Relax, Nothing is Under (My) Control

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.

Relax

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.

April cone

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!

NYE ball 2016

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.

 

One LAST IV for 2015
One LAST IV for 2015!

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.

 

My Family 2015
My Family 2015
My Sisters 2015
My Sisters 2015
Meghan with her Great-Grandparents 2015
Meghan with her Great-Grandparents 2015

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

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Happy New Year to all!

NYE ball 2016c

 

The Patient or The Person?

Right-Decision-Wrong-Decision

I am sure I am not the only one, especially the only parent, who struggles daily with wondering if I have made the best choices for my daughter.

Sometimes we argue, and bicker, and I find myself wondering if I am reaching her.  Other times I look at all her activities and wonder if she is too busy.  Still other times, I look at her and I see those tired eyes, and I wonder what I can do to make things better.

Choices.  Life is about choices.  And around 12 years old is that transitional time where more and more of the choices become hers, not mine.  I can guide, and support, but she is beginning to make more of her own choices, and handle their consequences, be they positive, or not.

She is doing a great job,  and truly despite a few hiccups, I could not be more proud.  But I will always worry.

Question-Mark-Cloud

The one area though, where the decisions are mine and her father’s to make, are the complex medical decisions.  And with Meghan there are many.  I have to wrestle with my roles, advocating for her best interests physically, mentally, and emotionally.

This has been a growing process for me, and there has been such a learning curve.  With Meghan there is always a medical decision, always a worry, always something that has to be checked out and looked at.  Many of these things have potentially serious consequences.  But, she is not a medical specimen, with a fascinating genetic disorder.  She is a child, a young lady, with hopes, dreams, goals, and emotions.  Finding the balance between who she is and what she needs is tenuous.

Sometimes I get it wrong.

This time, I got it right.

The doctors are worried.  She needs a biopsy.  But, it’s not her first biopsy, and it won’t be her last.  There is reason for concern, and we take that concern very seriously.  The biopsy was to take place on the 9th of December, the first available.  It would keep her from swimming for about 10 days.

right decision

She looked at me.  I knew in my gut what to do.

No, you’ll have to book her for the 16th.  (Even knowing the extra week of waiting would be agonizing for me.)

The doctor looked puzzled.  But…

Listen, she has her drama concert on the 10th, and her swim meet on the 12th and 13th.  She’s primed and ready to qualify for a championship meet.  One week is not going to change that biopsy.  You and I both know, it is already whatever it is.

She looked at me.  She looked at Meghan.

My eyes locked with my girl.  In those eyes she thanked me for putting her the person, before her the patient.

Thursday there was this…

Saturday, there was this…

And before the meet was over she had personal best times in 4 out of 5 events, and 2 qualifying times for Silver Championships.

We have no idea what Wednesday and the ensuing week waiting for pathology will bring.

But, there is a peace in knowing the person is always more important than the patient.

Mother-Quotes-45

(Breaking the) Code of Silence

The song by Billy Joel…

“Code Of Silence”

Everybody’s got a million questions
Everybody wants to know the score
What you went through
It’s something you
Should be over now

Everybody wants to hear the secrets
That you never told a soul before
And it’s not that strange
Because it wouldn’t change
what happened anyhow…

…And you can’t talk about it
Because you’re following a code of silence
You’re never gonna to lose the anger
You just deal with it a different way

And you can’t talk about it
And isn’t that a kind of madness
To be living by a code of silence
When you’ve really got a lot to say…

           And as happens sometimes when there is a lot on my mind and I’m left alone with my thoughts, music creeps in.  Today Felix and Meghan are on a youth retreat with our church youth group.  They are spending the weekend.  I cleaned a bunch, switched to the winter drapes and started to transtition into holiday mode.  It’s been a few tough Decembers.  After losing my Dad in December of 2013 and then in the fall of 2014 saying goodbye to Grandma Gen, Uncle Jerry, and our beloved Allie dog, I was intent on getting some time to get my heart and soul peaceful for Christmas.  But, despite my best efforts and lots of early shopping complete, my heart is heavy with worry once again.
hope-despair
           I know people will say you can’t worry and have faith.  If that’s true then my faith needs some work.  But, I think its my faith that keeps a leash on worry and keeps it far away from depsair.  And for that I am grateful, although things are getting a little tricky here again.

