This is Our Reality

Published on April 2, 2016April 2, 2016 by beatingcowdens2 Comments

Alone, in a crowded room.

As I look around frantically trying to figure out exactly where, or how I fit, with anyone, my mind wanders. I can’t seem to make conversation, or to pass the time socially as easily as others. I watch. I retreat as soon as I can. I can’t quiet my head. And, knowing the whole line of thinking that occupies my mind some days makes everyone uncomfortable, I step back into myself to cycle through reality.

“Those hormones? Are they causing her headaches? Or is it something more sinister? How would I even know? Do we need to use another MRI? What if it is the hormones? What choice do we have? The doctor said she has to stay on them to stop the development of those “irregular cells” in the uterus they found in December. They’ve already begun to schedule another D & C for July. “You have to make sure…” The uterus is a prime site for malignancy in Cowden’s Syndrome. I got to keep mine until Meghan was 8. Will she get to keep hers? Will she have the chance to make the choice whether she wants to bear her own children? And, even if we save the uterus and she wants to, will it be viable after 15, 18, 20 years of hormone treatment? And at what cost to the rest of her body? What about the breast cancer threat that looms large to a young woman whose Cowden’s Syndrome alone puts her at an 85% lifetime risk. That coupled with a mother and grandmother who have had breast cancer… sigh…why is it even a topic of conversation when she’s 12? It seems so unjust. This issue shouldn’t have to be addressed now, well not ever really, but especially not now. And when she has the headaches I have to give her something. What about the headache medicine? What about that esophagus we are trying to heal?

Is it those medicines that caused the horrendous reflux after Easter, or was it her MINOR indulgence into a few SAFE sweets? Why should a slight indulgence cause such discomfort and vomiting? Why does she have to be so careful all the time about everything? No wonder she is so serious. And what if it is the headache medicine? What am I supposed to do to help her? Tell her she has to deal with it? I can’t imagine “toughing out” a blinding headache.

The knee. Oh the knee. She tries not to complain about it, but I see when she struggles. The AVM is finally stable, but the leg takes a lot of work to develop. She works hard on it too. But, the stamina isn’t there. Hours in a pool yes, on land, no way. Standing too long, walking the mall, or for a short walk, things we take for granted cause such pain. And pain causes fatigue. And on the occasions she relents and allows the wheelchair into use, she struggles. Not for the need to use it temporarily, but for fear of insulting those who have to use it all the time. She is proud. She is frequently humbled. She is conflicted.

And who wouldn’t be? 16 surgeries before the 13th birthday. The need to be tough all the time, while you feel weak. The desire to be stronger. Having to fight, hard, for physical accomplishments. Having to accept the ones that will never be. Never giving up. Pushing to be better. To make the world better.

She’s not perfect. Never has been. And oh, there are DAYS… But she is good, in her heart. She means well. She has no spite or malice, and I can pray it remains that way. I can pray that the children who don’t get it, one day come to understand her, just a little better. That one day they can accept her, for the good in her.

I scheduled 3 doctors appointments for the next three weeks. Dermatology, orthopedics, and endocrinology. The first is a screening. Cowden’s Syndrome, melanoma risks. Her father’s increased risk of melanoma on another unrelated genetic disorder. Her grandmother’s melanoma this summer. Every 6 months they told me. Bring her every six months. The others will work on long-term plans. Spring break. Every holiday, every vacation. Every day off. Doctors. Not the mall, or a friend’s house. Doctors. For what? And I’ve toned down the list quite a bit.

There are two bills of my desk. One for her and one for me. Both a battle. Always a battle. If it’s not the reality, or the appointments, it’s the bills. And we are so fortunate to have insurance. But, the hours. Oh my goodness, the hours…”

I try to shake it off. To stay focused on the good. On the positive. On the blessings, and they do abound. But, so often it’s just me, and my head. Working to get out of my own way.

I miss my Pop. I miss my Grandma even though she’s still here. I miss their goodness. I miss my Dad. I miss his listening ears.

I quiet the voices a little and try to follow the conversation around me. I smile politely and nod. I stay quiet. “It’s good.” “We’re good.” That’s about all they can handle anyway. Even the ones who genuinely do care. Why drag someone to a place where there is absolutely nothing they can do or say?

