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Every Child Gets One Free Seizure in Life

Second Annual “Blogging for TSC Awareness Month” Day 8

by guest blogger Jordan Martin  (Brunswick, Georgia)

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Growing up all I ever wanted was to be a wife and mother.  I always wanted to have 4 kids — 2 boys and 2 girls.  I met my husband Thomas (T.C.) when I was 18.  We have been together for 10 years and married for 7 years.  We have 3 amazing boys: Conner 6, Preston 4 and Aiden 18 months.

Conner Thomas Martin was born on what at that time was the luckiest day of the year July 7, 2007. People to this day when they hear his birthday their first reaction is, “Wow, what a lucky boy!”   I always think to myself, “If you only knew what he has been through”.  To this day I still don’t remember what he looked like the first time I saw him.  I was put under for a cesarean.  Never have done drugs in my life or had ever been in the hospital.  So when T.C. showed him to me for the first time all I remember seeing is a head full of black hair and then passing back out.  I know a lot of parents say this but Conner was seriously the best baby. He was never fussy; he loved to sleep.  He did have acid reflux, but other than that he was perfect.  At around a month old I was sitting on our couch burping Conner and my watch pinched him.  He cried but I checked and didn’t see a mark.  A few hours later when T.C. got home he was changing him and noticed a mark on his lower back.  I assumed it was from my watch and told him what happened. “No Big Deal!!!”

A few weeks later Conner had a check-up and the mark was still there but bigger and risen above the skin.  He also had a red mark on his stomach of a different shape but also red and risen above the skin.  The pediatrician assured us they were “hemangioma.”  Nothing to worry about and would shrink as he gets older.  Well he was right about one red mark.

Conner hit all his milestones right on time.  He was the easiest going little boy.  Never sick, never met a stranger he didn’t know, loved to play outside but was also content being by himself in his room playing.  He was just full of life.  In 2009 we had our second son Preston Robert Martin.  He was born exactly 2 years 2 weeks apart from Conner.  He was by far not the best baby.  He was miserable.   Teething but couldn’t cut teeth.  I tell him all the time “I would never re-do you as a baby again.”  Conner loved having a little brother and being able to teach him things.  That is until Preston learned how to crawl and take his toys.  Life was “normal” as could be.  I hate that word “normal”!!!!

Our story begins on September 19, 2010 at 12:15 p.m. Conner was  3 years old.  It was a rainy Sunday afternoon.  The boys woke up at their normal time, considering the night before Conner woke up at 2:45 a.m. throwing up and Preston was up and down cause at this point all his teeth were coming in at the same time.  T.C. was still asleep.   He worked at a mill at the time working 12-14 hour days so on the weekends I let him sleep in.  At 12:00 p.m. I rocked Preston to sleep and asked my mom to watch Conner for me while I did so.

At 12:10 p.m. I laid Preston down and asked my mom where Conner was. She said he was in my room watching Tom and Jerry.  I went into my room and asked Conner to go to the bathroom so we could lie down and take a nap.  I kept calling his name and asking him to get up but he just laid there.  I assumed he was just caught up in the cartoon.  I went and stood in front of the TV and asked him again but NOTHING!!!  I turned around to turn the TV off and when I turned back around his face was turning red and his eyes — it was like there was no life in them.  I said, “Conner what’s wrong with your face!?!”  T.C. immediately jumped up from out of bed and picked him up.  Mind you neither one of us had ever seen a seizure before.  I went into the next room and got my mom.  By time I was back in the room he was foaming at the mouth, had peed himself and was convulsing.  T.C. handed Conner to me and told me to get in the car.  He threw on a shirt pants and didn’t even bother to find his shoes.

We live right down the road from the hospital.  We pulled up so fast they must have seen us coming because they came running out to get him.  They were asking all kinds of questions.  I couldn’t process anything.  Conner couldn’t talk for 4 hours.  He was completely out of it.  Once he was stable and coherent they moved us to a room for overnight observation.  They ran tests and did scans.  The next day the doctor came in and said everything came back “normal.”  It was just a spiked fever that caused the seizure.  I looked at him with my husband, Conner’s grandparents in the room with us and said, “My son doesn’t spike fevers”!  I can count on one hand how many times he has ever been sick.”  I just knew it was something more.  The doctor looked at me and said “Every child gets one free seizure in life.”  I’ve never wanted to punch someone in the face so bad before.

By time we were discharged it was too late to call his pediatrician so the next day I called and scheduled an appointment.  It would be Friday at 3:30 before they would be able to see him.  Tuesday he was fine and back to normal.  Wednesday at 3:00 p.m I was sitting on the couch and Conner called my name.  I said, “yes baby, come here”.  He didn’t answer.  I immediately got this sick feeling in my stomach.  He called me again and when he came over to me he was staring off and his eyes were twitching a little.  It only lasted about a minute.  I thought maybe he was just tired.  I had never heard of staring seizures or any other types besides grand mal.  Oh I learned fast!!!

I told my mom and I think she thought I was being paranoid.  Thursday same exact time, same exact thing.  Friday while I was getting Preston to take Conner to his appointment, he did it again but this time my mom saw it.  His pediatrician informed me they were staring seizures and she was setting us up to see a pediatric neurologist in Savannah and that she was also ordering him to have an EEG done.

