the tired that comes from a body that refuses to accept the synthetic thyroid hormones as normal.  Hers is from a body that makes a hobby out of defying her.  You’re both tired.  But, it’s not the same.  Trust me.

This is the girl who stays on stage during drama even if it kills her.  Even if the pain is at its greatest intesity, because no one has restricted her there, yet.

This is a girl who gets to swim practice as consistently as she can, so that she can feel, “normal,” while she pushes through the water.  This girl has to go to PT 2x a week just to get into the pool.  This is the girl who overcame emergency surgery in November of last year for a bleed in her knee to qualify for Silver Championships 2 months later on raw nerve.  This is the girl who took less than 2 weeks off from swimming after her knee surgery in May.  Because she WANTS to play.

And all those times I pick her up early.  It’s not for a manicure/pedicure.  Turst me.  See, Meghan has a rare disease called Cowden’s Syndrome.  She’d be happy to tell you more about it.  She got it from me.  It causes non-cancerous, and cancerous growths to grow all over the body.  She’s been lucky so far, and even though it was a close call when they removed her whole thyroid last February, she is to date a “previvor,” (one who has surgery to remove genetic cancer risks.)  But, there is a doctor, and often a surgeon, for just about every body part.  There are MRIs and scans, and hours travleing to Manhattan.  No, not to museums, but to NYU, Sloan Kettering, Lenox Hill, and St. Luke’s Roosevelt.  We do the hospital tour.  The average round trip is 4 hours, usually after a long day of school.

This is a girl who has watched her mother undergo surgeries she shouldn’t have to think about yet.  This girl has had her mother diagnosed with cancer when she was in 3rd grade.  This girl has the same genetic condition as her mother, and the same cancer risks.  Some days she has a lot on her mind.

Meghan is not perfect.  I know this, and so does she.  And if you have a problem, talk it out.  Sometimes you’ll be right, and sometimes she will be.

Just don’t assume things.  There’s a saying about that… and it’s all true.

You see invisible illnesses, like Cowden’s Syndrome are very, very real.

Meghan is only one of MANY people you will meet in your life who “don’t LOOK sick.”  They would ALL benefit from your compassion.

Constant doctors appointments, scans, and blood tests, are not where we want to spend such a giant chunk of our lives.

Food allergies is a term we use to protect her from ignorant or uneducated people who think sensitivities and intolerances are not serious.  Forgive me the word adjustment.  It’s necessary to ensure her safety.

You see the hardest part about all this for me, is not being able to give you this speech in person.  For the last 12 years I have been her voice, her mouth, her protector.  Now, on top of everything else she has to handle, she has to find her own way of speaking about all of this.  She has to find her own comfort zone.

And I have to watch.

My confidence in with my daughter.  She will pick the right friends.  She will speak up at the right times.  She will learn all about herself.  She will become her own best advocate, to you and to the world.

And once she has figured all that out, you’ll realize she’s a pretty fun kid to have around.

Don’t worry, she’ll pack her own snacks.

Sincerely,

Meghan’s Mom

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“She’s so unusual…” and Other Ironies

This is quite a garble of thoughts… good luck!

** This blog was written over 2 days.  The BLUE type was written today, Sunday July 19th, and the BLACK type is from Saturday, July 18th.**

I’ve been asked by people who read this blog, several lately, “How do you stay so UP, all the time?”  Sometimes I find that question to be the biggest irony.  I struggle often, and deeply.  The whole purpose of this blog is a candid description of our journey with this beast called “Cowden’s Syndrome.” Let none of you ever imagine for a minute that we are “UP” all the time, cause it’s just not true.

But, as difficult of a road as this is, I have tried always to remain acutely aware of the connections we have to others, and the never-ending reality that “everyone has something.”

everyone you meet

So often my writing is where I work it out.  I type.  I think.  I read and reread.  And, cheaper than a therapy session, I am able to tease away the negativity and find the focus I need.  And when I am unsure, and it just doesn’t sound right.  I wait.  Just like I advise people to think before they speak, “Is it true? Is it kind?  Is it necessary?”  I try to think before I publish.  So last night I sat wrestling with this.  And I never hit publish.

From “Corner of the Sky,” Pippin soundtrack

Everything has its season
Everything has its time
Show me a reason and I’ll soon show you a rhyme
Cats fit on the windowsill
Children fit in the snow
So why do I feel I don’t fit in anywhere I go?

So again we hear, “That’s really unusual.”  “I’ve never seen that before.”  “Typically…”  And I chuckle, in frustration and in the irony of it all.

This time it was at the dentist.  Meghan felt something in the back of her mouth.  An X-ray revealed an impacted wisdom tooth.  She’ll be 12 next month.  The consult with the oral surgeon is on the 29th, two days after she meets with the hand surgeon (again) to discuss the vascular lesion on her palm.  Her abdominal sonogram to screen for Cowden’s related issues is on July 31st.

