PTEN – Page 20 – beatingcowdens

Collateral Damage

Published on May 4, 2013May 4, 2013 by beatingcowdens1 Comment

In regard to surgery and absences – this year has been much better for both of us… Maybe some things are looking up. (Published June 8,2012)

beatingcowdens

Collateral damageoccurs when something incidental to the intended target is damaged during an attack. (Wikipedia)

I don’t think it’s far-fetched toequate Cowden’s Syndrome to a war.

Our bodies are under attack. This PTEN (tumor suppressor gene) is broken, and we are being bombarded with cellular overgrowth in the form of all sorts of tumors – benign and malignant.

We spend our days, (and some of our nights) strategizing on how to prevent, fight, or get rid of these tumors.

It can be an all-consuming job.

When we have to have the tumors removed there is the recovery time, which can seem endless. The battle scars, which forever change the landscape of our bodies also take some getting used to.

There is the financial drain, from lost wages, and the endless battles of medical bills are a war onto themselves.

There is…

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The Day Our World Changed…

Published on April 1, 2013April 2, 2013 by beatingcowdens8 Comments

Our world changed one July day…

It was the summer of 2005 – I was the mother of an almost 2 year old. That is when the world started over, and everything began again.

At the time, she received Early Intervention Services for OT and Speech.

Our house was a busy place.

The therapists were lovely, and my babysitter was a delight. The therapists often came in and out during my work day.

They left me notes, and I caught up with the babysitter – sure that I was doing everything I could.

Then the speech therapist started coming at night. She wanted to see me more. She wanted to talk to me.

“I think you should consider food allergies,” was how she gently began the conversation.

“Meghan doesn’t have any allergies,” I replied. I had dutifully, as the pediatrician instructed, introduced foods one at a time every few days looking for any hives. That is what I knew to be allergies. So now I was sure she had none- although her face was bright red and her belly distended several times its natural size.

“Look into a gluten free diet,” I was gently prodded.

And I resisted. Every step of the way.

Finally I read the book “Children with Starving Brains” by Jacquelyn McCandless. Maybe… just maybe…

“Go and see this DAN! (Defeat Autism Now) doctor, just give him a try…” prodded the speech therapist.

“You think MY kid is on the autistic spectrum?? No way. She looks right at me when she… doesn’t say a word. And she …” Well I finished the thought without speaking. It went something like – ‘she spins around this house like a top – a complete whirlwind. She doesn’t play, stack, or interact with any toy. She cries all the time. She leans over the side of the couch because her belly hurts. She doesn’t speak at all. She doesn’t behave like any of my friends kids.”

My heart sank. I was an elementary school teacher with a Master’s Degree in Special Education. Could I have been blind to my own child’s issues?

Well, she is way too related to be autistic I told myself. But her sensory system is a mess. She can’t tolerate noises, or sand, or textures. She should be speaking. And why is her belly so big?

So I read, and I read. And I finished “Children with Starving Brains,” and I moved on to more. “Biological treatments for Autism and PDD,” “Healing the New Childhood Epidemics,” “Evidence of Harm…”

And slowly I was rocked to my core. There was a sense of gratitude for the speech therapist that had pushed just enough, and a sense of urgency for my child who I knew wasn’t autistic – yet… although there were some significant tendencies there.

So we took away milk. Honestly it happened by accident.

February 4, 2005 I was showering after my first full night’s sleep since she was born. I am not exaggerating one bit. And, as I tried to determine the cause it occurred to me we had run out of milk the day before. THAT WAS IT!

After enduring the on the floor tantrums, the crying, and the freak outs… we got rid of every dairy containing product in my house.

And, as her belly came down in size and softened up, there was this added bonus. She started to speak. I mean really speak. She went from non verbal to almost appropriate over the next 18 months. The constant antibiotics for ear infections that wouldn’t clear became a thing of the past.

But still… we were on the right road, but we weren’t there yet.

I introduced soy to supplement the milk loss, and dare I say things got worse. There was this bright red rash all over her face… and everywhere else. We quickly dropped the soy.

On to gluten. That was so tough. What a major life change. Ingredients tossed regularly. Gross food. Costs unimaginable. But we were getting somewhere. We were making major progress.