Appointments were finally approved through insurance and Conner had his first EEG done in November 2010.  The neurologist appointment was also coming up, but right before Thanksgiving I received a letter stating they had to reschedule it to the end of December.  By this time Conner’s seizures were worse and every day, sometimes resulting in emergency room visits.  We decided after we came back from Thanksgiving in Florida we would go to the hospital in Savannah and pray they would see him or anything.

While in Florida I received a call from the hospital about his EEG results.  Even though Conner was awake it showed abnormal study due to the presence of spike and sharp wave activities in the right hemisphere, which would be consistent with a few focal seizure disorder.  A few days later there we were walking into the emergency room in Savannah.  The lady at the front desk just looked at me like I was crazy when I was explaining what we were doing there. We weren’t leaving any other way.  Conner, being the helpful child he is, decided to speed the process a long faster and started having a seizure.  We noticed that anytime Conner gets nervous, scared, surprised, overly excited or any loud noises tend to make him have seizures.  She immediately called and they came and took us to the back by time we were in a room he had stopped seizing.  We told the on-call doctor what was going on so he said to give him a minute.  An hour later he came back and told us he called the neurologist office and they would see us in 30 minutes.

Dr. Mortez was the neurologist.  She was really nice and we explained everything that had been going on.  She said she was ordering an MRI and requesting all of Conner’s labs, test results and scans done the day he first seized.  Along with those she also wanted the results of his EEG.  She prescribed him Trileptal and would see us back in 2 months.  If only it was that simple.  Conner’s seizure got worse even with the medication and by the time 2 months rolled around we still hadn’t had the MRI.  She increased his medication and said she would call about the MRI.  By now ADHD and aggression had set in and his hostility was always towards his brother and me.  Still is to this day.  T.C. ended up calling our insurance company up and having a few choice words with them because they still hadn’t approved his MRI.  Needless to say a few days I received a call from the doctor’s office with an appointment scheduled.  February 17, 2011 he would have his first MRI done but not his last.

February 18, 2011 T.C. was sick so my parents, Preston, Conner and I all went to Savannah to receive the results from the MRI.  I was honestly expecting for it to be a simple case of epilepsy. BOY WAS I WRONG!!!  My dad stayed in the waiting room with Preston letting him play with the toys.  My mom went in the back with Conner and me.  In walks Dr. Mortez and from then on it was like an out of body experience.  “The MRI didn’t turn out how I was expecting it too.  It’s more serious than what I was hoping for.” She says.  My mom later on told me I turned ghostly white when she said that.  She then explained that Conner had Tuberous Sclerosis.  Something I could barely pronounce, let alone spell.  She explained how his body produces tubers/tumor like growths on his major organs.  Now we were being referred to MCG in Augusta, now Georgia Regents Medical Center, to the epilepsy department.  She assured me it was a good hospital and that they have lots of experience with the disease.  She also explained how the spot on his lower back was a “shagreen patch” not “hemangioma” and how the spot on his face that popped up over the holidays was a “focal angiofibroma” and not a mole like I thought.  My mom took Conner out of the room by then so I could talk more with the doctor.  He would now need to have kidney and heart ultrasounds and have his eyes checked as well.  Soon I was left alone in the room.  Not wanting to cry or get upset; just wanting to reach my husband.  All I could hear were the words tubers/tumor like, more doctors, brain surgery, etc going in circles in my head.  This isn’t going away!!!

When we arrived at home I tried explaining it as best as I could to T.C.  I still hadn’t cried.  I couldn’t let myself.  I honestly don’t remember anything after that besides putting the boys to bed.  When I got in bed I completely feel apart.  T.C. just held me. All I could do was cry.  I didn’t understand how this happened.  How my perfectly healthy child could have been born with this and no one knew it.  How could he just start having seizures out of the blue?  It made no sense.  I was pissed, sad, so many emotions rolled into one.

The next day I just spent lying in bed depressed really.  I couldn’t process all of it.  I needed a day to collect myself.  I was numb to be honest.  So my parents took care of the boys that day and my mom took all the phone calls from family members explaining what was going on.  I definitely went through the seven stages of grief.  I think my husband was stuck in anger and denial for a while.  You mourn the life you had and accept this is your new life.  The next day was filled with phone calls to the cardiologist office, setting up kidney ultrasound and eye appointments.  I had one doctor tell me they had only read a paragraph about it med school.

Dr. Mortez told me that if after two weeks if Conner was still getting worse after the last increase of Trileptal, to call and let her know.  Of course his seizures were still increasing and he ended up in the hospital again.  I called her the next day and left a message.  I was surprised when she called back within a few hours and informed us she called Augusta and they were moving his appointment up and we would be getting a call from them to set up an appointment.  She said since his medication hadn’t been working at all he needs to be monitored soon as possible.  Good news was his eyes didn’t have any tumors.  His heart had two small ones but they weren’t causing any damage so they just need to be monitored.

2014-04-059518.25.55A few weeks later we were in Augusta for Conner’s three-day EEG monitoring.  Dr. Park is head of the epilepsy department in Augusta and Dr. Strickland is the neurologist there.  They are Conner’s doctors still to this day.  Conner was monitored for three days.  His seizures were mild and very little — not what we were expecting, which was unusual for him, until the last morning when he had 10 seizures within a 30 minute time frame.  The doctors came in a little later for rounds and said, “That was good we got everything we needed.”  They were a little too excited about all the seizures at the time I thought.  But I understand now.  They said it’s amazing you are able to press the button right before he starts seizing. I said is that good?  They said, Yes. it means we got everything from the very beginning of his seizures to the ictals.”  They asked how we knew before they started.  I told them how sometimes Conner knows before he is going to have one and he will come find someone, and sometimes he also gets this look on his face right before he starts seizing.  I also explained how I can feel it in my stomach right before as well; it doesn’t matter if Conner is in a different room. I get this sick feeling in my stomach.  It sounds crazy.