           I began this blog years ago with no expectation of personal privacy.  I have been gratified by contacts made all over the globe, and have enjoyed having the ability to nudge people towards support or just read that our story gives them hope.  But, then I began to write about my daughter.  And we had tons of conversations about digital footprints, and things we can’t take back.  She has been like a champion, willing to share her story through me in the name of education, advocacy and awareness. She wants a place where people can read about REAL people REALLY dealing with Cowden’s Syndrome every day.

           Yet, in her day to day life Meghan is a bit reserved.  She is careful with her words, and trusts sparingly.  She is constantly aware of the different lens through which she views life, in light of her medical experiences.  She is acutely sensitive to the fact that even the children who care, are unsure how or what to do if she talks about her real life.  PLUS, so much of what goes on is hard for us to process.  There is just no way to expect a typical 7th grader to go there.  Heck, I can’t get the adults I confide in to wrap their heads around any of this.

Rumi-On-Silence
           November was supposed to just be me.  Traveling to the plastic surgeon to determine if my right implant ripped, and scheduling surgery if needed.  I go there Tuesday.

           But, November has already been very busy.  We met earlier this month with a new doctor, an adolescent gynecologist at NYU.  She listened to Meghan’s story.  A story that began with what we hoped was just an erratic start to a teenage menstrual cycle.  She reviewed the ultrasound from July with the “abnormal endometrial thickening,” and she asked some questions to my girl.  Who at 12 is clearly adult size, just shy of 5 foot 7 and a very trim 115 pounds.  My girl had her notebook and answers.

          Then there were more questions.  Because since the middle of August there have been less than 10 days with NO bleeding.  So there were blood tests to check hormone levels.  And there was a repeat sonogram scheduled.
Ultrasound_Machine
           There was also conversation with this very young, very attentive doctor.  A  doctor who made no bones about researching Cowden’s Syndrome and telling both of us that she found 2 cases in the literature of Cowden’s patients with uterine cancer – mean age 13.5.  Ouch.  She told Meghan that she had some investigating to do.  And then we would know more. We already had this information stored so the minds race.
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Cowden Syndrome

Approved by the Cancer.Net Editorial Board, 11/2014

What is Cowden syndrome?

Cowden syndrome (CS) is part of the PTEN hamartoma tumor syndrome. Hamartomas are benign, meaning noncancerous, tumor-like growths. Other clinical syndromes that are part of the PTEN hamartoma tumor syndrome are Bannayan-Riley-Ruvalcaba syndrome (BRR; diagnosed in children), Proteus syndrome, and Proteus-like syndrome. CS is characterized by a high risk of both benign and cancerous tumors of the breast, thyroid, endometrium (uterus), colorectal, kidney, and skin (melanoma).

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           The ride home involved some of the toughest questions I’ve ever had to answer.
truth
           And then the hormone levels came back utterly confusing.  The doctor said they make no sense.  It didn’t gel with the tickened lining and the bleeding.  It didn’t gel with anything.

           And the ultrasound Thursday at 4 pm was read by Friday.  Warp speed for you experienced parents.  The doctor called me at 7 Friday night.  The conversation led us to the necessity of a biopsy.  Too many things aren’t right.  “There is no formula, no plan to proceed in a child this young.  We just have to trust our instincts.”  I like her.  She cares.  But again, I’ve been doing Cowden’s longer.  I have to be alert.

           Welome to my world doctor.

           We’ve heard this song before.  “Could be…” “Maybe…”  “We’re concerned…”  and it’s been fine every single time.

           It’s just the weather is getting colder, and after school trips to Manhattan hold no appeal.  Missing work, making it up, racing to the swim practices she loves.  We’ve done this all before.  Different reasons.  But there seems to be very little real break in between.  And the pace is hastening.

         This week is Thanksgiving.  We’ll put the tree up.  We’ll work on some cards, and I’ll help Meghan organize a few more things for the Jeans for Rare Genes Fundraiser.

           Monday I should hear about a date for the biopsy.  Hopefully.  Then there will be at least 5 days after that date for pathology.