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This week someone will call me with the name of a foot and ankle surgeon, suggested by the orthopedist who did her knee surgery based on her foot pain and size discrepancy.  Who really knows where that will lead?

I’ve got a bone density test set for Monday, to determine if 30 years of thyroid medication, and early menopause forced on by a hysterectomy at 38, has depleted my bone density.  My next phone call needs to be to the vascular surgeon.  He had some success with the right leg in February.  The left leg is in dire need now.  That is as soon as I can settle the errors on the anesthesia bill.

The number for the “Skin Cancer Screening Clinic” at NYU sits on my desk.  Meghan and I both need to be scheduled.

I just finished completing the papers for her medication for the 2015-2016 school year.  They are copied, one is filed, and one is set to be mailed Monday.

We’ve started to discuss, the two of us, dates for the 2016 “Jeans for Rare Genes” fundraiser.  We’ve got some neat ideas.  It passes the time.

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For the second year in a row, Meghan was nominated for the Global Genes Project “Teen Advocacy Award,”  and although she did not win, it is an incredible honor to be making a noticeable difference at such a young age.  One day we will take her to California for the Global Genes Advocacy Summit.  One day her vision of a denim ribbon necklace will come to fruition.  One day.  But not this year.  Because this year I am trying to schedule vascular surgery that weekend.  Because we have to prioritize.  Right?

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I have set some fitness goals this summer.  I am setting a 10,000 step a day minimum.  I am aiming for at least 5 miles a day.  My dog is in the cross-fire of this goal.  She is my walking partner.  Because she likes to walk – but maybe not quite that far- and she can’t really say no.

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I am always struck by the ironies in life.  I am stronger than I have been in years.  In many ways I am healthier.  I have found Isagenix, and I feel better.  Stronger.  More resilient. More able to cope with life’s obstacles.

Which is good.  Because life has a tendency to be really isolating.

I suppose we all feel that way sometimes.  And many of us feel that way most of the time.  But, sometimes that is little consolation.

I am grateful not to fit in with the Moms of really sick kids.  I don’t envy them at all.

But, I can’t find a spot with the Moms of mostly healthy kids either.  Unless I don’t talk much.

Cause talking about a “healthy sick kid” is confusing, and frankly more than most people can, or choose to process.

I want to spend time with people my own age.  I have lots and lots of people I like, but not too many friends to get together with.  Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to just get together.  And chat.  Maybe over lunch, or dinner, or drinks.  Or maybe have a barbecue, or even a night with other couples.  Where everyone socializes.  And no one is overly worried about anything.  But we end up declining the few invitation we get because something always seems to be in the way.

This life is isolating.  The constant doctor’s appointments, surgeries, food allergies, medical bills, prescription drug battles, mobility restrictions, have made us difficult to “hang out” with.  And I get it.  And it doesn’t make me mad.  Because it is what it needs to be right now.  And there are friends I talk to and text with.

Do not misinterpret this as a need or a desire for pity, or sympathy, because it couldn’t be farther from that.  What I write here is a simple representation of facts that are.  They just are.  And maybe one day they won’t be.  But, I have already learned not to wish life away, not even the uncomfortable parts.

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But on nights like tonight, when two decks on my block are lit up with social gatherings, I find that I long for summer days of freedom.  I crave careless, schedule free days.  I dream of getting up one morning, and hopping in the car with Meghan and just going somewhere far away from doctors and hospitals.

Just like the curly haired people who wonder about straight hair, I wonder. But, even as I wonder, in my heart I know this journey is taking us somewhere.  Somewhere with an end I can not see.  There are stops along the way to make us stronger, wiser, and more patient.  There are lessons on empathy and compassion to be learned.  There are experiences that will turn us into the people we were meant to be.  The road is long and winding.  Sometimes the climb is tough.  But, but the view, when you really stop and look, is amazing…

Rivers belong where they can ramble
Eagles belong where they can fly
I’ve got to be where my spirit can run free
Got to find my corner of the sky…

I ended last night feeling lonely, and lost.  The song from Pippin had been in my head all day, resurrected from memories of ages ago.  Yet, I couldn’t shake it.  Where do I go?

This morning Meghan was well.  She woke up well, and early enough to make a two-hour morning swim practice, which she completed.  I had time to walk a few miles near the pool.  The sun was beautiful, and the air wasn’t quite that warm yet.  There were birds singing happily, and flowers to appreciate.

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After swim we made it to church.  It had been a few weeks since we were able to get ourselves there.

And in the bulletin I was met with a quote,

“I know I cannot enter all you feel

nor bear with you the burden of your pain

I can but offer what my love does give – 

The strength of caring, the warmth of one who seeks to understand.