They informed us of all the testing coming up to see if he was a candidate for surgery.  They also told us Conner’s was a “spontaneous mutation” in his gene while I was pregnant.  We also found out that the doctor in Brunswick who said all his scans came back “normal” read them wrong.  It clearly states there were “abnormal” findings in his frontal lube.  I thought I was going to lose it.

The next few months we spent traveling back and forth.  By then Conner was on Lamictal as well as Trileptal.  It was hard financially on us but we managed with the help of family and friends.  Conner was being tested to see if he was a good candidate for surgery.  Turns out his seizures came from both right and left frontal lubes more so from the right.  Soon he was on Keppra, Lamictal had been increased and taken off Trileptal.  We also had to add Clonidine because his ADHD was so bad he couldn’t sleep but three hours at a time most nights.  He was also becoming more aggressive and having more meltdowns.  At this point even my parents couldn’t handle him bouncing off the walls and acting violent towards everyone.  I felt trapped in my own home with no help.  T.C. worked full time so I could stay home with the kids.  I literally felt like I was abandoned by everyone.

Conner didn’t understand why all of the sudden he wasn’t allowed to go anywhere.  Places he has been to his whole life; it wasn’t fair.  One day I lost it!  Conner was having a bad day — just one meltdown after the other.  I ended up locking myself and Preston in the bathroom just to get away from him and the constant hitting, kicking, screaming, etc.  I called my mom and my best friend’s mom, who is Conner’s other grandmother and just started yelling about how I felt like everyone abandoned him and me and how this disease was taking over my life it felt like.  I needed them to stop worrying about how they felt or were scared of what might happen and think about what he feels and how confused he is.  He would say, “Mama, I’ll try to be good. Trust me.”   “I won’t hit Preston or scream or anything.”  It broke my heart every time, but after the talk with all the grandparents, they understood and began spending more time with him and Preston and were there for me too.

Summer of 2011 came and Conner turned 4.  He would be starting Pre-K soon which scared me to death because he was still seizing every day.  He was now also having them every night so he started sleeping with me and TC slept on the couch.  A few days after his birthday we had an appointment with the neurosurgeon.   My husband, my Dad, Conner and I  drove up to Augusta the night before since it was an early appointment.   The appointment the next morning consisted of the doctor going over the pros and cons of Conner having brain surgery for his seizures since the medication still wasn’t working.  His opinion was that Conner’s best option was to have the surgery.  So, we decided to go ahead with the surgery.   After that TC broke down, but I stayed calm for him and Conner. I’m the level-headed one when everyone else gets upset.

The surgery was scheduled for October of 2011. Since Conner would have only been in school a short time, the doctor suggested he not start since recovery 2014-04-059518.29.42time could be long.  So we withdrew him from school registration.  He had been so looking forward to going. He saw some of the pictures his friends had posted on Face book of their first day of school.  I hated seeing him upset so I put on his Thomas the Train book bag, stood him in front of the door and took his picture.

September 19, 2011 was exactly one year since Conner’s first seizure.  My parents had the boys for the night.  I was lying in bed, waiting on TC to get home from work and I couldn’t sleep.  I was thinking about the day Conner’s seizures started. Everything just hit me all at once: the past year, all the appointments and medications, seizures and the tests his little body had to endure …and now Brain Surgery!  It just wasn’t FAIR! By the time TC got home I had been crying for an hour.  I had tried to hold all my frustration and feelings in for so long that I felt like a dam had burst inside of me.  It all came pouring out.

The next night Conner had 20 seizures in one hour and I thought this would never stop!!!  The next day Conner didn’t have any seizures or the next day or the next.  Four weeks later…still no seizures.  Everyone was so happy!  Of course I, being prepared for the worst to happen, couldn’t allow myself to be excited.

Conner’s surgery day was fast approaching.   My husband wasn’t feeling comfortable with Conner having the operation since the medication seemed to be working now. We talked it over again and decided to cancel the surgery.  The holidays came and went. Conner was still seizure free although his aggression and his impulse control were still big issues we still had to deal with.     2012 was a good year!  We had an unexpected surprise….we were expecting again.  Conner had, maybe, three seizures that year.  He had no new tumors in his brain, heart, kidneys or eyes.  He got to start Pre-K and loved going to school.  Conner and Preston loved having a new baby brother.  It was just a great year.

March 2013 and it’s time for Conner’s yearly checkups.   Kidneys are first.  By now TC and I know what to look for on an ultrasound. We immediately saw the tumor on his right kidney. It’s not very big, but still, it wasn’t there last year.  So now we go to Augusta to see Dr. Ortiz, Conner’s nephrologist, every three months for blood work and every six months for ultrasounds to monitor any new growth.  At least his heart and eyes are still doing well.              School ended and what we planned to be a fun, enjoyable summer was instead filled with stress and sadness.  My Nana, who was living with us, was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer.  Our days were spent with over fifty people (Hospice, relatives and friends) coming and going from our home.  Ten people were actually living 24/7 on air mattresses throughout the house.  Conner’s anxiety and stress level kicked in as did his seizures.  The boys were very close to their Nana.   Summer came and went and Nana passed away.

