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.

To the Middle School Girls Who Doubt My Daughter…

July 20, 2015

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

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

Not everyone who IS sick, LOOKS sick.

Take a moment and process that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I have to watch.

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

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

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

Sincerely,

Meghan’s Mom

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“I Am From” – Guest Blogger Meghan

I Am From

by Meghan

I am from Love

I am from mutts barking at night

I am from swims in the backyard pool

I am from hospitals and procedures

I am from suffering

I am from anticipation of how my life will survive

I am from anguish after surgery

I am from crying in the hospital at night

I am from fear of not being strong enough

 take pride in your pain

I am from doctors saying this cannot be

I am from hearing that I am unusual

I am from paralyzing fear of iv’s and needles

I am from being cast out for my pain

I am from fear of not surviving from the pain

 Just-Tired

I am from baby blue walls

I am from a home that cares for me

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

I am from a home with clouds as chairs

I am from a home like a chocolate bakery

I am from the calming smell of Yankee candles

I am from the smell of brand new books

I am from the pool

I am from the thrill of swimming

I am from competition

I am from Wagner Aquatics and CSI

I am from the relief that comes with butterfly

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I am Lori

And Felix

I am from Barbra

And Leon

I am from the Ortegas

And I am from the Thompsons

I am from many beliefs

I am from hurt and hatred

And I am from love and compassion

I am from different weather each day

I am from winter devouring sweet spring

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I am from Christmas trees going up after Thanksgiving

I am from a special Thanksgiving meal the day after

I am from August Disney trips

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 I am from spices

I am from cookies and cake

I am from avocado

I am from Isagenix

avocado

isagenix shake

I am from playing with my first dog Lucky

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

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I am from church at Zion and Castleton Hill

I am from the beliefs that Jesus will rise again

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

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

be the change

I am from adventure and fantasy filled books

I am from Rick Riordan and J.K Rowling

I am from action figures and comics

I am from DC universe

I am from Wonder Woman

I am from He-Man

I am from Batman and Superman

I am from the sidekicks

I am from X-Box 360 and video games

I am from mythology

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I am from the LOVE of my family

BEATING COWDENS!

The Heart of a Champion – an open letter to my daughter

Dear Meghan,

Today Daddy and I watched you swim in the Silver Championship meet.  It was your first qualifying meet, and it won’t be your last.  We find it amazing that you qualified, and for the 100 butterfly no less, in only your second year of swimming.  To say we are proud would not even begin to define how we feel.

Today was just another example of how you amaze us, astound us and impress us.  I know, parents are supposed to be proud of their kids.  I get it. But, when I think of what you go through each moment of every day, I truly am left in awe.

I get that you like swimming because you can feel “normal.”  There is no special treatment in the pool and the clock forgives nothing.  Cut times are clear and either you make it or you don’t.  Believe me, I don’t look to make excuses for anything or anyone.  You know that I can be kind of tough.  (I get that from Grandma, along with a bark that’s worse than my bite… :-))  But sometimes in those moments when you are your toughest critic you have to allow yourself the same forgiveness your warm heart offers to others without hesitation.

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Living with Cowden’s Syndrome is a tenuous balancing act.  To stay on top of things the way you do takes intense effort.  I think most people would be physically and emotionally exhausted to live your yesterday – let alone your every day.

Last night when your back gave out, and the pain was too intense for me to even touch you, I gave you every out.  I gave you every excuse not to swim today.  You wouldn’t hear of it.  Your hips, the exact point you need your force to kick for your favorite butterfly were tender to even the gentlest touch.  It took you hours to rest because your body allows nothing to contend with the pain.  So I held your hand as you wiggled and squirmed for hours.  I reminded you I loved you as you desperately tried to rest.  I stroked your head when you finally passed out from exhaustion.  And I was glad the lights were off to hide the tears that stained my face.  Tears, not of pity, but of grueling agony of watching my dearest love suffer some more.  I knew as I laid there it was unfair.  That your knee was still hurting too, and now your back.  I knew I made no sense for all this to be coming the night before something you wanted so badly.

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That defines your life.  Sometimes the hits are small and consistent.  Sometimes they come out of nowhere, but you just keep going.  You just keep fighting.  And truth be told, you inspire me to do the same.

Yesterday we went to look at shoes.  You’ve been complaining for months that your left sock is tight.  The orthopedist measured your feet and acknowledged the 1cm difference between them.  But, I don’t think either of us took in the reality until we were in the shoe store and saw this.

Left Foot
Left Foot
Right foot (AVM leg)
Right foot (AVM leg)

Another realization that we needed to go about things a different way.  So we picked out your shoes, ASICS GT 2000 3 in a 9.5 and a 10.5 and we spoke to the store manager at Dick’s.  He will help us.  Because we asked.  But, I know it got into your head.  The wonder about the upcoming surgery in May and the worry about what this AVM is doing to your knee in its spare time.  And I HATE not having any answers for you.  But I don’t.  I can only promise to be with you every single step of the way.