Then there was that day in early July 2005. I don’t know what set off the melt down to end all melt downs, but it was unsettling to my core. I could not soothe my child. She would not let me touch her. The screaming. The sobbing.

It was time.

I picked up the phone to look for one of those DAN! practitioners, and found that Dr. Elice in Long Island had availability that week.

Fortunately I had taped the melt down. Perhaps the best thing I ever did, because my husband was immediately on board. And its a good thing, because this venture wasn’t cheap. $1000 consult. $500 follow up, and $250 a visit after that.

I was ready. I am not sure if he met me with fear or admiration that first visit, but I presented him with a chronology of every medical document I had, tabbed, and noted. If I was going to spend that kind of money… I was going to be sure it was worth it.

Dr. Elice had been a pediatrician for 28 years before turning to DAN! He knew that something wasn’t right and something was happening to the children he cared for. So he set out on a journey to figure it out.

http://www.aimintegrativemedicine.com/team.html

Meghan was one of his very first patients, and over the last 7 years he has proved not to disappoint.

He has spent hours upon hours, listening to us, looking at lab work, getting to know Meghan, patiently explaining biochemistry, and trouble shooting her areas of greatest need first.

At the beginning we probably saw him once a month. That was back when there was a need for B-12 injections, and all sorts of lessons about metabolic pathways.

Now, he has his own office. A practice to stand behind his philosophy.

http://www.aimintegrativemedicine.com/index.html

Slowly it had become more of a 2 to 3 times a year visit. Our pancreatic enzymes that have saved so much GI distress, come from him. He used his brain. He treated what he saw. He thought outside the box. No need for a pancreatic biopsy – “Let’s just try.”

He is a far cut above those who believe to “First do no Harm.” He believes to first HELP them ALL.

We walked into his office today to familiar hugs. He has a new office since we first met. A new staff. He is helping COUNTLESS children.

Today he spoke to Meghan directly for at least the first 15 minutes we were there. Then he spoke to Felix and I. We spoke about her medications, and our concerns – although the list is so much shorter than it was 7 years ago.

He ordered lots of lab tests – to try to get to the bottom of a few things.

13 vials of blood today. We will try for the rest on Saturday. And a 24 hour urine test on the horizon.

He understands autism, and while I know many friends whose children are deeply affected, he knew that Meghan was not to be one of those kids. He knew that while she is metabolically similar, there were some significant differences. She never received a diagnosis anywhere on the spectrum of autism.

He also understands PTEN. He knows of PTEN Hamartoma Tumor Syndrome. He knows of its uncanny connection to many autistic children. He knows of its cancer risks, and its vascular issues.

And, knowing this, he will not accept Meghan’s fate as predetermined. He knows that I will continue to have her checked and scanned, but he intends to help us circumvent the inflammatory responses that will trigger a malignancy or an autoimmune response.

He will get all the lab tests. He will send them to me. We will strategize. There will be new supplements. Ones to help teach her body that it does not have to sit back and accept its fate as predetermined.

For us – he is the HOPE that we need. The balance in this rocky sea of medical storms.

He is unique in that he loves my daughter- as a grandpa more than a doctor. He is unique in the depth of his caring. He is unmatched in the extent of his love.

Almost seven years later, I shudder at where we could have been.

Today we are thankful for one of the good guys.

Thanks, Dr. Elice for working for our kids…

Good Friday – for the “first” time at the age of 9

Published on March 29, 2013 by beatingcowdensLeave a comment

I grew up taking some things for granted. And, when you are 39 it is quite easy to forget there are some things even the brightest 9 year-olds don’t know.

It has been a long week. One of doctors, and appointments. Lots of homework. Running errands to try to catch up on our lives. Felix’s grandmother, who Meghan and I barely knew, passed away this week. Emotions. Pain. The hearts hurt. The hand hasn’t healed quite yet. Physical Therapy. Lots of processing for my deep thinker.

I know Meghan knew this was “Holy Week,” if f0r no other reason, than I had told her.

She participated in the Palm Sunday Service last Sunday and understood everything in great detail.