School started again.  Conner started Kindergarten and Pres started Pre-K.  Two boys in school!  Yes! Even though I had given Conner’s new teachers and school information on his disease, I don’t think they were prepared for the first day. His anxiety was through the roof, he was having a major meltdown, just a really bad day.  But the next day he did really good and had a good day.

Conner is doing really well in school this year (2013-2014 school year).  His anxiety level is up and down. The amount of sleep he gets affects what kind of day he will have.  He still wakes up two to three times a night most nights so the next day is guaranteed meltdowns, staring seizures, and being emotional.                                                                                                                                  Right now Conner is just like any other six year old little boy.  He does get tired a little more easily due to medication.  He is now on Lamictal, Keppra, Topramax for seizures; Clonidine, Melatonin, to help him sleep and Lisinopril for his kidneys.

Conner understands as much as much as a 6-year-old can, that he has a condition called TSC.  We never treat him any different or any more special than his brothers.  As much as this is about Conner and our journey with TSC, it’s about Conner’s brother Preston too.  He is Conner’s rock.  They may fight and argue nonstop and are like night and day but Preston is always there, and always has been to make sure his brother is ok.  Preston understands that Conner has lots of doctors and he has seen everything his big brother has went through. He would sit next to Conner for two hours when Conner fell asleep after a bad seizure. Preston always made sure that when Conner woke up he had his favorite bunny, his Sippy cup and whatever toy he had sitting next to him so they could play together.

It scares me to death to think of Conner as an adult, letting him grow up and be in charge, or have a say in his healthcare.  I know it isn’t anytime soon but I will have to learn to let go and he will be ok.  He is the strongest little boy I know. I am no longer bitter or angry that he has TSC.  I’m trying to embrace Conner for his differences and his sometimes extreme passion and stubbornness.  He gets that honest.  I don’t worry what people think about him or us if he has a “meltdown” in public.   What is deemed “normal” nowadays any way?  People judge what they don’t know or understand. Some days are better than others and sometimes you feel like you have been defeated but at the end of the day it will be over and something better will happen.

This is our TSC story.  It is nowhere near over; it’s really just begun.  Sometimes it feels like a lifetime ago when we tell stories about Conner or life before TSC.  It’s like a different family.  If anything, I want to teach my kids that a disease does not define you as a person or give you an excuse to do wrong.  It makes you a stronger person and can bring a family closer together.  It makes you love and appreciate one another more and treasure every moment you have together.

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Unexpected Blessings

Second Annual “Blogging for TSC Awareness Month” Day 7

by guest blogger Jonna Stromberger  (Iliff, Colorado)

eeg1Our story with Tuberous Sclerosis begins on February 27, 2010.  Bailey Rae – the baby girl her Dad, I, and older sisters had been waiting for, had finally arrived!  Three weeks early, and full of surprises yet to come!  The first four months of Bailey’s life were exactly what you would expect from a newborn.  We were adjusting to having a baby in the house for the first time in six years.  For the most part our older daughters, Brooke and Alli, adjusted well.

When Bailey was around three months old, I started noticing some jerking movements that didn’t seem quite right.  I talked to my husband about it, and even pointed out the movements several times to him.  I described it to my Mom that Bailey seemed to have the “startle reflex” a lot more than her sisters ever did.  At her four month check-up I mentioned my concerns to her doctor.  If the movements continued, or seemed more frequent, he said we might consider having an EEG done, just to be safe.  That very afternoon, several hours after her appointment, Bailey started jumping in my arms, just as my husband walked in the house.  We packed our bags, and headed to Children’s Hospital of Denver.

After explaining our concerns to the doctors, Bailey was hooked up for an EEG for the first time.  She was poked from head to toe, had ultrasounds, an MRI, EKG, and an ECG.  I’m sure I’m forgetting some of the tests, but it was all so overwhelming to us. Looking back on it now, some of the details seem a little blurry.

June 29, 2010 Bailey was diagnosed with Tuberous Sclerosis.  The little jerking movements were infantile spasms.  Our world was turned upside down.  Bailey HospitalThe perfect little girl that was loved and adored was now fighting some terrible disease that we had never even heard of.  White spots on her skin were explained.  Her team of doctors wheeled in a monitor with her MRI pictures, and her tubers were pointed out to her Dad and me.  Her neurologist explained that TS is different for every person, therefore they couldn’t really tell us how Bailey would be affected now or in the future.  She may not talk, she may not develop fine motor skills, she may not walk, she may not be able to feed herself; I cried.  That’s the one thing I remember doing.  I cried for my baby and all the things I wanted for her in life that she might not ever have.

Bailey started taking Vigabatrin on July 5, 2010, and she didn’t have another infantile spasm.  It seems like we were making trips to Denver on a constant basis.  Bailey began occupational therapy, and continued to meet all of her age appropriate milestones.  All the things I took for granted with her sisters were celebrated by our entire family – rolling over for the first time, her first steps, and then her first words!

On February 24, 2011 Bailey had a febrile seizure and was flown to Denver.  Her doctors thought it was best for her to stop Vigabatrin and begin taking Keppra.  She is still taking Keppra today.  We tried weaning, but had a break through seizure, once again caused by a fever, and decided to keep her on the Keppra.