And as I got your pills out yesterday morning, and I helped open your thyroid pills, I thought about the year since you had a complete thyroidectomy.  It was just over a year ago you became a thyroid cancer “previvor”  when your 19 nodules, including three precancerous ones, came out with your thyroid.  It occurred to me for about the 5,000th time this year, that your thyroid is STILL not balanced.  We don’t give up.  We keep trying.  But its you who has to wake up every day and function  ok soar, with levels that would leave people 2 and 3 times your age crying in their beds.

So when you took the block today, I took a moment to take it all in.  I took a moment to take a good look at you, and I swear I could see the heart of a champion beating in your chest.  I saw your green and black suit, and your prescription goggles, but in that moment I saw your raw heart.  I saw the feisty determination that gets you through each day.

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You might not have seen your best time on the board.  But, me, I saw a champion.

The free dictionary defines a champion as:

cham·pi·on

 (chăm′pē-ən)

n.

1. One that wins first place or first prize in a competition.
2. One that is clearly superior or has the attributes of a winner: a champion at teaching.
3. An ardent defender or supporter of a cause or another person: a champion of the homeless. (or those with rare diseases – Ok I added that)
4. One who fights; a warrior.
And while you may not get a first place medal, you have won by walking through the door.  You have overcome greater odds than anyone ever really knows.
You take the high road, even when it’s the tougher one to walk.  You put other people first.  You advocate for those less fortunate.  You stand strong for what you believe.  You excel in school.  You soar at your extra curricular activities, and even within the pain that is relentless, you are an athlete too.  You my girl, are a warrior, a true champion.  Because as you get older you will come to realize that success is not defined by the highest grades, or the most first place ribbons.  Success is defined by your character, by the person you are.
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So my girl, when you lay your head on the pillow, know that I admire you with every aspect of my soul.  Know that I respect that you daily work to be the best YOU, you can be.  Know that YOUR BEST is ALWAYS good enough.  Know that your compassion changes people.  Know that you, in your own way are making an impact in this world.  And most of all, know that you have two parents who love you more than you can possibly understand.
Thank you.  For being more than I could have ever hoped for in a daughter.  For even though we will hit rocky roads sometimes, we have seen so much, side by side and hand in hand.  You my girl, have the heart of a champion, and there is no one I’d rather travel this bumpy road with than you.
All my love always,
Mom
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The Speed of Life

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I am always amazed by the speed of life.

I don’t know why at this point I’m not used to it yet.  But, as I sit here with my leg elevated recovering from a vein stripping on Thursday, I find it hard to imagine it hasn’t been quite a week since “Jeans for Rare Genes” took place.

Rare Disease Day Fundraiser

Acknowledgements have been sent by Email.  Some are waiting for the mail, and others will be delivered to the local businesses that supported us in the next few days.  We wanted everyone to know that what we considered a lofty goal of $10,000 to be donated to the PTEN Hamartoma Tumor Syndrome Foundation, and The Global Genes Project has been surpassed.  The checks are still being counted, and the final payment from eventbrite is due any moment.  But it looks like the total will clear $12,000 before we are through.  Not too shabby for the vision of a feisty 11-year-old who has already begun to make tentative plans for what we will do even better “next year.”

PTEN logo global genes logo

And as I’ve digested the success, and have processed the overwhelming pride of a mother, and expressed our gratitude to family and friends near and far, (like the Yokleys from Colorado!)  I’ve taken some time to reflect.  Standing before a room filled with 150 of our friends and family on a bitter cold February morning left my insides warm and toasty from the love surrounding us.

Life moves quickly.  For all of us for different reasons.  But, with this syndrome x2 life seems to be literally swallowed by doctors, and tests and surgeries, with every spare moment trying to shove “normal” into the cracks.  We miss stuff.  A lot.  We miss friends, and gatherings and social events, and celebrations, and ordinary get-togethers.  We are absent more than we are present.  Our friends and extended family are often neglected as immediate family has to occupy any moment that isn’t already full.  I don’t actually remember the last time we had friends for pizza, or a casual summer gathering on the deck by the pool.

And I think about the pure innocence and wisdom of Meghan and Connor, as they finally met.  Two friends from miles apart, with a life altering syndrome in common.  Two bright, funny kids who have seen more than their fair share.  Two kids who get compassion, and understanding, and life.  Two sets of parents, immediately at ease with each other because we understand.  And sometimes that’s all you need.  And if you missed the two articulate, wise beyond their years, kids talking to the local news – click here.

I think about Georgia, a world away in Australia, and how she and Meghan have hit it off in a way only girls who share such a bond ever could.  I think how wonderful it will be one day to get them together too.

And I think about Ashton, older than Meghan, but a girl on a mission all the same.  And I think of all she has to offer the world, as she endures her 14th procedure on a stubborn AV fistula in her brain this week.  I think about all the prayers we say, and all the questions Meghan asks.  And her Mom.  My peer.  A Cowden’s patient too.  A school teacher turned full-time mother later in life.  Because it was meant to be.  I think about the hours spent texting and messaging.  And how I already feel so comfortable…

And I know that the room was full for them too.