This I do in quiet ways – that on your lonely path you may not walk alone.” – Howard Thurman

There was a basket of rocks where we were instructed to take one to represent us.  The rocks were placed in a bowl, and water would surround those rocks symbolizing the love of Christ.  Stories were told, personal and biblical, about love and caring for the physically, and emotionally wounded.  

We were invited to choose other rocks, to represent people we loved, who had needs weighing heavy on our hearts.  As I chose mine my eyes were full of tears.  Not of sadness for those people, but of the promise that they are also enveloped in the love of God.  My hand was full, I must admit, and I took a few moments to say a prayer over each rock as I placed it in the water.  And then, tears of pride, as I saw my daughter had selected her own “rocks” to pray over.

The closing hymn (words and music by Marty Haugen, 1987) began like this;

“Healer of our every ill, light of each tomorrow, give us peace beyond our fear and hope beyond our sorrow… You who know our fears and sadness, grace us with your peace and gladness, spirit of all comfort fill our hearts…”

And the idea that we are here to “Bear one another’s burdens,” permeated my heart.

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I am not “UP” by my doing at all.  I treat my body well.  I treat my mind well.  And I allow my soul to be cared for.

My peace comes from the knowledge, the belief, the conviction that we are guided by a loving God.  That all things are not mine to know, and that through His grace alone we have the strength to remain,

“BEATINGCOWDENS!”

#beatingcowdens #collegebound

No, she’s not going yet.  And actually even the thought that she will truly be college bound only 6 summers from now makes me a bit queasy.  But, there will be time to deal with that later, and milestones to cross along the way.

For tonight, we celebrate what we hope will be the first of many college scholarships.  While the amount is small, and the $1,000 will likely not even cover the cost of her first semester’s books, the honor is great, and the concept that these things can start now is mind-blowing.

The link below only connects you to the search page, where you would have to put in her name and state to search for “Regional Winners,”  but the picture shows a snapshot of the reasons for selection.

Regional Winner - Kohl's Cares Scholarship 2015
Regional Winner – Kohl’s Cares Scholarship 2015

Search for Scholarship Winners using this link.

The award is held by Kohl’s and paid to her “undergraduate institution” upon enrollment.  It sounds so formal.  So fancy.  So far away.

But, it’s not.  And time will fly.  I know this.

So I run as much as I can, getting to every doctor, and as many swim practices, and drama sessions as I can.  She maintains her really high average with minimal input from home.  And I bring the computer to swim practice.  So I can write.  And stay sane.  And cherish the little things, which in fact are DEFINITELY the BIG GIANT things.

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Tonight it’s not about being sick.  It’s about being well enough to overcome.  It’s about determination to persevere.  It’s about a desire to make life better for others.

Determination

She is talking actively about how she will make next year’s fund raiser better.  Her goals.  She has some other things in the works too.  The brain is always going.

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She is steering this ship.  I am her happy co-pilot.  Along for the ride of my life.

Together we are BEATINGCOWDENS, and we WILL NOT be stopped.

 

“I Am From” – Guest Blogger Meghan

I Am From

by Meghan

I am from Love

I am from mutts barking at night

I am from swims in the backyard pool

I am from hospitals and procedures

I am from suffering

I am from anticipation of how my life will survive

I am from anguish after surgery

I am from crying in the hospital at night

I am from fear of not being strong enough

 take pride in your pain

I am from doctors saying this cannot be

I am from hearing that I am unusual

I am from paralyzing fear of iv’s and needles

I am from being cast out for my pain

I am from fear of not surviving from the pain

 Just-Tired

I am from baby blue walls

I am from a home that cares for me

I am from a room of toys so big it’s like a store

I am from a home with clouds as chairs

I am from a home like a chocolate bakery

I am from the calming smell of Yankee candles

I am from the smell of brand new books

I am from the pool

I am from the thrill of swimming

I am from competition

I am from Wagner Aquatics and CSI

I am from the relief that comes with butterfly

keep-calm-and-swim-butterfly

I am Lori

And Felix

I am from Barbra

And Leon

I am from the Ortegas

And I am from the Thompsons

I am from many beliefs

I am from hurt and hatred

And I am from love and compassion

I am from different weather each day

I am from winter devouring sweet spring

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I am from Christmas trees going up after Thanksgiving

I am from a special Thanksgiving meal the day after

I am from August Disney trips

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 I am from spices

I am from cookies and cake

I am from avocado

I am from Isagenix

avocado

isagenix shake

I am from playing with my first dog Lucky

I am from meeting my second dog, Allie at pet smart

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I am from church at Zion and Castleton Hill

I am from the beliefs that Jesus will rise again

I am from running up to the pulpit with Lucky in tow

I am from Gandhi’s “Be the change you wish to see in the world”

be the change

I am from adventure and fantasy filled books

I am from Rick Riordan and J.K Rowling

I am from action figures and comics

I am from DC universe

I am from Wonder Woman

I am from He-Man

I am from Batman and Superman

I am from the sidekicks

I am from X-Box 360 and video games

I am from mythology

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I am from the LOVE of my family

BEATING COWDENS!