          And the “Code of Silence” permeates a few other non Cowden’s areas of life.

           This young lady I have is strong.  She is funny.  She is tenacious.  She is a swimmer.  She is an actress.  She loves to sing.  She is NOT Cowden’s Syndrome.  But IT is trying to play dirty with her again.  And I just don’t like it one bit.

We remain BEATINGCOWDENS!

(This blog, like all other ones of a personal nature, was approved by Meghan.)
AND WHILE MEGHAN CONTINUES TO DESIRE THE REAL STORY BE TOLD, PLEASE FAMILY AND FRIENDS, RESPECT HER “CODE OF SILENCE.”  SHE WILL TALK IF SHE WANTS TO.
IF YOU ARE ABLE, WE WOULD LOVE TO HAVE YOU JOIN US AT THE 2ND ANNUAL “JEANS FOR RARE GENES” FUNDRAISER.  A BRIANCHILD OF MEGHAN ALL PROCEEDS BENEFIT THE PTEN FOUNDATION AND THE GLOBAL GENES PROJECT.  JUST CLICK THE LINK BELOW.

https://www.eventbrite.com/e/jeans-for-rare-genes-2-tickets-19343557100?aff=eac2

Making the Most of It All…

Sunday night, coming home from a swim meet, Meghan outlined her goals.  Among them included, “no surgery for a whole year.”  To someone who hasn’t had 4 surgeries in the last 12 months, that may not seem quite that important, but to Meghan it was at the tip-top of the list.

Over the last several years she has spent more time living in “recovery” than just living.

Your Recovery Green Road Sign Over Dramatic Clouds and Sky.

She dropped 16 seconds total off her event times at this month’s meet, and 17 last month.  Insanity.  Except to a young lady who is now growing into herself, and her abilities.

 

She wants to swim.  Hard and often.

O22lQ

She wants to soar academically – no average under a 95 will do for her.

She wants to act, and sing, and be on stage.

She wants to participate in her youth group, and retreats, and live her faith.

She wants to raise community awareness of Cowden’s Syndrome and rare diseases.

She is on the move all the time.  I know, because I am with her.  Or helping her stay organized.  Or transporting her at least.

This weekend we drove 200 miles.  Today at least another 60.  LOTS of time for car chat.  Lots of time to get to know each other well.

onthego

Sometimes she drives me crazy.  Sometimes I frustrate her so badly she wants to scream.  Sometimes she does homework, reads, or works on projects.  But, lots of other times we talk.  About anything and everything.  And as much as I hate traffic, and long distances, I’ve learned to make the most of our time in the car.  I’ve learned to appreciate my captive audience, with the realization she won’t be in my back seat forever.

Captive Audience words on a ransom note in cut out letters in a message to forced or trapped customers or people

As a matter of fact after today’s appointment, she could easily be in the front seat.  All the time.  At a very trim waistline, and a height of almost 5 foot 7, she presents as YEARS older than she is.  Which I sometimes have to remind myself when I am busy expecting her to have it all together.  Sometimes she still needs me to help her along.

Today was the knee surgeon.  Six month follow-up.  He sees the shift in the patella.  He feels the scar tissue, and the clicking.  But, he said, she can wait.  She can wait until she’s ready before he cleans it out again.  With Cowden’s it’s a fine line.  How much pain can you deal with?  Because every surgery will lead to an overgrowth of scar tissue which carries its own issues.  Drag your feet.  Know when enough is enough.

Next we will have an MRI to check on the AVM.  As long as that’s stable, we should have a bit of time.  A bit of time to do some things besides recover.  A bit of time to be a bit more like a “normal” busy 12-year-old.  Well, like a “normal” 12-year-old planning a fund-raiser for more than 150 people with her favorite Disney entertainer… But, hey, she dreams big.

This kid. My stength. My motivation. My hero.
This kid. My strength. My motivation. My hero.

Tomorrow she goes to another doctor.  And about this one I just pray.  A lot.

In two weeks I get to remind myself I have Cowden’s with an unplanned visit to my plastic surgeon to question a poorly behaving painful prosthesis.

Plenty to preoccupy the mind.  In our immediate and extended family.

One day, one event, one obstacle at a time.