I am grateful beyond measure for the ones who understand.  Who don’t give up on us.  Who stand with us, beside us, behind us, or just about wherever we need them to be.

help from my friends

I will resolve to try to reach out more.  I just don’t know how many more hours I can squeeze out of a week.  But I will try.  Because the speed of life is astounding.

Sunday some of my college friends were delayed to the fundraiser.  They were in the hospital with one, as her father was very ill.  Yet, they found the balance.  They stayed with her, and then came to us.

Thursday as I came out of I think my 7th vascular procedure I got the texts on my phone that things weren’t good.  Her Dad passed away Thursday morning.  My heart hurt.  It was ironic really, as I had felt my own Dad ever-present as I got checked in and prepped.  I got to thinking that out of 5 of us from college that I really stay in touch with, three had already lost a father, and one a mother and a brother.  How did we get to this stage?  How did life move so fast?  And although my own recovery will keep me from making it to her side tomorrow, – I know she will feel the love in my heart.

friends uplifts-the-soul

We have to try to slow things down.  Sometimes.

But, I’m not sure when.  Or how.  Because yesterday I sat in the back seat with my heavily bandaged leg, and we made the trek to Cohen’s Children’s Hospital on Long Island.  And we saw an orthopedist about Meghan’s knee.  Her vascular surgeon suggested we go – before the next embolization procedure in her knee.

Her MRI shows some damage to the knee structure.  “Blood is a terrible irritant, even in small quantities…” And I would imagine that this AVM, probably active since birth, has been slowly eroding the knee.  So there is swelling in the bone marrow, and issues with the patella, and all sorts of explanations as to why it keeps hurting.  There is no real solution, but a synnovectomy will get him in the knee.  He can “clean out” some of the scar tissue, and we can pray that gives relief and doesn’t provoke a “hyper healing” Cowden’s type response.  But we have to try.  They have to see.  It’s time to get a real baseline.

So they will present her case next week.  And we will hope that the recommendation is for the vascular surgeon to do his work on the AVM at the same time the orthopedist does his work.  Because the recovery from the embolizations is tough.  This one promises to be outright nasty.  “At least a week on crutches.  Minimum 4-6 week recovery.  PT to build back the strength in the thigh muscle.”  They will fill the knee with saline to get a clear view…

So he asked about her activities, and approved of swimming.  Almost relieved when she told him she had given up soccer and dance because they hurt too much.  He asked what strokes in swimming, almost tentatively, as if he was hoping for the answer he got.

“Butterfly is my favorite!”

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And he looked relieved as he explained to Felix and I that butterfly kick was best on the knees.  Meghan chimed in, “because you kick from your hips!”

We were once again impressed by her instincts and her depth of knowledge of her own body.  She gravitated to a stroke most hate because it probably hurt her the least.  We got the nod to let her continue freestyle and backstroke.  But breaststroke is off-limits.  Probably forever.  Ironically – she never like that one much anyway…

We asked about the timing of the procedure.  He thought before he spoke and told us he wanted to hear what his colleagues had to say.

We pressed him for early May.  The tail end of the CYO season.  The week after her first play, “Hairspray” at school.  He told us to take it very easy.  And if she doesn’t have another bleed before then, that’s probably a reasonable time frame.

“If… Probably…”

We should be used to all this by now.  But, I think you never get used to watching your child get beat up over and over again.  That’s why we pushed to try to plan… to try to squeeze in all the normal we can.  Because she can’t keep having the fun taken away for the medical.  It’s not ok.  But, we plan very tentatively.

The speed of life can be overwhelming.

Thankfully we have so many of you along for the ride.

Next Saturday, February 28th is World Rare Disease Day.

Next Sunday, March 1st is Meghan’s first championship swim meet.  Silvers.  For the 100 butterfly – naturally.

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Winning

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Winning.  It feels good.  And it’s not about being first.  And it’s not always about being “the best.”  Sometimes winning can be as simple as not losing!

Every day we wake up and prepare for battle.  The “sword” is sharpened before we get out of bed.  We can not take a step unprotected, or unguarded.  And, even being on guard against Cowden’s Syndrome all the time is often not enough.  So often things just happen…

Sometimes we get a little  A LOT frustrated.  Often we feel beat up by this beast that we battle.  “It” gets quite a few swipes in.  But, we have, and we WILL always remain on top.  That’s why we are BEATINGCOWDENS.

So tonight, as we drove home from a swim meet in the Bronx, we chatted –  my girl and I.

And it was pleasant, easy conversation.

So often as the weekend comes I reflect on the week that was in awe that THAT much “stuff” fit into the week.

This was no exception.

Last month she was sidelined from the swim meet.  Recovering from knee surgery just three weeks prior, she was in no condition to compete.