Wednesday our church set up “stations,” where you could travel to experience Jesus‘ last days. There was fragrance, 30 pieces of silver, bread, wine, a cross to nail your sins, a stone to imagine the weight of the one in front of Jesus’ tomb. There were 13 stations in all. Each one a meaningful experience – traveled through alone or in a pair.

At each station there was a Bible passage, and a scenario. There was a way to put yourself in the situation. Meghan and I traveled most of the stations together, talking and sharing as we went. Long productive conversation that night.

We did not make service last night, but tonight, we headed into the “Good Friday” service.

I had never experienced a Tenebrae service, or a service of shadows. There was a huge cross of candles in the front, extinguished one at a time as various readings were completed.

And, knowing her so well I watched Meghan through the service become increasingly uncomfortable.

When we left and asked her about it, she told us she never knew the story of Jesus’ death. She had heard it told, but never read from the Bible. She had no idea the extent of His suffering. She was amazed that He could still love us after all the awful things that went on.

Long, long discussions. Just starting to wrap up.

My first reaction was guilt. Had I failed as a Christian mom?

Then I realized, as always, things were happening as they were supposed to.

I was learning lesson upon lesson just hearing her speak.

We are so weighed down by the earthly problems, that we sometimes forget. We sometimes lose focus.

Cowden’s Syndrome, cancer, PTEN, AVMs, viruses, surgeries, whatever the suffering,… we are children of a loving, forgiving God.

Jesus died to save us from our sins. To lighten the load. To eliminate the judgment and condemnation that sometimes weighs on our hearts – so we can concentrate on the important stuff.

And on the third day He will rise again…

How blessed are we? Sometimes I need my 9 year old to remind me.

Transitions

Published on March 28, 2013 by beatingcowdens2 Comments

Transitions.

It seems they are happening all the time, probably for everyone, but this week we are really feeling them.

When the week started and I loosely reviewed our schedule for the week Meghan was flat out disgusted at the number of appointments we had. She is tired of doctors. I can’t blame her. So am I.

Watch this. Scan that. Come back and see me about that… UGH.

Transitions.

So when she asked me to stop making every vacation full of appointments, I tried to explain to her that with two people with “Cowden’s Syndrome,” and a whole pile of “every 6 month” appointments, it is almost impossible. And then when I looked at the tears in her eyes I promised to try. “I just want a little time to be bored!” So I got a jump on our summer appointments. So far I scheduled 12 from June 27 to July 16. I have used only 6 days to do it. There is one day with 4 appointments, two days with 2, and the other 4 each have their own days. Now, as long as no one looks for any follow ups… maybe we can plan to have a somewhat normal summer. At least I can dream

Transitions.

She is also tired of homework. Even from teachers with the best of all intentions. She is tired of the stress of the upcoming State exams, even as I work to downplay it. She was so excited this week when I told her she could read whatever she wanted – whenever she wanted – without needing to write a summary. You would have thought I gave her candy. She used to love everything about school. Now the best I get from her is that she likes her teachers. What are we doing to these kids?

Transitions.

Her thumb still hurts. Injured at dance on Monday. Its been 3 days. Seems like it is going to linger. It isn’t – or doesn’t seem to be broken, but she is done dancing. She told me yesterday. She just wants to get through the recital.

Transitions. Things are ever changing.

First it was soccer – too tough on her body. Now its dance. Sometimes she can hurt herself just walking up the steps. What next?

Transitions.

No more PT in school. She doesn’t need it. Or so they say right now. We will double check just to be sure. But there is lots of PT going on. Strengthening that body. Preparing her to swim like the fish she wants to be. More testing in school when we return. Just to make sure she is getting everything she needs. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Transitions.

Holy Week services at a new church. Sunday we become members. Warmly welcomed – attending as a family. Mixed emotions that always lead to joy and confidence at the power of the Holy Spirit in our lives.

Transitions.

Our lives are full of transitions. Like the lenses on Meghan’s glasses – changing with the environment and the circumstances. We are growing together. Learning our roles. Fighting not to allow Cowden’s Syndrome to define us, but rather to find where it fits into who we are as people. We are working on our health, and our own maintenance appointments. We are learning about the effects of the syndrome, and discovering how much is not yet known.

We are finding our new roles, as people charged to raise awareness, and to spread the word.