This is our reality. This is Cowden’s Syndrome. This is every day. As long as we have breath, and strength, and stamina to shake off the pain, place the smile firmly where it goes and press on, we will.

Because the real reality is that every person in the room may have a similar string of thoughts in their head. The reality remains that EVERYONE HAS SOMETHING…

I booked dinners for our Disney trip today. I like to plan ahead. Plus, Disney gives me a little extra strength, so that we can remain always,

#BEATINGCOWDENS!

Relax, Nothing is Under (My) Control

Published on January 3, 2016January 4, 2016 by beatingcowdens1 Comment

Today I dropped my daughter’s iPad. Down a flight of stairs. With no case. I’ve never seen quite so many pieces on a screen. But, it still turns on. And somehow we all managed to remain calm. My husband set the appointment at Apple for Weds. night. Yes, we have “Apple Protect.” Yes, I know there may be a deductible. And, while I called myself several names, I was most impressed that all three of us remained very calm.

Maybe we are learning.

NOTHING is under control really, except how you handle the things that are out of control.

Yesterday I had the dog to the vet. In a little under a year since we rescued her, she has ballooned from 42 pounds to 65. I guess she feels content in my house. We must be doing something right. There was this rash on her belly. And $300 later, with a shot of antibiotics, some antihistamines, and this cone on her head – it’ll be ok.

Except in the middle of the night. Then she needs her Mom to love her cause she can’t get comfortable. But, hey, really sleep is overrated.

On Thursday we went to see the ENT. He checks Meghan periodically since the hospitalization 18 months ago to gauge how her reflux is affecting her throat. It was a bit redder than usual this time. So, we juggled a few medicines and left with directions to find a GI. Easier said than done. Our last one was fantastic, but she took a break from practicing, and our local options are less than fantastic. So we will seek, and hopefully find…

On Wednesday we had the 2 week follow-up from the biopsy. We left with a script for progesterone which is apparently our only option. It’s necessary to slow the growth of those precancerous cells, and hopefully get them to go away. Verified with the head PTEN researcher in Cleveland, through my local geneticist. I hate hormones. Hopefully she tolerates it. Hopefully the cells behave themselves. Three month follow-up, then we schedule the next biopsy. She needs another biopsy so we can have a “clean” one. That’ll be in June. Something to look forward to.

On Wednesday after the doctor, Meghan and I took the train from downtown to Times Square to see Daddy at work. This is truly one of the highlights of her year and there was no way we were missing it!

Favorite Family Picture! Wearing our "NEVER GIVE UP!" thegsf.org — Favorite Family Picture!
Wearing our “NEVER GIVE UP!” thegsf.org

On Tuesday we stayed home. She missed play practice. She was recovering.

Monday had started out full of energy – with a huge nail in my new tire. Thankfully the car has warning lights to tell me when the pressure is low, and thankfully I got up early, because soon after I got home from getting it fixed, she woke up. In pain. We ended up spending Monday in the Emergency room at NYU. All told about 8 hours, a CT scan, a chest X-ray and blood tests, they found an elevated WBC, and free-floating abdominal fluid. The doctor said it’s likely a cyst burst. She was vomiting so badly that morning I never knew WHAT had hit her. Just something hard. The fluid, in my very sensitive to her body, girl, was likely causing the severe pain – just being there.

Maybe it was triggered by Sunday’s Swim Practice at the Long Course (50M) pool on Long Island. Maybe not. We’ll never know.

Christmas seems like only a blur. Mom had it this year, a kind respite for me. Some time spent with the family. Some time to just be together. It was perfect. And I am so grateful.

The week has been wild, and I guess that’s why I’ve been quiet. But, I am proud to say we have laughed despite the chaos. I can’t think of a day this week I haven’t laughed so hard I cried.

NOTHING is under control. At least not under MY control. And I am going to TRY really hard to be more OK with that.

The schedule for 2016 will not lighten up even a bit. I have an ultrasound Saturday, Meghan has an MRI on the 14th and the knee doctor on the 25th. It will not slow down. I must stay organized, and healthy, and focused. I must continue to eat well and exercise.