This month she was all in, and we both loved it.  It is such a treat to watch her when she gives it everything she’s got.  It’s an even bigger treat when she takes 4 seconds off the 100 free and 1.5 seconds off the 50 fly.

Winning.

The conversation on my end for the long afternoon of waiting was pleasant and easy.  A bunch of overheated parents held captive together, all sharing a common hope that their children swim their best.  Meghan talked comfortably with her peers, easily passing the time between events.

There are goals, qualifying times in her brain, but today she was pleased by her success and so was I.  She may reach these times this season.  She may reach them next season.  But, we agreed that it doesn’t matter as much as her continued progress.  And I was able to tell her how proud I am that she persists.  Through 5 knee surgeries, through thyroid numbers that would level the strongest among us, through chronic pain – quitting is not in her vocabulary.  This is the focus she will take with her for the rest of her days.  This is the attitude, this “I CAN do it,” is what I pray will follow her all of her days, through all aspects of her life.

winning

Winning.

This week she got a part she wanted in the play she’s been working on in after school drama.  She was patient.  Persistent.  She calls drama “fun,” and the students, “funny.”  She never acted before.  Except for every day when she “acts” like a pain-free “regular” 11-year-old.  She’s thrilled.

Winning.

The marking period ends this week I think.  Her averages on the “Pupil Path” app impress me.  And I was a pretty good student.  I don’t check her homework, or really bother her about anything.  “I’ve got it, Mom.”  And the numbers tell the same story.  All those years of working together on good study habits paid off.

winning3

Winning.

The fund-raiser, “Jeans for Rare Genes,” is taking off.  And we haven’t seen anything yet.  People are reaching out.  They are coming to the event, donating raffle baskets, making monetary donations, and offering their time and energy.  Local businesses have been extraordinarily supportive.  Meghan had seen the best in so many people.  She knows her life matters.  Her story matters.  Her drive is being rewarded.  Her big heart is teaching her to dream bigger, and help more people.

Rare Disease Day Fundraiser

Winning.

We lost our Allie Girl, our 11-year-old rescue in December.  She was with us 7 and a half great years.  We miss her.  All of us, especially her Dad and her “furry” sister Lucky.  Felix approached me about rescuing another dog.  I thought it might be too soon.  He reminded me that Allie had a good life because we rescued her.  He felt strongly we could be that same kind of help to another dog, and by doing so we would honor Allie, and help Lucky’s loneliness.  I told him I was open – but no puppies.  I wanted to know we were saving a dog.  I wanted a dog no one else wanted.  That made sense to me.

Sweet April showed up on a web site Felix was following.  A three-year-old lab mix with an uncertain history, rescued from a high kill shelter in Florida.  She was being fostered in Pennsylvania.  “It’s all in the eyes,” Felix said.

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We put in an inquiry, and left an application with references.

The Email said she was going to be in Brooklyn Tuesday night.  Could we come and see her?  And if everything went well and she and Lucky got along, would we consider taking her?

TUESDAY?  Who takes a new dog on a Tuesday?

Sound asleep in the car Tuesday night.
Sound asleep in the car Tuesday night.

Apparently we do.

April arrived at our home around 7:30 PM Tuesday, after a brief visit to Petsmart for a new collar, and to meet GiGi and Pop!

We had to get her in, fed, settled and all of us off to bed within a few brief hours.

She found her spot.  And Meghan has slept better this week than she has in years.

IMG_3720

WINNING!

Lucky has developed arthritis in her knee, and a visit to the vet Weds. with both dogs in tow was very emotional for me.  April checked out as healthy and strong.  And my Lucky had her very first blood test.  I am happy to report she is healthy as can be.  I left with a script for anti-inflammatory medicine for her.  She’s going to need it to keep up with her little sister.

And somewhere I can imagine Allie smiling in Heaven, as Lucky is the recipient of the playful nips she used to give so frequently.

Allie always watched over her human sister.
Allie always watched over her human sister.

 

The sight of two tails wagging again was good for us all.

WINNING!

Plot Twist!

We are thinking we are far from alone in appreciating this Facebook post from the Global Genes Project.  I mean these days it seems more than ever, I barely talk to someone whose life isn’t taking major, unforeseen “Plot Twists,” on a regular basis.

Global Genes hit this one spot on!
Global Genes hit this one spot on!

Whether it is the sick parent, or parents; the terminally ill or recently passed loved one; the stress of work, moving, new job, or the new house,  life has a habit of not going according to plan.  Brain surgeries interrupted, recurrent thyroid surgeries.  The list really goes on and on.  The only constant being change.  And not on our pace, or our time.  God alone knows the true plot of our stories.

Some have almost played out and are nearing the climax.  Others are barely introducing the characters.  And the older you get, the more you realize that doesn’t have as much to do with age as you might have once thought.

Sometimes I want to read faster.  To see what comes next.  To see how it all works out in the end.  Sometimes I want to hide the book in a deep crevice, in a padlocked safe and convince myself that if I just don’t look at it, everything will be OK.