I did start my Christmas shopping.  After 2 years of holiday sadness, I am craving joy, and celebration.  I am craving the anticipation of the birth of the baby Jesus.  I am determined to remove myself from the holiday hustle and bustle.  I am determined to set my mind right.  Because none of us ever know.  Really.  And there is no promise of tomorrow.  Really.

But organization makes me happy.  And it’s about being happy.  And making the most of it all.  All the time.

organize

 

The Story of the Girl and Her Mom

once upon a time

So, four years ago they diagnosed this girl with a rare genetic disorder called “Cowden’s Syndrome.”  Soon after they diagnosed her, they diagnosed her mom too.

And the mom and the girl read everything they could find, which really wasn’t very much.

And they asked a lot of questions.  Some from the doctors, but mostly from people on the internet who had this Rare Disease too.

They learned a lot.  They also learned there was a lot to learn.

They learned about cancer risks, and how very high they are.

They learned about screening tests.

They met lots of new doctors.  Some were super awesome, and others were super awful.

They fired the awful ones, and kept the awesome ones.

The doctors sent them for tests, and screenings, and blood draws, and all sorts of poking and prodding.

At the beginning it was pretty much all they had time for.

the girl who is always there

The girl had lots of surgeries, and lost her thyroid, and then they called her a “previvor” because they said she got it out just in time before it was cancer.

The mom, she had a bunch of surgeries too.  In one they found cancer.  But she was called a “survivor” because it was all gone.  (Thanks to the girl who got diagnosed first and saved her life.)

The girl and her mom ran from doctor to doctor.  They sat in traffic for forever.  They stayed in hospitals and had surgeries, and tests.  Everyone treated them kind of strange.  Like they were aliens or something.  Their condition was so rare that hardly any doctors even understood what they were supposed to do.

mother-daughter-2

Over time the girl and her mom got a better idea of what really mattered and what didn’t.  They started to be more assertive about doctors, and schedules and planning.  They started to say, “not right now,” sometimes, knowing that a few weeks wouldn’t matter, but a few months might.

The girl and her mom talked a lot about Cowden’s Syndrome.  They talked a lot about Rare Diseases.  Sometimes they were really angry.  Sometimes they were sad, and other times they were grateful.  They saw what some other people with Rare Diseases went through.

The girl and her mom had LOTS of long talks, real talks about tumors, and tests, and cancer, and life.

They worked on some things separately and some things together.  But they agreed to get busy living.

Inspirational-quote-for-daughter-from-mom-and-dad-640x480

That didn’t mean they could ignore the seemingly endless doctors appointments.  They all had to be done.  It meant they could schedule smarter.  It meant they would talk about what symptoms had to be addressed right now and which ones could wait.  It meant they had to get really good at communicating.

This isn’t always so easy since the girl is almost a teenager, but they are getting pretty good at it.

2014-09-22-momquote1

The girl had 4 surgeries this year, some more major than others, but she spent lots of time recovering.  And she learned that she liked to be busy.  She likes to sleep too, but she likes to be busy.  With kids.  Often.  She also likes to be active.  A lot.

The girl and her mom still have this Cowden’s  Syndrome, and sometimes for reasons no one understands, they hurt a lot.  Sometimes the pain makes it hard for one of them to push on.  Sometimes the tired almost feels like they can’t go on.

But the girl and her mom, they push each other.  They push each other to press on because laying down and giving up is not an option.

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Their days are long.  The mom works full-time.  The girl goes to 7th grade and makes high honor roll.

Their afternoons are full of drama club, the girl’s love of theatre, and lots of swim practice.  The days are often 13 hours or more of constant motion.

The girl and her mom, they decided that they might have a Rare Disease, but it definitely wasn’t going to “have” them.

So they decided that whatever comes their way, they are going to be active, healthy, strong, fueled with nutritious food, and built of muscle.  This way if Cowden’s punches, they will punch back harder.

Sometimes the mom wonders if life would have been different without the girl.  The mom wonders if alone she would have been able to push on.

But she doesn’t have to wonder.  Because they have each other.  And, because this weekend they spent 3 days at a swim meet.  And the girl knocked major time off her events.

And, when they came home, the daddy, who is the glue that holds them together, had warm chicken, and rice and vegetables, the healthy fuel  – all ready.