We are figuring out where we belong. In school. In sports. In extracurricular activities. In religion. On our lives.

Big changes all around. God’s plan unfolding. Eyes and ears and heart wide open.

Transitions…

Thinking outside the box

Published on March 22, 2013 by beatingcowdens4 Comments

And so began the week that was.

A “simple” annual review – not so much. But that’s OK. Mamma Bear remained calm. I am most strategic that way.

I am however exhausted, and facing another battle.

It was a bit of a struggle to keep the chin up this week, as I often felt like her:

But, I didn’t act like her. Not even once. (Well once I cried – but I got yanked past it.) And that’s about all of that story I can share here, for now.

But these last few ~~weeks~~ months, have left me with a lot of questions.

See, there is this constant battle to do what is right, or what I perceive to be right, as I advocate for Meghan, and for my family. But inevitably, because I am so introspective – I am left with a ton of questions at every fork in the road.

Last week when we took her to 4 doctors and an ER about her shoulder, I ended up being told I went to the wrong ER – that we didn’t belong there. But it is a cancer center, she is already a thyroid patient there, and my child grows things. While we are blessed that none have been cancer yet – I am not of the “wait and see mentality.” But, still I paused and wondered if I had done something wrong.

In the end, the rheumatologist gave her a muscle relaxant. We began rehabilitative PT and I am seeing progress. The shoulder and neck remain wickedly sensitive – but she has back almost full range of motion.

Still we watch the lump behind her shoulder blade, in hopes it continues to decrease in size and doesn’t turn out to be the “soft tissue tumor” we were advised to look out for.

Really – no one has even a bit of a clue. And it is often just downright exhausting.

Physical Therapy this week was refreshing. At least I deal with professionals who have made themselves aware of Meghan’s needs and focus with a goal of eliminating, or severely managing, her pain. Thank God we found them.

Because of them, Meghan will swim in her meet tomorrow. No freestyle – it hurts the neck. But that was OK with her.

Backstroke seems by far to be her favorite. I love watching her swim. She seems so at peace.

It gives me a time to break from all the questions. The wondering. The worry.

It is easy to doubt yourself sometimes when so many things are changing at once. Whether you are precipitating the change, or reacting to it out of necessity, when there is so much at once I think it is normal to wonder.

We are not super difficult to get along with. Yet we go through doctors like a toddler goes through shoes. We have very few close friends – confidants to be trusted. Those who will be honest and open minded. We spend a lot of time alone. We get along really well – thank goodness.

I think what we look for is doctors, friends, associates, people who can practice:

I just wish there were more. No one really fits in a box. And that’s not just us, and our “rare disease.” Everyone is unique, and special. Everyone needs to be looked at with a fresh pair of eyes. Everyone needs to be viewed through the perspective of the other person. Only when we start to look at things through someone else’s point of view do we solve anything.

It is the outside the box thinkers that solve IEP problems, medical problems, friendship concerns, desires to make the world better…

Daring to think outside the box is risky. It is hard. It is necessary.

Especially in this season of “test prep” where I have seen this scenario one too many times…

Mine, yours, all of them – they are individuals. They have specific needs. We should never be discouraged when advocating for them and their needs.

In many cases – we are their only voice. We MUST think outside the box for them.

“Raising Small Souls” – a must see video

Published on March 14, 2013 by beatingcowdensLeave a comment

Normally I try to keep my life as a teacher, and a Cowden’s mom separate, but as I prepare for Meghan’s IEP meeting on Monday, I am reminded of this video.

I first saw it many years ago – but from time to time I watch it again. My Meghan does well in school but has a host of other issues. And, daily I see, admire, and love children who struggle terribly in school.

I think its about time they all get what they need. If only I knew how to make it happen.

Life Lesson – Character

Published on March 9, 2013 by beatingcowdens2 Comments

Maybe the hardest part about being a kid with Cowden’s Syndrome, is trying to be a kid.

I wouldn’t know. My diagnosis came way after I was a “kid,” although I might say that it was never easy fitting in being the kid who was always at the doctor or in surgery – for something.

Meghan has kids who like her, but precious few that she calls friends. The girls she is close to are lovely through and through. I find them similar to Meghan in developmental exposure to the real world. They still know how to play dolls and be kids.