My logical mind knows that neither is true.  And I, like everyone else, am left to brave each day doing the best I can with what I have, where I am.  I am left to do my best to be kind.  To realize everyone suffers battles.  To pay it forward when possible.  To pray for the best, and have faith when the worst hits.

522ha-christopher-robin-to-winnie-the-pooh-quote-promise-always-remember-that-youre-braver-than-you-believe

We plod along here.  The leg is getting worse.  Much worse.  The AVM is rearing its ugly head.  A “Plot Twist” indeed.  See in May when she spent a week in the hospital with severe gastritis, they said no more Celebrex.  No one except Felix and I got the gravity of that statement.  Celebrex had been in our lives since March of 2012, a month after the 4th knee surgery.  And the knee had been remarkably quiet.  You see in our lives, the life of Cowden’s Syndrome, Celebrex is used to treat AVMs – which are pretty common among us.  It helps with the pain, and it has an affect on angiogenesis, which affects the flow of the blood.

Except the Celebrex, according to the report, had caused a very sensitive GI tract to go totally haywire.  They said it caused 6 days in the hospital, dehydration, IV fluid, and a hot mess of tests.  Over and over Celebrex took the blame.  The drug she had taken peacefully for 2 years had finally said, “enough.”  The esophagus was so damaged it looked like a 70 year-old man belonged to it.  No more Celebrex.  No more NSAIDs.  At all.  We were scared.  Something had definitely gone wrong.

“PLOT TWIST!”  Cause those drugs were keeping her walking, sometimes running, swimming, and playing.

But we wonder, her Dad and I, if that was really that simple.  Our girl has been on some time of Protein Pump Inhibitor since she was 4 months old.  She takes pancreatic enzymes to aid her digestion of a very restricted diet.  And still we have always had to “pay attention.”  Maybe it was the Celebrex.  Probably it was the Celebrex. But what if it wasn’t?

When we left the hospital in May we figured 6 months before the knee was a serious issue again.  It started in August.  It’s getting worse.

On December 1st we’ll see the doctor who has dealt with it each time before.

But now we have an athlete.  A swimmer who LOVES to compete.  A swimmer with goals.  Attainable goals.  The time on Celebrex gave her time to get a taste of swimming.  And she likes it.  A lot.

So there will be some balancing to be done.  How long is it safe to wait?  How long can she stand to wait? How much of the season can she swim?  How much pain can she take? How big is the AVM?

We have things to focus on.  The February find raiser has us excited, and occupied.  We will keep busy.

The story will unfold.  Some of the best ones have multiple plot twists.

I mailed 15 pounds of medical history to the doctor who showed a hopeful interest a few weeks ago.  She’ll have it tomorrow.  Now let’s see what becomes of it.

Life doesn’t allow for planning.  Mom keeps telling me.  This year there is more up in the air than down.  And yet, the days will come, one at a time.  We will meet them, deal with them, and move on.

Cause really what other choice do we have?  What choice do any of us have?

Saturday as she cleaned the music blasted.  Katy Perry’s, “Roar”

…You held me down, but I got up (HEY!)
Already brushing off the dust
You hear my voice, you hear that sound
Like thunder gonna shake the ground
You held me down, but I got up (HEY!)
Get ready ’cause I’ve had enough
I see it all, I see it now…

…I got the eye of the tiger, a fighter, dancing through the fire
‘Cause I am a champion and you’re gonna hear me roar…

plot-twist-ahead-sign

 

Coaches Change Lives

I know that teachers have the power to change lives, but as my girl gets to the middle school years, I am really starting to think the power is with the coaches.

I have always wanted my daughter to be an athlete, and truth be told, THAT didn’t take much convincing.  She is a natural competitor.  She loves the thrill of racing. competing, and performing.  She has done some time in soccer, with some fantastic coaches, who worked to nurture her.  She loved her time dancing.  But, her body, much to her chagrin, was not made for pounding.  The knees, and hips, and major joints couldn’t handle the impact.

So we headed to the pool.  Her first experience with any competitive swimming came at the age of 9, on a CYO team we were connected to through a friend.  Soon after that season she tried out, and was accepted to join a 12 month team.  She began with them in July of 2013.  And, while the desire to compete was always strong in her, it seemed there was constantly something standing in her way.

some days

We started the year with the goal of making 2-3 practices a week.  But, in the fall things took some wild turns, and there were migraines, and neurologist visits, viruses, and fatigue, and strep, and one obstacle after another.  There were weeks one practice seemed like a feat.  Meghan had a hard time finding her place, because she wasn’t there much.  And the cycle continued.  During the fall my father became ill and passed away quite suddenly in December.  That set her into a bit of a tailspin.  Then in the end of December a routine thyroid appointment told us there was much to be concerned about, and that she’d need her thyroid removed.

coach

Ironically this is about the time she started to enjoy going to practice.  The coaches were intelligent, and compassionate.  The kids were all finding their way.