Family PictureOur family has been so blessed.  Some people think I’m crazy to say that, after all we have been through with Bailey.  Our friends see her as a bubbly, active, ornery, typical four-year-old.  I truly feel that God sent Bailey to us for a reason. Bailey makes us smile every day.  Next year will be a big change in our lives, as she will begin preschool.  We don’t know what the future will hold for Bailey, but we don’t know what the future will hold for any of us.  A friend of mine gave me a frame that says “Live By Faith One Day At  A Time.”  That is what we do.  We love each other.  We take care of each other.  We appreciate all that life offers us, and we thank God every day that he gives us with Bailey.

“May God give you…For every storm a rainbow, for every tear a smile, for every care a promise and a blessing in each trial.  For every problem life sends, a faithful friend to share, for every sigh a sweet song and an answer for each prayer.” –Irish Blessing-

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We are our version of “picture perfect.”

Second Annual “Blogging for TSC Awareness Month” Day 5

by guest blogger Shannon Grandia  (Riverside, California)

My name is Shannon Grandia and my three children and husband have all been diagnosed with Tuberous Sclerosis Complex.  Rob and I were high school sweethearts with this “picture perfect” ideal of how our life would turn out.  Rob, my husband, had no idea he had the disorder until our first two born began having seizures and were diagnosed with TSC. When Rylee was born she was this perfect, beautiful baby girl and the picture Rob and I had painted for our life seemed to be coming true.   Over her first year of life Rylee was having these abnormal staring spells that her pediatrician was writing off as normal infant behavior.  At 18 months Rylee’s staring spells were lasting minutes instead of seconds and she was now salivating.  This is when her seizures spiraled out of control and she was hospitalized and diagnosed with Tuberous Sclerosis Complex.  At the time we had never heard of the disorder and had no idea what to expect. She had numerous calcifications covering her brain along with one distinct growth, ash leaf spots on her skin and focal seizures. Doctors told us best case scenario is that she did not develop any more growths and she could live a normal life on medication to control her seizures; worst case scenario could ultimately lead to death. Our “picture perfect life” was beginning to unravel.  Because at the time neither Rob nor I exhibited any signs of the disorder we were told that is was a “sporadic mutation” and unlikely any other children we had would have the disorder.  I was about six weeks pregnant at the time of Rylee’s diagnosis, but ultimately lost the baby at 12 weeks.  This put a strong desire in Rob and I to have another child and since we were told it was not genetic, we felt confident that there would be no complications with another child.

Jake was born two and a half years later. At birth he was a happy, thriving baby boy. Doctors told us it was unlikely he would have TSC, but they would monitor him when we brought Rylee in for her appointments.  At a few months old we noticed a couple white spots on his skin, but doctors told us it was a coincidence and he wasn’t showing any other signs of TSC. I am not sure how long we ignored the small staring spells Jake was having, writing them off as normal infant behavior once again but at 11 months old Jake was having a seizure every half hour and had to be admitted to the hospital and was soon diagnosed with Tuberous Sclerosis Complex as well.  He too had the ash leaf spots, three distinct growths in his brain and was having focal and complex partial seizures.  This was devastating news and our “picture perfect” life was crashing in around us.

Two children with TSC was a sign that either Rob or I had the disorder. After genetic testing it was determined that Rob had the TSC1 gene that was passed onto the children, his dad and brother were also tested and found to have the disorder. We did a lot of research and discovered there was a 50% chance of passing the disorder onto a child. A year went by and life was manageable.  Both Rylee and Jake were hitting their developmental milestones, medication was controlling the seizures and it seemed both had a more mild case of TSC. We felt confident that if we had a third child, he or she would be TSC free. We also wanted our kids to know that we loved them so much and we did not want to let TSC guide the decisions for our life.  Looking back this may have been a naïve perspective, yet it gave us Luke, and we would not change that for the world.

We did an amniocentesis with Luke to determine if he had TSC before he was born. Words cannot express the feelings that ran through me when we got the call that our unborn child also had TSC. Because of the diagnosis we did further testing and also knew he had tubers in his heart before he was born.  Luke came into the world three weeks ahead of schedule and spent the first two weeks of life in the NICU monitoring SVT’s of his heart. Luke spent more days in the hospital than out his first year of life. At one point he was having over 80 seizures a day and was close to comatose. He also had chronic pneumonia, RSV twice, asthma and further heart issues. Then at two and a half he was hospitalized for liver and kidney failure along with Pneumonia and the H1N1. This was the closest we came to losing Luke and he spent almost three weeks in the PICU at Loma Linda. This hospitalization also revealed that Luke was aspirating with fluids and he got a GI tube for fluids only.  Was this really my life?

Luke’s complications were some of the most difficult and darkest days. With the focus on Luke, Jake’s behavior began to decline dramatically.  At three years old he was no longer hitting developmental milestones, and was actually beginning to decline.  Behaviorally, Jake was throwing constant tantrums and was extremely aggressive being asked to leave the private preschool we had him in at the time.  Rylee was also having a difficult time during this period.  She was struggling academically, had weight gain from seizure medications and ADHD.  All three of our babies were fighting and I will be forever amazed how their strength brought them and us through those rough days. This was a long ways away from the “picture perfect” life Rob and I had dreamed about.