And the mom and the girl were so grateful.  For each other.  For the desire to fight.  For the strength from good food, and faith, and the love of a dad who backs them up every step of the way.

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And as the mom drove the girl to youth group at their church, they talked, about the swimming.  And about the fundraiser they are planning. So that Rare Diseases scarier than theirs get some attention.  “For the Babies,” and so that there can be research for this Cowden’s Syndrome.  So that maybe it can get stopped in its tracks.

And as the mom walked home enjoying the fresh crisp air of Fall she was filled with gratitude.

For this story of BEATINGCOWDENS has only just begun.  And each chapter holds more promise than the next…

Recovery – Everything is Relative

recovery

 (Merriam – Webster)

Medical Definition of RECOVERY

:  the act of regaining or returning toward a normal or healthy state
Recovery.  Is it a place?  A state of being?  A state of mind?  Who knows?  But, we spend a lot of time here.  It’s really sort of a family affair, although without a doubt the one who takes the brunt of it is always Meghan.  Four times in the last 10.5 months, and most recently three times in the last 6 months,  there has been general anesthesia, and necessary recovery.  That is a record for her that I pray she never surpasses.  
view from the top
In November and May it was the knee – one emergency, one planned. In between it was the hand.  A pesky, tiny AVM, gotten before it got to be too big of a deal.  She JUST was cleared to take a break from the recovery PT on Thursday.  And on Friday it was the wisdom teeth.
We laughed a lot before the teeth came out.  We called her an overachiever and kept the mood light reminding her that years from now she would be able to boast being the first, when her friends inevitably would need theirs done too.  This surgery had a glimmer of “normal” attached to it – although distinctly unique in her age.
But, being unique isn’t always a place you want to be.  Especially at 12.  Sometimes you just want to blend in a little.
cs lewis hardship
It’s less than ideal to have a weak knee with a persistent AVM.  It’s no fun at all to grow AVMs – even tiny ones – in the palms of your hands.  (One in EACH hand to be fair.)  It doesn’t make for good conversation, when your experiences are operating rooms, and your excitement comes from which doctor hurts less when they put the needle in.  Which 12-year-old would really know how to respond?  It’s certainly not the place you want to be as the FIRST wisdom tooth survivor of all your friends, when none have seen their own swollen puffy cheeks, or have any idea the pain as the incisions begin to heal and the stitches work their way through.
And I knew the prcedure even surprised the surgeon.  When I went to her as she woke up, the medication plan had changed.  Initially she was to recover on Tylenol.  I was handed a script for a narcotic pain reliever and instructed to be sure she used it.  It’s never dull.  Or easy.
fly then walk
It’s no solace to her that I understand THAT surgery.  Because I had it AGES ago, and I don’t remember too much except pain.  And, I won’t be in school with her tomorrow to give her Tylenol, or reassuring glances, or soft food.
Recovery, when she was little included furry stuffed animals, and lots of rest time.  It included balloons, and all sorts of pomp and circumstance.
Recovery, now is more about the sporadic texts and occasional pop-overs while she tries to maintain her school work.
Recovery now includes the realization that it’s very definition of “returning toward a normal or healthy state,” could prove to be elusive, indefinitely.
We do a lot of talking.  We all know how fortunate we are.  We all understand how much worse all this could be.  We have depth of knowledge of those around us who suffer.  We think.  We pray.  We miss our friends.
grass is greener
Recovery, on this beautiful holiday weekend, involved trading walks in the fall air, for open windows.  It involved being nearby all night, because I was allowed.  Recovery means family time.  And maybe that’s one of the things that keeps us sane.
Perhaps “recovery” has become a routine venture.  And THAT in and of itself could lead to a whole lot of other conversations.
Tomorrow it’s back to business.  The plan is to swim by Thursday.  After all, there is a meet this weekend.
Our goals in this house far exceed recovery.  That’s way too repetitive.