Meghan responded so well to the two young women who coached her most often.  They understood her medical trials, but treated her no differently.  They pushed her just enough, but never too hard.  They listened when things hurt, and gave her ways to work through it.

She mustered the courage, and stayed healthy enough to make it to her first big meet in January.  She was awed by the whole experience, and truth be told, I don’t even remember what she swam.  Like so many firsts, it was about getting it done.

Thyroid surgery in February sidelined her for a few weeks.  And, long after her body had healed physically, her thyroid hormone levels never seemed to take to the synthetic replacements.  An emergency room trip in February – 10 days post op, led to an overnight stay and the elimination of the synthetic calcium from her diet completely.

But, by the beginning of March she headed back to practice.  Her coaches welcomed her, encouraged her, and built her up.  She started making regular practices, and swimming CYO at the same time.

Then, in May her body quit again.  Severe gastritis landed her in the local hospital for 6 days.  She missed her last CYO meet.  She underwent extensive testing, and the blame for the erosions in the esophagus, and the inflamed, bleeding ulcerations in her stomach lay with the Celebrex – the very medication that was allowing her to function through the chronic pain that plagues her.

Coaches-change-lives

Crossroads.

The elimination of Celebrex, and the discoveries of the damage it had caused in her GI tract, led to changes.  Her already Gluten, Dairy, Soy free diet, became also free of beef, spices, chocolate, and the other tastes that had carried her through.  Then there was the pain.  The constant awareness of pain in all her major joints was playing mind games with her.  The pain – very real – could be fed nothing to control it.  Oral pain meds were, and still are off limits.

Weak from her stay in the hospital, it took another week home before she could even consider a return to practice.  And when she did, she was angry.  She was angry at her body for the pain, and angry that she couldn’t keep her old pace.  She was just angry.

But the coaches, they were supportive.  They let her take the lead.  They let her take her time.  She rested when she needed to. She left early when she had to.  And finally, just about 3 weeks ago she started making full practices again.

The pain is a daily battle.  One she is fighting with mental power to overcome, and the best nutrition we can offer to her.

Last week she made 4 days of swim camp with the varsity swimming head coach at the local college.  6 hours a day.  She slept well.  She was sore.  But she was determined.

So, when we set off for the meet upstate yesterday, my expectations were low.  I was hoping she would finish without disqualifying.  100m of butterfly is not for the faint of heart, especially in a 50 meter pool.  But she did it.  And closed in with a time .67 seconds away from qualifying her for Junior Olympics.  Junior Olympics, the best of the best swimmers in her age group.  An honor just to make it in the door.

We went back today to give it one more try, but it wasn’t meant to be.  This year.

Close doesn’t cut it.  This I know.  Except when you consider that she got THIS close, despite all odds, it’s something to consider.  Meghan’s synthetic thyroid replacement is not working.  It’s just not.  At our last appointment we found out her TSH level – the Thyroid Stimulating hormone has increased by over 300% in 6 weeks.  Post operatively it remained about a 10, it took a brief dip to 6, and then over a 6 week span increased to 20.5.  ABNORMALLY HIGH is what it says on the lab report.  That, combined with her low levels of T4 means that the work of the thyroid, that can not be done by the gland that was removed, is not being done by the medication, which has just short of doubled since February.  The endocrinologist is baffled.  I’m concerned, but not shocked.  He agreed to research alternative medication, but he has, “never had to prescribe one before.”  For those of you not thyroid patients, you are considered hypothyroid, once the TSH goes above 5.  Most people feel human between 1 and 3.  I function best when mine is .5.  At 20.5 you would likely not find me out of my bed.  You would certainly not find me at swim practice.

“Mind over matter,” we say.

“Everyone has something,” we say.

“Show the world you are better than Cowden’s Syndrome,” we say.

And she does.  All the time.

On the way home we talked a lot.  We talked about obstacles, and overcoming.  She started to set goals.

swim_coach_journal

And then, there was this text from her coaches.

“”Hi Mrs. Ortega.  (We) just wanted to send you guys a text and let you know how proud we are of Meghan.  She is such a pleasure to coach and is always looking for ways to improve and be her best.  Swimming isn’t only about the times, it’s about the people and having the opportunity to create and share memories, good and bad.  Meghan has so much drive, and goes through more than we can even imagine.  She is truly amazing to go through everything she does and still push her body in the water.  Today was just the first time.  We know there will be plenty more opportunities for her to make cut times, and we know she will.  She has limitless potential and we want her to know that.  She is truly an amazing person, and we are lucky to be able to coach her.”

inspired-life

And in that moment, everything was OK.  Coaches have this incredible power.  They can motivate and heal and push in the same breath.  They are gifted with selflessness like no other.  My heart is grateful for these women who will continue to shape my daughter’s future.  May they always know the impact they are having on a life full of bumps, twists, and turns.