This week the swim meet was against the team of one of those friends. This is a young lady who has been to my home, and Meghan to hers. She chose to write a book about friendship and dedicate it to Meghan. They took countless swim classes together. So, the fact that they would be competing, in some of the same events today, caused anxiety for Meghan.

She worried about losing – and about winning. She wasn’t sure how to digest either one.

After the race where she took second and her friend took third, her dear sweet friend, half Meghan’s size, stayed behind to try to help Meghan out of the pool. I wanted to hug her for being so graceful and such a lady. That little girl, whom I always respected, gained my admiration forever right at that moment. It spoke volumes of her character.

So as we replayed the meet in the car on the way home, Meghan was pleased to have placed well. It was only her second competitive meet ever, and she was enjoying the feeling of competition. We didn’t dwell on it, and after a shower we were off to buy some shoes for Easter, and a sweater too.

Imagine then my surprise when I overheard her on the phone with another classmate bragging about her win over her dear friend.

When the conversation ended we spoke and there were tears. She was just so proud to finally be successful, she forgot herself. Now she was just beside herself. She was worried her friend would find out she had bragged, and was terrified at losing her friend over nonsense.

So, she did the bravest thing I could have imagined. She called her friend, and confessed. Knowing she might never get caught, she could not live with the fact that she had been disrespectful to someone she held so dear. So, in between sobs she told her friend the whole story. And she apologized.

I am sure she won’t do this again any time soon. She was devastated.

And her dear friend – I expected nothing less – greeted her with a pure and forgiving heart. Turns out she herself had once bragged, apologized, and been forgiven.

I love it when a story ends well. Life lesson taught. All friendships in tact.

Happy Birthday to my boobs!

Published on March 4, 2013March 4, 2013 by beatingcowdens12 Comments

Remember where you were a year ago?

I do.

A year ago this evening I was pacing the floors. Making sure Meghan was packed for school. Triple checking my hospital bag. Planning my last meal by midnight, and pacing the floors – quite sure I wouldn’t sleep.

I was right.

I hadn’t arrived at that moment in my life by accident. It was the result of years of breast biopsies for suspicious masses. MRIs, sonograms, mammograms – and a mother who was a bilateral breast cancer survivor. Not to mention my diagnosis of Cowden’s Syndrome that had been confirmed only months before I met the warm, caring, and decisive surgeon that was about to remove part of my body. Don’t wait till the summer – she somehow convinced me. March 5th. Get it done.

One year ago, on the morning of March 5th 2012, after vomiting repeatedly from terror, my husband and I left and headed to NYU hospital for my “prophylactic bilateral mastectomy.”

We checked in by 6 AM. I can remember every detail of the morning. It is imprinted in my subconsciousness. It may fade over time – but for now…

My brother in law called my cell phone by six. We prayed together. Then, I just focused on breathing.

Checking in takes forever. Everyone stopping in. Lots of waiting. I paced that small room so many times I swear my footprints are probably still there.

And my husband – my pillar of strength – just waited with me. When I wanted him to pay attention – he stopped and held my hand. When I wanted him to ignore me, he dutifully read comics on his iphone. I would not have wanted to be him.

I had to explain to the resident filling out the paper that I was not having “tissue expanders” put in. Well this was not an easy concept for him. Apparently that is just what everyone does. The expanders are placed during the mastectomy, and then “filled” until the tissue expands to the size you would like, and then the silicone is placed.

Well I had already had a long talk with my plastic surgeon. I had no desire to have giant boobs. Nope. I was sure.

She can keep her award... — She can keep her award…

At 38 years old, and the mother of a nervous 8 year old, all I wanted was to leave the hospital and not have to return for another surgery. (The sweet irony of that wasn’t realized until I returned 10 weeks later for my hysterectomy… but anyway)

I had convinced the plastic surgeon to use whatever silicone implant she could – and put them right in. After a lengthy discussion, she agreed. It was more important for me to get right home to Meghan.

This resident was having a hard time wrapping his head around this, but finally we got the papers right. They were to put in whatever one of these fit best – preferably a matched pair.

Finally it was time to head to the operating room.