Most importantly I must laugh. Often. With my family. With my friends. The adventures will continue. But

Happy New Year to all!

Avocado and Isagenix – What’s in YOUR suitcase?

Published on August 12, 2014August 12, 2014 by beatingcowdens2 Comments

It’s been almost two weeks – a long time for me not to write. My head is spinning with things I need to get out in my blogging “therapy” sessions.

As I sit in Orlando International Airport, delayed by hours on the sunniest evening all week, I find myself reflecting on the week that was.

Even though we have been at Disney 7 years in a row, and even though we probably should have stayed home to lick our wounds this year, we threw caution in the wind and decided there would be plenty of time to make money, and time to make memories isn’t always there.

Plus, in 2014 alone there was that thyroidectomy in February that threw my girl’s body into some wild unbalanced state, and that week in May when we learned all about gastritis. (Caused by the pain medicine she had lived on for years.) So after spending months trying to get her stomach back in balance, and juggling the gluten, dairy, soy free, and largely preservative free diet, with the new restrictions of no citrus, no chocolate, no tomato, we contemplated cancelling the trip. But we knew that would seem more like a punishment than a precaution. So the reservation held – August 5 -12.

In the week leading up to the trip time seemed to fly by. I barely got her settled with enough clothes, got us a functional suitcase, and got us packed in time. And as we were packing I began to gather food. See, when you travel with a kid with food allergies, you don’t travel without food – ever. Even though Disney is “the happiest place on earth,” and even though almost every chef we encounter is masterful at creating meals to please her very restricted palate, you still need to pack the “staples.” There has to be a supply of dry fruit, cereal, pretzels, applesauce, cookies, and bars. In the past we also always packed tomato, and barbecue sauce too. Every morning we would fill small containers and have it to flavor anything dry along the way. Except this year tomato was equal to painful reflux, and we weren’t about to try it out as we traveled.

So, we went to the next best thing – avocado.

I have never been a huge fan, but my Puerto Rican husband gently introduced healthy protein into her diet and it was so well tolerated. She liked it to moisten food, and there were plenty of days she ate a whole one. So, into the suitcase went a container full of 8 avocados.

Use what you know.

And in another container nearby were several packages of Isagenix shakes. Those, I had packed with intention of using them myself. So glad I did.

When we arrived in Orlando Tuesday the 5th after a 6 AM flight, it was 8:30. We rode the Magic Express and got to the hotel by 10:30. At 10:45 the luggage arrived, and by 11:20 we were unpacked and on the way to the Magic Kingdom.

And find the Magic we did.

We spent the day riding, and laughing, and watching and taking in all the wonder around us. We had lunch at a trusted favorite, the Liberty Tree Inn, and the turkey, stuffing, mashed potato and gravy were prepared to perfection. Her stomach was happy. We were happy.

Dinner was with some old friends at the Contemporary, and we willed the time away searching for “Hidden Mickeys.” The “Fab Five” greeted us, and the chef took us to the buffet. I tried to choose carefully, as the selections seemed a bit questionable. I was assured they were within her dietary restrictions. And there was the drink. We asked for it diluted, as it wasn’t her normal fare. But he was busy and I suspect by the third glass the waiter had forgotten to dilute it. And there was the GFCFSF sausage… and…

By the time we sat for the electrical parade we were all tired, but she said she felt something in her throat. She asked me for food, and even as I handed over the pretzels I should have known better.

She slept fitfully. So much so that I kept waking to check on her.

“New room… new place.” I kept telling myself…

And in the morning when we got up to leave we just about made it to the lobby when she said she couldn’t go.

“Houston… we have a problem.”

We exchanged those “uh-oh” glances – Felix and I. And we followed her to the room.

And barely did she make it in the door then the familiar violent vomiting from May returned. So much. So forceful. Like her body was not going to stop until it got rid of every single offending morsel in her body – whatever it may be.

It went on for hours in our hotel room in Walt Disney World. And every time it seemed to calm and we tried water, bread, pretzels… it all began again.