Now we’re back where we started…

“Do It Again” (The Kinks)

“Standing in the middle of nowhere,
Wondering how to begin.
Lost between tomorrow and yesterday,
Between now and then.And now we’re back where we started,
Here we go round again.
Day after day I get up and I say
I better do it again…”

The chorus to the old song rings through my head, as we prepare to return to work and school.  Eight days post-op and everything checked out just fine at the surgeon.  It’s ok to return to school, as long as she limits stairs, reduces the weight she carries, and generally takes it easy.  The surgery went well.  The recovery is moving along.  But, as with each time we’ve done this, there are no promises.  There are some cautious words.  There are some hopeful words.  This is what I have to focus on.  And I will.

But, sometimes it can be hard.

Like when you do research and turn up this page from an orthopedic clinic.  (Rosenberg Cooley Metcalf) and you do OK until you get to the bottom where it says “Recovery.”

Knee

Primary Inflammatory (Synovial) Disease of the Knee

Diagnosis

Your diagnosis is a primary inflammatory condition involving the lining (synovial tissue) of your knee joint.

Injury or Condition

This condition represents a primary inflammatory disease developing within the velvety lining (synovium) of the knee. In response to inflammation, the lining tissue can thicken and hypertrophy dramatically which may lead to chronic swelling.

Cause

The cause is often unknown. Some inflammatory diseases of the knee lining involve only the knee joint (PVNS). Other diseases like Rheumatoid Arthritis can affect multiple joints.

Symptoms

Typical symptoms are moderate to severe generalized swelling and pain about the knee. Marked swelling can be associated with stiffness usually in bending the knee. Increased warmth is felt about the knee in some cases.

Treatment

Standard treatment includes:

  1. Anti-inflammatory medication for six months.
  2. Safe exercises to improve strength without aggravating swelling.
  3. Ice, warm packs and knee balms can be used to decrease pain.
  4. Swelling can sometimes be reduced by application of elastic stockings and/or sleeves around the knee.
  5. Diagnostically, joint swelling aspiration and MRI can provide information, although it may not change the treatment.
  6. If non-surgical treatment fails, arthroscopic surgery to remove the diseased tissue (synovectomy) should be performed to limit or cure the disease.

Precautions

Important precautions:

  1. Do not aggravate swelling and warmth about your knee. Increased warmth and swelling may weaken your thigh muscles and may raise the risk of destructive changes within your knee.
  2. Do not ignore or neglect your condition. Follow recommendations and do not miss important follow-up visits.
  3. When arthroscopic synovectomy is necessary, elevate your limb very well for 48 hours and initiate full weight-bearing within the first 3 days of surgery.
  4. Avoid stress.

Recovery

As the cause is unknown in many cases, the recovery can be uncertain. Two-thirds of cases generally recover completely. Full recovery after arthroscopic surgery usually takes 3-6 months.

US Ski Team US Snowboarding
Rosenberg Cooley Metcalf Clinic“Two – thirds of cases generally recover completely.”  The math teacher in me is unhappy with those numbers.  The mother, the mother of this child, knows that she defies statistics whether they are for or against her.  She is her own special case.

Meghan spent the week on the couch, making up what seemed to be an astronomical amount of schoolwork.  Maybe it was a good distraction.  After surgery 13, the novelty of the whole thing has worn off.  Days are long.  Recovery is mundane.  People are busy.  Texting helps a bit, but the hours drag.

sigh

We got to PT this week, twice.  And already I see progress.  That’s why quality therapy is worth every minute.

So during my days home I did laundry, and caught up on some household things while I stayed close to my girl.  I also attacked “the pile.”

Busy_desk

There is a spot on my desk where all the bills, letters, invitations, flyers, and pretty much everything else goes.  I try to get to it every few days.  But mostly I don’t.  Then it overwhelms the table.  And somewhere under the pile is “the list.”  The upcoming appointments line the top.  Then there are the appointments I need to make, and the bills to be addressed that for some reason are not in “the pile.”  Today was a good day to tackle it.  I made some significant progress.

I also spent hours on the phone.  I dredged up the anesthesia bill from my surgery in February.  That took an hour.  But, it’s done for now.

I started scheduling appointments.  We tend to cluster a lot the first two weeks of the summer.  Some have been planned for months.  Some I’ve been blocking.  I got a few more in.  Then I got stuck.

In the hospital the pediatrician last week was really on my case.  She wanted to know who was “in charge” of Meghan’s appointments, check ups and surveillance.  She didn’t like that I said, “ME!”  (Maybe it was the way I said it… (grin))  But, truth be told, I really don’t like it either.

time struggle

I had to tell the endocrinologist that 12 weeks was too long to wait to repeat ANOTHER irregular lab finding last week.