We like a challenge.  We are BEATINGCOWDENS!

until-its-done1

“An Accumulation…”

I once read a story where a special needs mom described her daughter’s seemingly “over the top” fear of needles to a phlebotomist who had no frame of reference, compassion, or desire to understand. The phlebotomist had written the child off as poorly behaved, and the mom as one with no control. This mom said plainly to the phlebotomist, “It’s not you. It’s not even the needle any more, at least I don’t think so. You are AN ACCUMULATION of botched blood draws and rolled IV attempts. You are an ACCUMULATION of her being stripped of her control, and of all the pain that has come from those needles.”

That story stuck with me in the deepest way. And I have told doctors, nurses, and phlebotomists alike, whose egos are sometimes easily bruised by an incredibly anxious 12-year-old, not to take it personally. That is if course unless they get it wrong and add to the problem…

Tomorrow morning Meghan will head to the oral surgeon for general anesthesia and surgery 15.

The surgery itself this time is not that unusual.  The wisdom teeth are impacted and the bottom two will come out tomorrow.  Years of orthodontics are complete, not to be damaged by over-anxious wisdom teeth making an unwelcome early appearance.

I say it’s not unusual. Except that she’s 12.

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If you think about when you had your own out, my guess is you were somewhere between 17 and 21.  And, at the time you had them done you knew at least a few people your age who already did it.  And you were in turn “there” for your friends that followed.

Except once again she’s braving unchartered territory alone.

For those that have challenged her on calling this “surgery,”  I will remind you that is probably how you referred to yours.  At the oral SURGEON, under anesthesia.

There have been countless well-meaning adults, telling her about their wisdom teeth, and how it’s no big deal.

IMG_5286

And while their intentions are good, I bet there aren’t going to be too many people absent from her junior high this year to get their wisdom teeth pulled.

As “normal” as things are, they just aren’t.

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By the time her friends get theirs done they will not remember, and I’ll likely have to vouch for her story that hers came out at 12.

The oral surgeon’s office called to remind me she shouldn’t eat or drink after midnight.  They shouldn’t worry.  I stopped any use of NSAIDs, and fish oil, and unneccessary multivitamins a few days ago.

We’ve got this.

She just shouldn’t have to.

It’s a recurring theme.  But, we will endure.  Because we have no other option.

Defrosting the chicken for tomorrow’s soup.

We are BEATINGCOWDENS!

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Do What You Love


It was almost 8:40 last night as I drove down Grymes Hill with Meghan.  She hadn’t been home since we left for school at 7:20 that morning. She was facing a shower, dinner, homework, and a later than normal bedtime.  She had spent the afternoon registering for her after school drama program, and had spent the last two and a quarter hours in some combination of intense exercise- on land and in the water.  She was exhausted and it was evident in her face. But, not it her voice or her mannerisms.


“I know I’ve got you running all over the place Mom, and I know it’s a lot of hours.  But, I have to tell you that I LOVE it.”


I couldn’t help but smile in spite of myself. We all want for our children to do what they love. And here she was; registered for drama, swimming 4 days a week, pushing the herself at school, enjoying church youth group, and planning a fundraiser for February.


She feels rotten. A lot. But she pushes. And I have to believe that is how we have to live this syndrome – this life.  Maybe I’m a good influence after all.

She plays in pain. Constantly.

She is always recovering from or anticipating something. But instead of waiting for the storm to pass…

She’s clearly dancing in the rain.


We have our spats. We’re supposed to. But, we balance each other too.

We keep each other motivated. We keep each other grounded.  Her diagnosis still makes me physically ill.  But, it does not, can not, and will not define her. I’m convinced.
Do what you love I tell her. Do what makes you happy. And she does.

And I do too. Watching her for hours, on the bench, in the basement by the pool makes me happy. Watching her on stage makes me happy. Watching her persevere makes me proud.

We will do this- together. We are BEATINGCOWDENS.

Summer List

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I have been walking around all day with that nagging feeling in my stomach.

I have packed my bag, and Meghan’s too.

I have filed, organized, and made lots of lists.

There is a new schedule on the wall – color coded and everything.

The calendar says it’s time, but my heart, and my stomach beg to differ.

Summer was to be about beaches, and barbeques.  It was to be about road trips and freedom.  It was designed for friends, and fun, and get-togethers.

Except that most of that never came to be.