We called our GI from home who instructed rest. And we looked at our girl laying so still and so sick on the bed, and we searched out the travel insurance brochure. After two hours on the phone with more people than I care to count, we arranged for a doctor to visit the hotel.

And while we waited the staff had seen my tears, my desperation, and prepared a bag with some balloons, and coloring books, and pins and UNO cards to pass the time. There are good people.

But by then – at 5 – she had been without food or drink for 5 hours and was starting to look better.

He was amazing, and unusual, and smart, and introspective. And he sat with us for a good hour learning about Meghan. Then he sized up that she was not dehydrated.

“What do we do?”

“Go with what you know.”

Not so easy hundreds of miles from home. But, she was hungry. And there were avocados. And my eyes hurt from crying in absolute frustration that we had just breached her forever “doctor free” zone.

Then he asked what she drank and we said “Coconut Milk.” And just like that he was out the door headed to a whole foods 6 miles away. HE took money only for the milk itself, not for his gas or his time. And we had options.

WHO does that? This stranger… this “standby doctor” so moved and so interested in helping…

So there was avocado, alternating with coconut milk at very deliberate intervals. And once the avocado held itself in place we had a few options.

“Can I have a shake?” MUSIC TO MY EARS…

A half shake in 8 ounces of coconut milk. Followed by a half of an Isagenix meal bar.

By 9 she was well enough for a ride around the hotel.

By the next morning we cautiously resumed our trip. With Isagenix, and an avocado in my backpack all day.

Felix said we should call her our “rubber band-” stretched until you think she’ll break, then she finds a way to spring back!

Passing time….

Published on May 9, 2014 by beatingcowdens6 Comments

So here we sit. Again. For the second time post thyroidectomy, we are in the hospital. The girl doesn’t feel well. She just doesn’t. End of story. But, not too many people seem ready to listen until she’s in a full on physical crisis. Even then sometimes the numbers are frighteningly low. Yesterday she knew. She NEVER tells me to stay home from work. She KNEW. And my pediatrician heard it in my voice. She was admitted soon after he saw her. He wanted it to be the flu. In some ways I did too. A little Tamiflu and some rest. Buts she’s negative for flu. No real surprise. Too simple a diagnosis for my girl. Since her surgery in February, her TSH (Thyroid Stimulating Hormone) which is supposed to rest somewhere between 4. and 4.0 has been lingering well over 10, despite numerous medication adjustments. The TSH is supposed to be down regulated when the synthetic thyroid hormone takes the place of the T4 and T3. Enough thyroid hormone and the TSH decreases. Not enough and it increases causing hypo (under active) thyroid symptoms which can range from bone crushing fatigue, to generally feeling unwell and a whole host of issues in between. He medication has been adjusted upward with no effect – several times. I know it takes time. I barely remember my own battle with thyroid hormones over 20 years ago. The veterans of this surgery tell me 6 months, a year… I get it. I do. But then there is the reality of watching your kid feel crappy every day. The reality of watching her FIGHT with all her might to do the normal things others take so easily for granted. And then I get impatient. To complicate things it may not just be the thyroid hormones keeping us hopping. That “lymph node” turned “salivary gland” is now back to a lymph node in the neck. We are awaiting the ultrasound that I feel should have been done with her appointment last Monday. And there is a fever. She never gets fever. Not really. And yesterday it was 102. Today around 100. No answer why. Not even the White Blood Cell Count gave a clear indicator. And the reflux. Painful. Like fire. Lack of desire to eat much of anything leads to weakness. And the throat clearing. Reflux? or lymph node? or something totally different? So we temporarily stopped the celebrex to try to solve the GI issues. The medical equivalent of robbing Peter to pay Paul. The joint pain – managed for now – is rearing its head. And why does a 10-year-old, with no gall bladder and a week of the worst reflux of her life – with no dietary changes – begin vomiting bile? Maybe just maybe we will meet up with a decent GI. Girls can hope. So I sit. We sit. Waiting for answers to questions. Waiting for answers to more questions than we will ever get. But we are hopeful. Anxious. At least right this minute the worst part of being here is passing the time with the stupid IV.