We have now lived with Tuberous Sclerosis Complex for over 11 years.  Rylee is 13 years old and thriving. She is the least affected and is on the road to leading a long “normal” life.  Rylee still takes medication for seizures and ADHD, and school is not easy.  But Rylee is learning how to be a good student and stay focused.  She is also a good athlete, playing softball for the last 4 1/2 years and now playing club volleyball.  Mostly, Rylee is known for her bright smile, positive attitude, and love of life.  She is an incredible help with her brothers and has a heart of compassion that teaches us daily how to be a better person.  Jake is now 10 years old and has a diagnosis of intellectual delay and autism.  He too still battles seizures, but they are controlled the majority of the time by medication.  He also takes a concoction of medication for behavior.  Jake has recently moved to a severe autism class, in the hopes that we can get better control of his behavior.  The key with Jake is consistency and routine, which is actually good for us all.  He as an ABA, one-on-one aid with him in class and an outside agency now evaluates and helps with intervention weekly. It has been a rough couple years.  Luke is a 1st grader (in a more severe Special Day Class).  He is the healthiest he has been since birth.  We have never been able to get his seizures controlled, but at an average of five a day, he is on the most effective combination of medication so far and has begun the Modified Atkins Diet.  Also, the G-tube and not drinking fluids has kept the Pneumonia away and he has had a nice stretch of staying out of the hospital.  Because of his medical issues, Luke has an LVN that stays with him throughout the day.  Originally, we were told he may never walk, talk, or even live past the first few years of life.  Not only has he defied all the odds, but cognitively is trying to catch up and shocking everyone.  At 7 years old, Luke is saying more words everyday, can now ride a tricycle, can follow routine rules in the classroom and on the playground and makes anyone who comes in contact with him immediately fall in love with those bright, blue eyes and huge grin.

Rob and I take one day at a time and have no idea what the future holds for our children, but it makes for an interesting journey.  We have learned to celebrate the little things in life, trust God has a plan for us and our three children, lean on each other and those around us when we need strength, and see the daily blessings our children give us.  TSC is a horrible disorder, but it does not define who we are. Rob and Rylee are both considered mild, Jake is moderate and Luke is classified as severe.  We pray daily for a cure and that the seizures and complications will miraculously disappear.  But we also are so thankful for our three miracles, the difference they are making in this world and the joy they bring.  You will not meet three happier kids that appreciate life and each other more.  Watching them together is a beautiful thing and they teach us daily how to be better.  Over the years our idea of “picture perfect” has changed and our we are our version of “Picture Perfect.”

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Normal is Boring

Second Annual “Blogging for TSC Awareness Month” Day 4

by guest blogger Kate Green  (Melbourne, Australia)

image-2Last Sunday morning I woke up with my son Hamish, Spike the cat and a broom in my bed. This was not entirely unusual. Welcome to my world.

Hamish is eight and has Tuberous Sclerosis, which was diagnosed when he was two days old. He has global developmental delays and very little formal language so far. He also has the face of an angel, an array of very effective communication and charm techniques and is endlessly funny. Whilst Hamish is not technically autistic as such, he has a few mannerisms which are termed “autistic tendencies”. These include the lack of speech, lots of happy flapping and and a tendency to wander off if given half a chance. Fortunately he is never presented with that chance. These tendencies are counterbalanced by the fact that he loves attention, will shamelessly charm anyone who grabs his interest and his love of socialising. Life with him can be challenging at times and not always predictable, but I’ve found that maintaining an open mind and trying to see the humour in situations is essential. His schooling is a great example.

Hamish is in his third year at a lovely specialist school here in Melbourne. During the term, the school bus arrives to collect him at 8.35 each morning. Hamish loves catching the bus and is loudly greeted by the other kids when he hops on. On his birthday recently, the whole bus sang Happy Birthday to him before they set off. This certainly got the attention and a few smiles from people walking past our house.

At school Hamish is in a class of five children, with a special needs teacher and two assistant teachers. His curriculum consists of art, music, drama, dancing, literacy, numeracy and swimming. In Hamish’s class, it also includes Swahili as a second language. Peter the assistant teacher is from Kenya image-4and is teaching Swahili words to Hamish and his classmates. I’m not sure how much Swahili is sinking in with Hamish, but given that his other teacher is from the USA, I’m half expecting him to start speaking Swahili with an American accent.

It’s a wonderful school and the care and dedication shown by the staff is amazing. Hamish is thriving in this environment. His sense of humour and love of silliness is encouraged, even if it involves him throwing all of the class teddy bears out the window or getting soaked in water during sensory play. When I arrive to collect him in the afternoon he is always happy and draws out the leaving process as long as possible. This routine includes giving each of his teachers a good bye pat on the face and trying to sneak out the door with whichever toy he happens to be playing with. By the time I’ve chatted to his teachers, extracted Hamish and said hello to the other parents it is often a case of the long good bye.

At home Hamish loves to potter in the garden, sort through his toys, play on the iPad and snuggle. The obedience he shows to his teachers usually magically disappears at home, where it is replaced by what I call selective deafness. Which is not to say he is naughty. He’s a very chilled little boy, but has plenty of attitude and is very good at getting his own way. He’s also a master of passive resistance. When bedtime rolls around he won’t kick and scream if he’s not tired. Instead he will walk with me to bed, but gradually sink to his knees, then onto his hands and knees, then finally onto his tummy in the manner of a reluctant snake. He thinks this is hilarious. Once he’s finally slithered into bed he usually goes to sleep pretty quickly. The nights when he decides he doesn’t want to sleep can be interesting. He will either very calmly come out of the bedroom again and again to show me that he’s still awake, or he’ll quietly and efficiently pull everything out of the cupboard and scatter it across the room. I personally prefer the first option.