Meghan’s blood pressure in the hospital was low.  Like at times crazy, scary low.  I know she was just cleared by a cardiologist, but…

And the lesion on her hand dubbed “vascular” by the dermatologist….  What to do with that?  The same dermatologist who promised the moon and the stars and the sky in November as I prepared HOURS worth of Meghan’s medical records for her.  The same doctor who said she’d help us.  That one.  Yep, she’s useless at this point too.

I was on the phone today pleading with the receptionist of one of my doctors to let Meghan come in as well.  Apparently the fact that she’s “adult size,” doesn’t matter.  I was left so frustrated I choked on a few tears.

run-clock

This Syndrome is big.  I can manage it.  I can and I will, because there is no other choice.  But, I need some help.  I need a point person.  Someone to force the doctors to listen.  Someone to gather it all into one place and make sure it makes sense.  Someone to make sure we don’t miss anything.

In desperation I emailed the genetecist who diagnosed us.  He responded within an hour.

Dear Mrs. Ortega,

I am sorry I said no need to return. I have been overwhelmed with patients but this is no excuse. I will find out the referrals needed for Meghan and we will together make a surveillance plan. And we will meet so we will document the whole process.

I feel that I am the least helpful of all the physicians because I do not provide treatments. However, I will gladly assume the role of coordinator of care for you and Meghan. 

Sincerely,

(The angel I need… I hope)

1219988821512034089Little Angel4.svg.med

I will call tomorrow to make an appointment.  I have a good feeling about this one.  Please, whatever your faith, send some prayers.  This would be huge.  Really huge, in a life-changing good way.  We are three years in and due for an overwhelming cycle of tests again I’m sure – but I know it gets easier.

I just want to keep her safe.  I want to use every tool God has given me to keep her as safe as I possibly can, so we remain BEATINGCOWDENS together.

“…Where are all the people going?
Round and round till we reach the end.
One day leading to another,
Get up, go out, do it again.

Then it’s back where you started,
Here we go round again.
Back where you started,
Come on do it again…”

Reflections on Mother’s Day – from a “Rare Disease” perspective

Dates, numbers, anniversaries, addresses, and all sorts of other numbers crowd my brain.  I’ve said this before, and I will say again, it is a blessing and a curse.  It is a good thing to celebrate accomplishments, and the anniversaries of such things.  It is dangerous territory to recall to be caught up in the negative aspects of any day.  By doing so you give it power.  And, if you are not careful you give it power over you.

beautifu;

It is a dangerous road to walk.  I have done many miles on it.  And my brain does not differentiate the “good” dates and the “bad” ones.  I remember them all.  The problem is, some fill my heart with gratitude and joy, while others seem to provoke anxiety unceasing – warranted or not.

I have never been a fan of “Hallmark” holidays.  Valentine’s Day, even after I found the love of my life, has never held any appeal.  Mother’s Day and Father’s Day don’t do much for me either.  Before you jump on me for not loving my parents, I want to share part of an interesting article I read on the history of Mother’s Day.

From:  Mother’s Day Turns 100: Its Surprisingly Dark History

“For Jarvis it was a day where you’d go home to spend time with your mother and thank her for all that she did,” West Virginia Wesleyan’s Antolini, who wrote “Memorializing Motherhood: Anna Jarvis and the Defense of Her Mother’s Day” as her Ph.D. dissertation, said in a previous interview.

“It wasn’t to celebrate all mothers. It was to celebrate the best mother you’ve ever known—your mother—as a son or a daughter.” That’s why Jarvis stressed the singular “Mother’s Day,” rather than the plural “Mothers’ Day,” Antolini explained.

But Jarvis’s success soon turned to failure, at least in her own eyes.

self love

Even Anna Jarvis did not intend the holiday as it has become.

I have epic amounts to be grateful for.  And I am.  Every day.  I think that’s why the pressure of having it all jammed into one day confuses me and stresses me out a bit.

In church we were taught, “Honor thy father and thy mother…”  I believe the meaning was every day.

So yesterday I needed to do some soul-searching.  And I think I figured a lot out.

I have a tough as nails mother.  She is the strongest woman I know.  Not a day of my life goes by that I am not grateful to her, and for her.  And I try not to let too many days go by without telling her so.  Life has taught some tough lessons, and sent some reminders about how fleeting it can be.

One of the many lessons I learned from Mom
One of the many lessons I learned from Mom

I have two grandmothers on this earth.  One I had the privilege to grow up with, and even though the recent years have been cruel to her memory, my memories of her, and of her love, penetrate my soul.

I have another grandmother, a gift to me 27 years ago, who inherited me as a teenager and allowed herself to love me.  I am so grateful for that love.