I have had lots and lots of surgeries, but the thought that I was engaging in such a major procedure “prophylactic-ally” was literally making me weak at the knees. Fortunately I managed to hook up with an absolutely awesome surgeon/plastic surgeon team. Two women who are talented, compassionate, and understanding. They gave me the peace of mind I needed right before the anesthesia. The last words I recall before I woke up – “You’re doing the right thing.”

They expected a “clean easy procedure.” After all I had had an MRI just a month prior to confirm I was cancer free.

Recovery from anesthesia isn’t my forte, although I have improved with experience. I got to visit with my sister, and enjoy my husband.

The peace I felt after this surgery can not be understated. I was so relieved. The storm had been calmed. It was done.

I left the hospital about 28 hours later on March 6th. I couldn’t wait to see my girl. The drains were still in place and they would stay for another week, but the hardest of the hard work was done.

So, on March 5th – my boobs are officially a year old. At least that’s the day I adopted them.

And what a year it has been.

A week after my “prophylactic” mastectomy, I held in my hands a pathology report that clearly stated I had DCIS – early stage Breast Cancer. Among the other “precancerous” conditions embedded in that report was the reality that I no longer had to be concerned with the “what if?” It was done. I was OK. By the Grace of God alone – the cancer was out before it was ever a problem. And, whenever I doubt, or get angry or frustrated by our Cowden’s Syndrome journey, I am reminded of that moment. Without Meghan, and without her diagnosis. I would have never proceeded with such an aggressive surgery. God gave me my little girl, and spared my life. We will use that gift as often as we can.

The weeks of recovery went smoothly, with lots of help from mom.

And then it seemed – no sooner was I back at work, that I was being told by another surgeon that I NEEDED a complete hysterectomy – now. So, in May we went back. This time at least everything was benign.

This is the year that included 2 surgeries for Mom and a thyroid biopsy for Meghan. It included a car accident that I am still healing from. (And the very first thing I checked after I realized I had been in an accident was that my silicone was intact!)

It included Grandma’s fall, and ongoing recovery.

It included circumstances that caused me to step away from my church, and blessings that led me to a new one.

This year I laughed deep laughs, and I cried gut wrenching tears. I got re-acquainted with old friends, and I met new friends in support groups online.

This year I learned there are some benefits to small silicone boobs… (with no nipples!) I got to go bra-less for the first time in YEARS!

This year we vowed to make a difference,

This year we gave out over 2,000 denim ribbons, and taught a whole lot of people about Cowden’s Syndrome and Rare Diseases, and the Global Genes Project.

This year was only the beginning of the rest of our lives.

One year without my old boobs. One year with the new and improved CANCER FREE version. One year of countless blessings. One year of boobs that will never sag!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BOOBS!

Cowden’s Syndrome – You’re NOT the boss of US!

Published on March 3, 2013March 3, 2013 by beatingcowdens1 Comment

“You’re not the boss of me!”

Sometimes little kids can be misguided. Sometimes, Mom, Dad, or teacher is in fact the BOSS of them. But that statement from the mouth of a child is the beginning of their move towards independent thought. And, if nurtured properly can lead to a productive, independent, determined adult.

That’s what we are getting at here.

You see I spend enough time around children, that their words and phrases sometimes stick with me. And this one is stuck with me this weekend. So I reflect how it applies to my 9 and a half year old daughter and my 39 and a half year old self.

See, even though Meghan is very good at realizing I am often the BOSS of her, she will not be easily ruled. And while I love her independence, I love more the fact that she remains respectful towards her father and I – and dare I say, all the adults she deals with. She, as an only child has lots of bosses, but I encourage her to rise up against the tyrant that is Cowden’s Syndrome – and she does.

If Cowden’s Syndrome were her boss, she would sit idly by while the pain persisted; in the knees, the ankle, the shoulder, the wrist or whatever joint it currently is attempting a choke hold on.

But, since its not – she goes to dance class on Monday, Swim practice on Tuesday, Music and Movement on Thursday, and Swim Meets on the weekend. She often cries in pain in the hours following these events. But never once does she talk of stopping.

You see, Cowden’s Syndrome is not the boss of her.