There was that knee surgery in May, that derailed any hope of walking long distances for a while, and thrust us into 2x a week PT.  Which, even though we LOVE Dr. Jill, can be daunting in the schedule.  And, it eliminated most day trips that could easily be taken for granted, if you don’t have to factor in that a walk more than about 3/4 mile is out of the question.

And while that was going on Daddy was rebuilding the deck.  Alone.  For three months.  Every spare minute of April, May and June.  It looks so beautiful.  Maybe next year we will get some people over to relax and enjoy the deck, and the grass.  The new grass, artificial, durable, and a drastic improvement over the old side yard.  Yes, maybe next year.

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We got the pool open the first week in July.  And July had drama “camp,” and I use the term VERY loosely.  And July had swim practice.  And July had doctors, some regular, like PT, others on the 6 month schedule.  And some blood tests, and some ultrasounds, and a bone density test for mom.  I think I stopped counting at 30 appointments.

But, thankfully August had Disney.  And there are few other things that can bring me such joy as a vacation with my family to the “Happiest Place on Earth.”

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And August had it’s own set of appointments, including hand surgery to remove a vascular lesion from her palm.  And setting up the whole wisdom teeth thing for September.

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So it’s easy for me to be sad.  And down on things. Because I want a do-over.  But, I guess that’s normal.  Because most people probably do.

I sat down tonight to get my head clear.  To “flip it,” and get my head and my heart in the right place for tomorrow.  I sat down to acknowledge the many things I have to be grateful for, and the things that went WELL this summer.

reasons to smile

So, in no particular order…

  1. The new deck.  No splinters.  No maintenance.  Pretty.  And finished.
  2. The new grass.
  3. Walking barefoot in my backyard.
  4. Road trip to West Virginia, that I took alone, on a very rainy June weekend to meet some Marines.  Healing help.

    My road trip to West Virginia
    My road trip to West Virginia
  5. Listening to my girl sing.  In pain.  In joy.  In the shower.  In the living room.  In the car.  Anywhere.
  6. Healing progress.  From both recent surgeries.  And the resilience to continue to endure.
  7. Laughter.  Mine.  His.  Hers.  Friends of hers.  Strong laughter.
  8. Disney.  I’d go back three times a year if I could.
  9. Graduation party, bridal shower, and a wedding.   Mom being 18 years cancer free.  Meghan turned 12, and Felix had a birthday too!  We celebrated Pop’s 96th birthday.  Celebrations.
  10. Board games.
  11. Green tea – together.
  12. Trips to Ralph’s.
  13. Watching my all time favorite movie, “Dead Poet’s Society” with my girl.
  14. Nutrition packed shakes, EVERY day.  Even in Disney.  Fueling my body.
  15. Reading a book my friend in Australia wrote about Cowden’s – for all the world to see.
  16. Antibiotics that heal recurrent infections.
  17. Walking.  5 miles a day, most days.  and at least 10,000 steps every day since July 8th.  Goal met.IMG_5094
  18. Last, and DEFINITELY not least, were my walks with Mom.  My healing walks with Mom.  There were so many mornings when she and I walked together, 2 miles, with 2 dogs.  We talked this summer more consistently, and for longer, than we have in a long time.  I think this was one of the best things that happened all summer.  She is a strong lady.  Lyme Disease took a stab at her this summer.  Apparently for the second time.  And she has told it where to go.  So often she is a grounding force for me in this never-ending battle to remain BEATING COWDENS.  I will miss those walks.  They were not just for the FitBit, but so much for the heart and the mind.

    My Mom. My first hero. My friend. We need an updated picture.
    My Mom. My first hero. My friend. We need an updated picture.

And that is just what my compulsive, reflective, organized self needed.

Because now, I feel a little better.  It wasn’t what I had hoped.  There was sadness, and worry. for my own girl, and for so many others.  For adults I love, and for a former student fighting a formidable battle.

But, I woke up every day.  And lots of days the sun shined.  And fun doesn’t have to stop just because school starts.

So as I lay my head down tonight I will do my best to do it with gratitude.  For new days.  For new seasons.  For a job with a kind boss, helpful colleagues, and wonderful children.  For a job that begins new every year.  For the knowledge that every day, every season, will hold blessings and challenges, for us and for everyone.