And my grandmother Gen who left for heaven in October, whose smile I can see, and whose laughter I can hear… her memory warms my heart.

I am so very thankful I did not wait to acknowledge them only once a year.

happy life

My girl is recovering from surgery.  On my couch.  In pain.  Feisty.  Looking to move.  Bored.  There would be no grand family celebrations yesterday.  My husband was fixing our deck that is literally falling apart.  A labor of love – and safety.  I stopped in for a quick visit to Mom and one Grandma.

I reflected about Mother’s Day a year ago.  Spent in the pediatric unit at RUMC.  Scared out of my mind.  Not knowing what we were up against.

Then I thought about Mother’s Day 2008.  A few days after the tonsils and adenoids came out.

Or Mother’s Day 2012, as I awaited my hysterectomy, a few weeks after my double mastectomy.

Then I thought about my friends.  The ones who have lost their moms way too early.

And the others, whose hearts yearn to be a mother, or those who ache to have larger families than they do.

My heart aches for those who have lived through the unthinkable, and have lost their own children.

Why so much pressure put on one day?

Wouldn’t it just be easier if we celebrated our Moms every day?  Instead of waiting for one day?

I know I may have an unpopular idea here, but so many unconventional things work for us.

I would never claim our lives to be “harder” or “easier” than anyone else’s.  I’m not that kind of fool.  But I will dare to say that maybe raising a chronically ill child makes it “different.”  Maybe facing life with two rare genetic diseases in the family makes me think of things in a slightly unorthodox way.

yesterday

I stick a note in my 6th grader’s lunch just about every day.  And I will until she tells me to stop.  I will remind her in as many ways as I can, of my love for her every day.

Life is scary.  Our lives are scary.  Wednesday some machines, and a very smart doctor breathed for her, for over 2 hours.  This is not a rare occurrence.  This is something that goes on regularly, for one of us.  But, they told me she was, “stable and strong,” and in those words were the best gift I could ask for.

Mother’s Day is every day.  From mother to child, and child to mother, and aunt to niece and grandparent to grandchild.  Not in the, “buy me lavish gifts or send me to the spa” sense.  But, in the, “I’m really lucky to have you.  Right now.  Today.  and thanks.  For that thing you do.  For that smile.  For that hug.  For calling me.  For calling me out. For driving me to the store.  To school.  To practice.  For driving me insane.  For making a mess.  For sometimes cleaning it up.  For sitting by my hospital bed.  For getting me ginger ale.  For helping me walk.  For making me laugh.  For never giving up on me.  For understanding I won’t be here forever.  For being my cheerleader.  For supporting me.  For listening to me.  For shutting up.  For saying just the right thing. For explaining the math.  For butterfly kisses.”

never lose hope

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Mother’s Day in our house may be low on pomp and circumstance, but it’s high on all things that matter.  Right now we’re nursing a recovery.  And it’s coming along, thank you very much.  We are incredibly proficient at this.

And as Mother’s Day 2015 drew to a close, and as we ate our gluten-free pancakes for dinner together, I was struck with the thought that I would not have it any other way.

survival

To My Daughter’s Team of Medical “Professionals…”

I went to college, and graduate school, and took 30 credits above my Master’s Degree in Education.  I earned a job as an elementary school teacher, in the school I attended as a child.  And, after 18 years on the job I still love those moments when I am alone with my students, and things just “click.”  But, nothing happens by accident.  And despite the belief that a teacher’s day ends at 3PM, many a long night has been spent with those very students in mind, planning lessons, and creatively trying to reach them where they need to be met.  I am not always successful in my execution, but I am confident in my planning and preparedness.

Because, you see that is what I was always told a professional is, and does.  You LIVE your “job.”  You are still the teacher, in the mall, in the restaurant, or even in CVS.

As a professional educator, I take pride in TRYING to meet the needs of my students at their level.  It is my responsibility to help every child, not just the easy ones.

But, lately I am wondering if every professional has that same feeling.

Now, I mean no offense to the various healthcare professionals who go above and beyond for us, and for their other patients.

It’s just, well, the rest of them.

Having Cowden’s Syndrome sometimes feels like, well like I would imagine it might feel to have a plague, or leprosy.  People, doctors, whomever, look at you tentatively.  They look with caution.  They don’t want to get too close.  They are afraid to treat what they don’t understand.

And worse – no one wants to be in charge.

We are the worst kind of liability – more dangerous than a safe full of cash or a rare artifact.

Everyone wants to see us, all the time.  But, they just seem to want to check boxes that say they’ve met their “I’ve seen a Rare Disease” quota, and send us on our way.

I am the CEO of my daughter’s medical care, and while frighteningly competent to do the job, NO ONE is listening to me.

To My Daughter’s Entire Medical Team:

You are dropping the ball here.  Someone step up and take charge.  Talk to each other.  Get your egos out-of-the-way.  LISTEN to me.  LISTEN to her.  Put her picture on her chart to remind you she is a REAL person.  