Playing in Pain

We missed church again today.  Not because we overslept.  Nope.  We were up with plenty of time to arrive at the Urgi Center and take our typical seats, waiting in a crowded room.  If I had my copays back each year, I think they would exceed my tax return.  Which is no great shakes anyway, especially with the whole identity theft mess.  But, I digress…

Yesterday was a CYO swim meet.  It started poorly because the bungee on her prescription goggles snapped in my hand.  And they don’t get to warm up before a CYO meet, so there was no way to check and see if the new cord set the goggles right.  So, she want back to her old goggles.  Guaranteed functionality – sacrificing vision.

swim

She swam.  Hard and as fast as she could.  She maintained her time during her first 25 fly in the relay, and took 2nd in the individual fly.  She even swam up – with the 7th and 8th graders for a 50 back, and took 2nd there too.  But it was during the last leg of the 200 free relay – the last lap of her 50 – her father and I looked at each other and knew – the right arm was hurt.

swim2

When I met her in the locker room her resolve was strong.  My mission was clearly to help her get out as fast as she could.  But the arm made it tough to change quickly.  We got into the car before it all came out.  She explained how the loss of the prescription goggles altered her judgement and she banged her arm into the diving board rails as she started – out of a lane she has never been in before.

We came home and iced the arm.  We watched as the pain seemed to get worse.  It went from the arm, up into the shoulder and into the neck.  We are so used to there being pain.  This child lives in constant pain.  Some people must think all sorts of things, because something truly always hurts.  But we have learned to put them aside, and, we have to triage.  Last week she walked around for 5 days with a sprained ankle.  Pain is so personal.  Her nerve endings seem so easily excitable.  Any injury seems to trigger an attack of “hyper healing” effort by her body.  Even with 200 mg of MAINTENANCE Celebrex a day, she contends with joint pain and muscle spasms.

But she is an athlete, trapped in a body that is not quite sure how to handle her.  So she presses on, and in between wanting to stick her in a bubble, I am awed by her raw determination.  She wants to RUN, and KICK, and PLAY, and SWIM, and be a KID.

It’s not uncommon for her to spend the day after phys ed. recovering.  Or a day or two after an athletic play date trying to work through the residual pain.  I know that the other kids aren’t fighting their bodies like this, and it breaks my heart.  But she is one determined young lady.

Sometimes the only option..
Sometimes the only option..

So last night we sent a text to our PT.  To know Dr. Jill is to love her, as she is one of a select group of medical professionals who truly works for LOVE of the children she services.  And when you are Meghan you have “PT for LIFE” and she’s been a patient there for about 4 years!  And at 9PM last night we were in her living room – getting informal advice from a very skilled friend.  If you’ve followed our story a while you know Dr. Jill is the impetus behind our Cowden’s diagnosis.  She is the one who said,  “something isn’t right here – too many unconnected pieces.  Take her to genetics.”  And I did.  And the rest is our unfolding story.

Dr. Jill encouraged us to get a muscle relaxant for Meghan at Urgi Care today.

She's an absolute DREAM child - but really God knew what He was doing giving us ONE!
She’s an absolute DREAM child – but really God knew what He was doing giving us ONE!

So we did.  We also got a note because the injury is to her right bicep and shoulder.  Her dominant side.  And there is no practice for her tomorrow.  And no Phys. Ed. on Friday… and then there is the math test this week.  And the gamble as to whether she will be able to write enough, fast enough…  So much to think about.

The muscle relaxant calmed the shooting neck pain for a while, but its on its way back as I type.

We spent some time today talking about our fundraising hopes for Rare Disease Day 2015.  We talked about my promising conversation with the head of the PTEN foundation – formed in December 2013.  We talked about wanting to do something BIG for the PTEN foundation http://www.ptenfoundation.org/ and Global Genes Project.   http://globalgenes.org/

I sometimes complain about being too busy, but she, like me, needs a positive project – even a simple play date – just something on the horizon to keep her focused.

She managed to type out the homework.  We are getting ready for tomorrow and another crazy week.

We are babysitting my sister-in-law’s 12-year-old rottweiler.  A 3 dog house.  Cause a little more chaos creates more reason to keep on keeping on.

And I marvel that aside from some waning eyesight which I will have to address eventually – my body is stronger, and more able to endure stress than ever before.  And I remember that it’s a good thing I stumbled upon nutritional cleansing when I did.  The closet is full of the smallest clothes I have ever owned, and the ability to endure is not to be taken lightly.

My Favorite!
My Favorite!

So tonight we will get a real sense of how long the muscle relaxant helps.  And tomorrow we will conquer the hurdles of having the dominant shoulder banged up during a school day.