I wish you all a wonderful fall, but I’m not closing the pool just yet….

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Losing Count…

In school I count children.  Religiously.  Especially in September.  I count them in, and out.

I count pencils, to pacify my OCD.  12 to a table.

I count days until appointments, special occasions, and vacations.  I love numbers.

I have a tendency to remember addresses, phone numbers, anniversaries and dates.

So it’s a really big deal in my mind when I realize I am losing count of Meghan’s surgical procedures.

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I keep a list in my bag, that I update often.  I have a 16 gig flash drive with a history spanning 12 years in that same ziploc bag in my purse.  But, this year.  Well, this year has been a little more wild than usual.

And every time I say it, I find the old saying, “You ain’t seen nothing yet..” coming true.  But, every year I sit at an IEP meeting talking about discontinuing some services, and we always say, “When she goes a year with no surgery…”

Good thing I’m not holding my breath.

See I wrote, and I think I blogged, TWICE in the last week, that the hand surgery was Meghan’s 13th surgery.  Except it wasn’t.  It was the 14th.

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And maybe, when I lose count, it’s time to stop counting.  Because they are all starting to blur together.

2004- Epigastric hernia surgery

2007 –  Gall Bladder Removed

2008 Tonsils and adenoids removed

2008 Back mass lipoma

2009 Oral “fibrous polyp”

2009 Embolization (internal) AVM right knee

2010 Embolization (internal)  AVM right knee

2011 Direct Stick Embolization AVM right knee

2012 Direct Stick Embolization AVM right knee

2013 excision of mass from right palm

2014 complete thyroidectomy

Nov. 2014 emergency (direct stick) embolization AVM right knee

May 2015 Arthroscopic Surgery – Right knee

August 2015 Excision of vascular lesion from left palm

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But, just as I think I should stop counting.  Just as I think that this is “normal,” or that these procedures are somehow “minor,” I realize the ridiculous nature of that train of thought.

THIS IS NOT NORMAL.  THIS IS COWDEN’S SYNDROME.  And, BEATINGCOWDENS is what we do, but it is far from NORMAL!

This week, Meghan had a fever blister break out before her surgery.  Maybe nerves, maybe coincidence, maybe a medication screw up.  Whatever.  It reminded me again, that her body is taxed.  It is tired.  I have been hunting through past blood work, another plan in place to try to deal with chronically low IgG levels.

She spent the 48 hours after the “minor” hand surgery with high fever and frightening headaches.

We had to postpone the follow-up to the “real” 13th surgery Thursday morning because she could not get into the car.

No surgery is minor.  And we run the risk of confusing things we are used to with things that are not significant.  And that is a dangerous road.

It is so important to keep validated, as an adolescent or as an adult.  When we trivialize procedures, intentionally or not, we invalidate the patient.  Cowden’s Syndrome patients will undergo insane numbers of procedures, surgeries, hospitalizations and testing in their lives.  They all matter.  Because we matter.  And while we are forever grateful every time a surgery is smooth, benign, and uncomplicated, we are all a little more rattled than we were before.

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So LOSING COUNT, is not acceptable.  It somehow trivializes the nature of what goes on here.

We didn’t get to the beach this summer.  We did get to Disney.  Thank goodness.  Because pretty much everything else we did involved traffic, a co-pay and a parking garage.

We are blessed.  We are grateful.  We are in tune to the tragedies and horrors around us.  But, sometimes it gets lonely.

We miss barbeques and parties.  We cancel at the last-minute.  We rarely socialize.  It’s not because we don’t want to.  It’s because things change so quickly we can not keep up.  And then it looks like we don’t want to.  But, it’s just not true.

We are eternally grateful to the people who reach out.  Just for a minute. Because it matters.

If you’re reading this because you know someone with Cowden’s or a similar syndrome, my advice to you is reach out.  Text.  Call.  Email.  It’s not about money, or grand gestures.  It’s the 5 minutes you spend that will truly aid in the recovery process.

Because recovery is essential.  Number 15 is just around the corner.  And even though that’s a “regular” surgery, I bet not many of us have had our wisdom teeth extracted at the age of 12.

It’s physical.

It’s mental.

It’s emotional.

It does not stop.

BEATINGCOWDENS