Like many developmentally delayed children, Hamish goes through phases of being fixated on a particular toy or domestic item. The egg whisk is a perennial favourite and the dish brush frequently goes missing. Computers are also especially interesting. He has an iPad, but is fascinated by anything with a keyboard, a mouse and a monitor, especially if they belong to his big brother.

image-3Fortunately, Hamish is extremely healthy and has none of the dietary problems which can afflict children with Tuberous Sclerosis. He loves food and will try almost anything. His tastes actually run to the quite exotic. He prefers camembert and quince paste on water crackers over regular biscuits and loves anything spicy. Chocolate and ice cream are his first loves though, so in that respect he’s much like all little boys.

Which brings me back to waking up with Hamish, a broom and a cat. The broom is his latest fixation. He drags it across the floor, swings it around and takes it with him to his thinking spot on top of the step ladder, where he sings to it. He loves it so much at the moment that he brought it into bed for a cuddle. Along with his his opportunistic cat Spike.

Which pretty much sums up life with a child such as Hamish. Its nothing if not interesting. Sometimes frustrating and on rare occasions sad, but overall funny and happy, in a slightly demented sort of way.

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It isn’t going to be easy, but nothing worth doing ever is.

Second Annual “Blogging for TSC Awareness Month” Day 3

by guest blogger Michele Stiefel  (Lancaster, Pennsylvania)

adam 5In March of 1985, our second son was born.  Adam was the baby I could relax with, knowing a bit more the second time around.  But by May, Adam was hospitalized with his first seizures and flown from our local hospital to Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia where he was diagnosed with tuberous sclerosis.  No one in our family had ever heard of this disease.  No one had ever had seizures.  Our world felt like it had blown to pieces.  His four-year-old brother, Ben, felt like he had caused the baby’s illness because he had been so jealous.  Ben began to act out and we sought out counseling to help him and us.  Slowly over that summer, we started to try to find some kind of normal – going to the local mall, taking Ben to his swim lessons and so on.  We waited anxiously for Adam’s early intervention program to have his spot available in the fall, but before we could start – Adam was back in Children’s Hospital with infantile spasms.  The next three years were nothing short of awful as there weren’t the kinds of meds back then that are around now.  We never really got control of the infantile spasms and he went from a smiling baby at 4 months to a lump that didn’t cry, didn’t coo, and didn’t roll over…just laid where ever he was placed and kept on having seizures.  That was our beginning…

Fast forward two years and Adam is five.  The infantile spasms are fading out although his “Heinz 57” varieties of seizures are still around.  But he’s no longer in the fog of IS:  he smiles, has a beautiful face and people fall in love with him easily. He’s learned to sit and crawl. He’s standing but hasn’t taken that first independent step yet.  My husband and I hire his early intervention teacher to do respite with the boys overnight so we can celebrate our 10th wedding anniversary at a nice hotel.  When we get home the next morning, Adam greets us by walking independently around the corner!  Stinker took his first steps while we were away!  It was the best present we ever received.

Early intervention those first five years helped Adam and our whole family to survive.  We learned to hope and dream of a future, not just of limitations but of having him experience as much of a normal life as his older brother with the same opportunities and experiences – adapted Adam-style.   It wasn’t going to be easy but nothing worth doing ever is.

The first big “normal like Ben” goal for Adam was to attend weekend religious school at our synagogue.  There were no other children with special needs in adambmitzvahthe building and our rabbi wasn’t so good at “getting Adam.”   Luckily I’d met another Jewish mom in town whose son was a couple of years older, also non-verbal, who used a wheelchair.  I talked her into joining and we started our own class with our boys.  About the same time I volunteered to serve on the synagogue board of directors because the best way to make things happen is to become a decision-maker with a voice and a vote.  Then the rabbi who didn’t get our kids took another job in another city and the search committee started looking for a new rabbi who would be willing to do Bar Mitzvahs for kids with special needs.  We got a great one.  Our boys started studying extra with the rabbi, listening to Bible stories, handling ritual objects, and being recognized in front of the entire religious school just like the rest of them.

At 13, Adam had his Bar Mitzvah and it was wonderful!  He loved Jewish music, so we hired a Jewish folk singer who wove music throughout the service.  Adam is non-verbal so he couldn’t lead the service like a regular Bar Mitzvah boy would.  Instead he worked for two years to be able to hold a special wine cup upright throughout an entire blessing without putting it down or spilling it.  He learned to hold and “hug” the Torah scroll on his lap without letting go.  Being non-verbal he couldn’t read from the Torah in Hebrew so his brother read for him.  This was special – no one is allowed to touch the Torah scroll where the Hebrew is written.  One uses a special pointer to follow along.  Big brother Ben held the pointer and Adam’s hand at the same time as he read so that Adam could “read with him.”  To keep Adam from fidgeting, Ben used one finger to tickle Adam’s palm because it calms him — all while they were doing the Torah reading.  The sanctuary was full and there weren’t too many dry eyes in the house.  We followed it up with a great party and Adam definitely knew he was the guest of honor!

Adam went to a special needs summer day camp from the age of 8 to 21 and had lots of fun.  Swimming wasn’t his thing but music time was.  He participated in programs as a teen where he got to hang out with another teen or college student and do regular teen things.  He went to four proms and had a date for each one of them!  He discovered blondes… :)…he really likes blondes.