She is charming and beautiful.
She is charming and beautiful.

Believe her when she says it hurts.  Even when it is not “supposed” to.  Validate her.  

And sometimes. as unpleasant as it is to see, there is lots and lots of very real pain.
And sometimes. as unpleasant as it is to see, there is a lot of very real pain.

 

She talks a lot when she’s nervous.  Care about what she has to say.  Care that she is nervous.  Learn about her love of swimming and reading and performing.  Adapt your plan, your day, your treatment to fit MY child, just as I would do to yours in my classroom.  Treat her as a whole person.

We are tired of spending hours in the car, missing practices and play, and relaxing time, just for you to feed us a line of “maybe,” “watch that,” and “come back.”  We are tired of going places where no one wants to give us answers, or even answer our calls.

We are tired of surgery.  But we do it.  Over and over.  

It's a real person enduring those procedures.
It’s a real person enduring those procedures.

Call back when I have questions.  Like within 24 hours.  Because I carry my phone until it leaves an imprint in my hand when I wait for you.  Nothing else gets my concentration while I wait for the ring.  I carry my list for fear of missing that precious window with you.

Oh, and by the way, the foot with the AVM had stopped growing. Take a look. Someone.  Please.  It’s a bit disconcerting.

She’s hot.  Often. And at odd times. And I’m not just talking a little uncomfortable.  Anyone want to help address that one?

And yesterday the dermatologist said it’s a vascular malformation in her hand.  Another one.  Please don’t tell me it’s not all connected.  I’d rather you tell me you don’t know.

Don’t ignore her symptoms because you don’t understand them or can’t explain them.  Trust me when I tell you, she’s not making it up.  Any of it.  She spends her time trying to make the world better for other people. Isn’t it about time you all got it together and started making HER world better?  

And when the knee is at it's worst, there is still a way to press on.
And when the knee is at its worst, there is still a way to press on.

The pain in the knee is constant.  Yep, I know it “shouldn’t” hurt either.  But, she doesn’t even ask for medication anymore for fear of the same issues her last pain medicine caused in her GI tract.  She just endures.  All day.  And then she goes to drama, and then she swims, and manages an average of 97% and the National Honor Society.  She limps a bit by the end of the day.  It’s the mornings that are the toughest.

To you she is one of many.  To me she is my one and only.  And this child,  young lady, has the capability to effect great, positive change in this world.  I know you are tired.  I know your schedule is busy.  I know research takes time.  Start by listening to us.  Listen.  Care.  Let her know she matters.

Then maybe, just maybe, she’ll start to trust you.  Then, slowly, together, you can try to make her life more comfortable.  Because, with or without you, she and I are BEATINGCOWDENS together.

Sincerely,

Her Very Determined, Sick of Excuses Momma Bear!

Random Acts of Kindness

 

random-acts-of-kindness-1

With the recent ALS Ice Bucket Challenge, we have seen ingenuity lead to a spike in funds and awareness for a horrendous disease.  Fundraising for the organization is at an all-time high.  I hope, sincerely and with my whole heart, that this influx of funds is well-managed, that it gets into the hands of researchers, and that is yields major steps towards a cure for this heart-breaking syndrome.

All this awareness raising got to me this week.  We donate what we can to our church, and various charities near to us, but this week I got reflective.  I donated to ALS and three charities that were not ALS, and have nothing to do with PTEN.  My donations will not impact the world in an earth-shattering way, yet it felt good.

I’m getting my gold porch light ready for September – Childhood Cancer Awareness month.

heroes_among_us_childhood_cancer_greeting_cards_p

Other people suffer, and all of us – disease specifics not to be debated, could stand to have a cure around

But, regardless of your opinion, I think this ALS Ice Bucket thing did more than raise awareness for ALS.  I think, it increased our awareness of humanity and other people’s struggles.

random-acts-of-kindness

A few days ago in Costco I had over estimated my strength.  And as I wondered how I would get the chair into the car, two gentlemen came from nowhere.  Different places I might add, to work together to fit the chair into my car.

Then I received a card in the mail.  It had a check enclosed for us the for a charity of our choice, or something fun.   The handwritten note told me that Meghan and my story was impacting at least one life.  The need to keep sharing was renewed.

rak card

rak card2

 

And I connected on Facebook to a man who we met in Disney last year.  He and his wife and Meghan struck up a conversation on a long bus ride.  He had a service dog.  She was enthralled.  She was raising awareness of Cowden’s Syndrome.  He tried several times to send me a link to a song that made him think of Meghan.  He was finally able to get it through.  I cried.  My little girl is making a difference and this man took the time to let us know.