Cowden’s Syndrome would have her hide in a corner, ashamed of an “orphan” disease that no one can really understand. But hiding is not for my girl. Instead she asks for a denim ribbon necklace. She learns about the Global Genes Project, she understands “Rare Disease Day,” and she actively participates in the “Wear that you Care” campaign. She makes thousands of denim ribbons, and informational fliers. She gives 2 speeches at her school. She even wrote a book about it. HA! Don’t tell her no one really knows about Cowden’s Syndrome – because she will take it as a challenge, and fix it.

A denim cause ribbon, crafted after the Global Genes Project's slogan, "Hope it's in our Genes!" — A denim cause ribbon, crafted after the Global Genes Project’s slogan, “Hope it’s in our Genes!”

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=10200149863021946 (To see Meghan’s speech)

Cowden’s Syndrome – with its biopsies and cancer risks would like to leave us terrified. Instead, we are empowered. Meghan got the anesthesia she needed and deserved, to have her last thyroid biopsy with dignity. The terror is gone. We will have anesthesia next time too. And, if the cancer hits – we are ready. We are empowered.

Cowden’s Syndrome – You’re NOT the boss of us.

You certainly don’t rule me. 85% risk of breast cancer – yeah, so? Endometrial cancer? Nope – don’t need that either. Thyroid cancer – half gone already, and checked every 6 months. Melanoma – nope. And annual skin exams just to be sure. Colonoscopy – did that. Clean enough to wait until 2015. My spleen – well. That’s still in limbo. But you know what? Whatever. I have stared down worse.

Just came back from my girl’s first swim meet. Time to relish in the satisfaction that something normal happened here today. We will handle the pain, with the smile of knowing – she’s pretty fast.

I know you’re staying Cowden’s Syndrome. I know we can’t ever get rid of you. But, seriously. Unpack in the basement closet and stay away from us.

Cowden’s Syndrome – You’re NOT the boss of US!

This is it!

Published on February 27, 2013February 27, 2013 by beatingcowdens2 Comments

Yesterday was another trip to the rheumatologist. She is lovely, but hasn’t a bit of a clue why Meghan’s pain persists – often through the Celebrex, and ALWAYS without it.

She prescribes the medicine. She examines her. She sees no signs of Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis.

We speak for a little bit about Cowden’s Syndrome, her thyroid, and some of the other battles she has endured. I ask the doctor if this could all be related.

And she, candidly, honestly replies, “I don’t know. I am starting to think there is some link, but I don’t know enough about your syndrome to put it together.”

Well at least she is honest. But it is tiresome. The traveling. The doctors. The lack of answers.

So tonight, as I gave Meghan Tylenol after swim practice because the knee pain wouldn’t cut her a break. We turned our thoughts to tomorrrow, and the 6th Annual World Rare Disease Day.

This year’s motto is “Rare Disorders without Borders.” It got Meghan and I to thinking about how nice it would be if doctors in all the countries would share their research. There are so many rare diseases throughout the world. So many more dire than our own. There are so few people even looking for cures. As she chats and gets to know a girl in Australia with Cowden’s, we can’t help but think about how much more voice each of our disorders would have “without borders.”

http://www.rarediseaseday.org/solidarity (This link takes you to a video on Rare Disease Day)

We talked a little about the newspaper article, and how it has helped spread awareness in out community. We talked about all the ribbons we have made and distributed, and how nice it will be to see them tomorrow, and know we are not alone. We have raised awareness of Rare Diseases, and we have only just begun.

http://www.silive.com/northshore/index.ssf/2013/02/staten_island_9-year-old_and_h.html (This is a link to our article from the SI Advance – February 20th)

Meghan, and her determination will see her dream of the “One of a kind” necklace with the Global Genes Project Logo, find its way into their new store. She will see more and more people recognizing that “Hope is in our Genes,” and the denim ribbon gives an identity to those who too often have none.

Tomorrow people will understand what it means to “Wear That You Care,” as they don their jeans locally and globally.

My daughter, one of the compassionate people I know, is also the least judgmental. She is kind. Because she knows what it means to need kindness. She is kind because she has faith, and wisdom gifted to her. She is kind because, “You can’t tell by looking at someone if they are sick or in pain.”