I think I’ll get everything prepared nice and early.  Just in case…

moms - full time

Keep Swimming… Just Keep Swimming

This one is a favorite of a dear internet friend :-)
This one is a favorite of a dear internet friend 🙂

This image has been on my mind all week.  Truth be told there is an awful lot on my mind,  and I apologize that most of it is likely to come out jumbled.  When I don’t get to the computer regularly there is all this stream of consciousness stuff…

invisible illness 4 dumptruck

My girl feels cruddy.  And I know, “its a big surgery,” and “it takes time to even things out.”  But it really stinks.  Her thyroid numbers are way out of whack.  The endocrinologist is absent… most of the time, and even if he couldn’t answer my questions, I’d like to be able to ask them.  If my thyroid numbers were as wacky as hers you’d be scraping me off the floor.  Here comes the crazy mom – trying to restrain myself for one more blood work cycle before I fire him too.  Good thing I live in a big city.  I might well run out of doctors otherwise.

It is so hard to watch her  – feeling betrayed by her own body.

She is bright.  And kind.  And super rational.  She gets the whole idea that people have it worse.  She is grounded.

But sometimes she is 10.  And she doesn’t understand why she can’t keep up.  Cognitively she can dance.  But physically…

She has to decide on a Friday if we are busy on Saturday morning.  This way she knows if she can play gym.  She gets through the gym period, and often has the time of her life… but we have to block out hours on Saturday to recover.  She played last week.  She had the time of her life.  Good thing the school staff doesn’t have to watch her get out of bed on Saturday.

And running.  How she LOVES to run.  And she’s fast.  But she can’t.  Not for long anyway.  Tendonitis, inflammation.  And forget it this week as we TRIED to lower the Celebrex.

Never mind the swimming.  She belongs to a team that practices 4 times a week.  On a good week we get there twice.  Not for lack of trying, but exhaustion gets in the way.  It is CYO season now, so she is with a more recreational team too.  Some fun times.  But she wants to be faster.  And she could be.  But her body betrays her.  And it makes her angry.

And now the headache.  The migraine  returned 2 days ago despite the recent medication increase.  She is just so very tired.  The neurologist called me tonight.  Increase the Celebrex.  See if that helps.  So much for less medicine.  Let’s pray for relief.

Hope-can-grow-from-the-soil-of-illness

I think alot about the others.  I think about the other’s with RARE Diseases.  I think about the ones less fortunate than us.

I also think about the other’s with Cowden’s Syndrome.  I have never met them – any of them except my own girl.  But, we “know” quite a few.  There are some I keep in touch with on an individual basis, a few Meghan corresponds with, and the bulk of them come from a Facebook group for Cowden’s sufferers.  We share experiences and ideas, and successes and disappointments.  We toss things out to each other before the rest of the world.  We speak safely to people who “get it.”  And although even among us our symptoms vary widely, and I believe a lack of research keeps us from being sure what is Cowden’s related, they are my best support.

I often go to bed and wake worried about these people I’ve never met.  I think about their physical struggles, and their family struggles.  I pray for them when they have tests, and surgeries, and they do the same for us.  People could argue they aren’t “real” friends.  I would have to disagree.  They give me hope.

I

power-of-persistence

Then there are days like yesterday, when you arrive at home after 14 hours at work to find a package on the counter.  And inside the package are jeans for Meghan and I.  Carefully sewn on each rear pocket is the denim ribbon symbol.  Also in the package was a bag “Hope, It’s in our Genes.”  Yep.  It sure is.  A friend of my sister’s.  Inspired my some crazy words she’s read here.  Go figure.  Grateful.

Make-The-Best-Of-Everything

And there are the events coming up.  The fifth grade events.  The ones where she will try her best to fit in.  The ones where her PTA has carefully worked behind the scenes to help her feel “normal” as they serve her dinner at the Father Daughter Dance, and the Fifth Grade Dance.  The trip that someone will have to come to – because there won’t be any safe food there, and the growing realization that so much socialization in life revolves around food.  Just another way to feel different.  But she plugs along.  Keeps that smile.  stays focused on the good as best she can.  Because she is acutely aware that there is a lot of good.  And painfully aware that things are fleeting.

running away

We miss my father.  It’s only been a few months, but every day seems to contain a bill, or a banking issue, or a quest to sort through the photos left behind so I can copy them for my siblings and get about the business of sharing them with the world.  There is a glitch in each direction.  No major problems.  Always just a series of minor ones.  He may not have been always around, but the time he was was powerful.  Maybe I keep myself too busy. Maybe I worry about tasks insignificant to others.  But I do, we do what we can to keep his memory alive.  We talk about reality, and we keep our most special missions close to our hearts.

Life's not fair

There should be sunshine and roses.  But there isn’t.  Well maybe there is… if we look hard enough.  All I seem to hear are stories of tragedy, heartache and pain.  In my own family, and in general conversation there are serious illnesses, untimely death, suffering, pain, and sadness.  I don’t profess to know the grand plan.  Not for a moment.  And I am sure its better that way.    I have only learned to find the blessings I can in whatever I can, as frequently as I can.  That is what keeps me sane.

I am far from perfect at this.  FAR from perfect.  But I – like all of us, am a work in progress.  So as the days sometimes seem insurmountable…  I remind myself, and my girl – that we have to follow Dory’s advice…

just_keep_swimming__3-334182