In the mail was a package from a friend, a former student, with a “big sister” type of compassion for my girl.  There was a letter (which wasn’t for me to read,) and a key chain for Meghan, and one for me too.

rak keychain

rak keychain2

None of these people could have known I was having a pretty tough time.  I don’t so well in chaos, and the house was absolutely upended.  In the year that everything broke, the bay window was being replaced, the house needed new… lots of things, and the leak in the pool was becoming evident.

Random acts of kindness.

random-acts-of-kindness-2012

That’s why they matter.  So much.

We try to pay it forward as much as we can.  So special to be on the receiving end as well.

Whatever the cause.  Whatever the reason.  An increased awareness of others will make the world a better place.

Do something nice for no reason.  With no expectation of anything in return.  Just because.

pay-it-forward-2014-random-act-of-kindness

Puzzle Piece

I remember being much younger and loving puzzles.  We would set them out on the table at home and everyone would take some time trying to get it going.  They were big and had lots of pieces and were often slow going at first.  Everything looked the same, and sometimes it could take hours to fit in a few pieces.

Then, over the next few days, and sometimes weeks, with everyone taking a turn, slowly the picture would start to take shape and the puzzle would come together.  It was always so exciting once you could make out the features, and so much easier to plug in the missing pieces.

puzzle 2

I remember the feeling of satisfaction as one would be completed.   There was something especially gratifying about those last few pieces.  It was that feeling of satisfaction.  We set out minds to this.  It took a few of us, but we got it done.  We figured it out – together.

By now you can probably see where I am going with this.

Today marks one year since I wrote my first blog post in 2012.

one

In one year the posts I have written have been read over 30,000 times.  People have stopped by to read some – or all of our journey with Cowden’s Syndrome.

30,000

I have met other Cowden’s Sufferers through this blog, and on the internet.  I have received messages, and corresponded with quite a few.  I have learned their stories, and heard about their puzzles.

puzzle 3

I have also “met” a few with other puzzling disorders,figuring life out and getting by one day at a time.

I am sometimes  forever humbled, and amazed by the odd and abstract idea that people who I don’t know have gotten to know us, and used us as pieces to help complete their own puzzles.

I noticed a link on my blog today from “pinterest.”  Having never been to the website, I clicked the link to find a picture of my family.  http://pinterest.com/pin/290974825894950598/

I was pleased that it was used in its proper context, and was mentioned in terms of rare diseases.  But, I was still amazed.  Someone had read, and linked, and…

Well, the possibilities are endless.  Thank goodness for the internet.

Where else would I meet people from all over the world,. and swap stories about a genetic disorder with an occurence rate of 1 in 200,000?  Where else would I find organizations like

PTEN

PTEN World https://www.facebook.com/ptenworld?fref=ts

Or

hope its in our genes

The Global Genes Project https://www.facebook.com/globalgenesproject?fref=ts

This last year of blogging has been an awakening for me.  It has opened my eyes to so many other people, their stories, and the world at my fingertips.  Since our diagnosis in the fall of 2011 it has become so important to become aware, to gain support, to advocate for others, and for ourselves.

I remember working on puzzles as a little girl.  I remember that feeling of satisfaction when the puzzle was complete and the picture was clear.

I don’t do those kind of puzzles anymore.

Now I figure out how to prepare 2,000 denim ribbons and get them distributed on time for Rare Disease Day.

denim ribbons

Now I work on helping my girl find her place in this world – trying to be a “regular” kid, yet undergoing so many more stressors than any 9 year old should.

I work on puzzles that lead us from one doctor to another, dropping them like leaves off the trees on a fall day.

I work on puzzling questions, and I persist until I get answers.

puzzle 1

I get overwhelmed sometimes – looking for the pieces I can’t seem to find.

Sometimes I want the puzzle to have its edges all done, the way I learned.  I want it to be neat.  I would like all the matching colors to go together

But, that isn’t how life is designed to be.  Not with Cowden’s Syndrome.

Not for any of us really.

Maybe it’s not a puzzle – but more of a domino game… branching off in so many different directions.  Occasionally stopped by a dead end – only to find another path.

Or maybe it’s just a puzzle of an “atypical” sort.  Not one that actually fits in a box.  One that requires patience, time, dedication and focus.

Thinking_Outside_The_Box_by_mclelun

In front of me tonight are 22 pages of blood work drawn on my daughter over the last month.  There are some definite issues.  My phone consult with her doctor is a week away.  In the mean time I am left to try to put it together the best way that I can.

I handle each piece delicately, gingerly.  I don’t want to damage anything, or miss anything either.

There is no picture, no model to duplicate.  There are no directions.  No guide.  Just instincts.  Prayer.  Love and support of friends far and near.

broken pieces into masterpieces

Tonight I will study until I can figure out one more piece.  Then there will be tomorrow.

The journey is long.  The puzzle evolves.  I am not going anywhere.

Thanks for sticking around.