The summer after aging out of school at 21 was scary.  A rare malignancy was discovered in his colon.  Surgery to remove half of his colon and three weeks in the hospital with complications followed.  He was down to 85 pounds and took a good two months to recover.  Then it was time to begin his journey into the world of adult services.  We did not want Adam to be inside four walls all day in a sheltered workshop environment.  So he became one of the first participants in a new pilot program taking individuals with severe adam promdisabilities out into the community as volunteers.  He helped with Meals on Wheels – his staff would drive the car and knock on the door; Adam would hand the lunch to the senior citizen.  He made lots of elderly friends on the route.  He worked in local libraries, pushing the books onto the shelves (with hand-over-hand support by staff).  He was a busy young man and enjoyed being out and about in the community.

Through one of the programs, Adam met Matt who is also non-verbal and has autism.  Just picture two non-verbal guys making eye contact with each other and laughing and insisting on sitting together every day at lunch.  The program staff told me about how great they were together and said, “They should live together.”   I sent our contact info home in Matt’s backpack and his mom called me.  We started to get the guys together on Saturdays for pizza and we began to talk about the possibility of them living together.   News traveled through the system about these two guys and how great they were.  The head of the county intellectual disability department called us, said he’d heard about these two and were we ready for Adam to move into his own place with Matt?   Adam was 24 and we said yes because one of our dreams was that Adam would live with a friend, not just in a place where there happened to be an opening, but with someone he truly liked.  He’s lived there since 2009 and he loves it.  He’s thrived there, gaining in independence and doing things there that he’d never do for me at home!  He’s in a community he knows well, having grown up there.  We are able to keep an eye on things and be involved while we are still healthy and able because we’re in our 60’s and none of us live forever.   As parents our job is to give our kids “roots and wings”.  Big brother, Ben, went to college, started a career, got married, and bought a house.  Adam has his jobs, social life, and lives in a house set up just for him and Matt.

I mentioned that Ben got married.  Guess who was his Best Man?  Adam beamed with joy throughout the entire wedding weekend.  And boy!  Were they both handsome in their tuxes!

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Finally, it’s important to know that we went through really hard times with his tuberous sclerosis, just like a lot of you.  Recently he was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease, totally unrelated to his TS, so he gets two chronic illnesses to deal with and it feels really unfair.  There have been times over the years when I fantasized about throwing my suitcase in the car and heading west and never looking back, but I never did.  Instead we used counselors, behavior therapists, doctors, teachers, compassionate friends and family to help us get through the worst.  Now after 29 years, I see what our family has accomplished and I know we more than survived, we thrived.  We are all better people because of having Adam, TS and all, in our lives.  So keep dreaming of possibilities for your kids – you never know what you can achieve!

 

She is not tuberous sclerosis. She is my beautiful daughter Estelle.

Second Annual “Blogging for TSC Awareness Month” Day 1

by guest blogger Jennifer Carpenter (Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming)

me and Estelle HalloweenI remember thinking to myself, “What are you talking about?” as I watched the radiologist point to the small white dots on the ultrasound image of my 25-week-old baby. She was saying something about cardiac rhabdo-something and her heart, and I was really just hearing words but not comprehending anything. Then, about 10 minutes later, a woman came in the room and introduced herself as a genetic counselor and handed me an information pamphlet from 1995, (and this was in 2012). I briefly glanced at it and saw the words “mental retardation” and “tumors”. I sat there dumbfounded while she told me that my unborn baby likely had a genetic disease called Tuberous Sclerosis and would have significant disabilities and may not be able to walk or talk. Again, I thought, “what are you talking about? Are you saying my baby will not be normal?”

I got into my car after the appointment and sat there in stunned silence. I picked up the pamphlet and for some reason started reading about the origins of the disease; how it was discovered and what happened to people that had tuberous sclerosis. “Fits” and “convulsions” and “retardation” were the descriptions used early on by doctors to describe these patients. Many of these poor people ended up in mental institutions. I thought, “Will my daughter have to be placed in a mental institution? How will I be able to take care of her? What will happen to her?” Then my cell phone rang. It was the genetics counselor that I had just spoken with. She told me that she was sorry and that while I could not get a late term abortion in California, that Colorado would allow medical terminations up to 27 weeks, if that was something I wanted to consider. Termination? I had been watching my daughter grow in my belly for nearly 7 months, watching her hands and feet take shape, her face and lips develop. How could I end the life of my daughter after all this time spent together? Had others terminated their babies with this diagnosis? Was that the right thing to do, if she was not going to have any quality of life and be completely mentally and physically disabled? Were the doctors certain that she had tuberous sclerosis? All of these questions were swirling around in my head as I drove the 2 hours home that day. Two weeks later, her diagnosis was confirmed through genetic testing. A spontaneous mutation had occurred during her development. This was to be our reality and I had no idea of what that would mean to my life or to hers.

In the end, I knew that I had to continue the journey with my beloved daughter growing inside of me. I became hell bent on understanding the disease and photo-178learning all that I could about what may happen to her. I threw away the 1995 pamphlet and discovered that there’s much more information and treatment options available today than there were in 1995. Our knowledge about the disease has come a long way in 20 years. (And shame on that genetic counselor that gave me such outdated information; they should be the experts on the latest information out there on genetic disorders, even the rare ones).

On the day she was born, I knew that I was going to fight for her. To be her voice and her advocate. I knew that, while I couldn’t change the fact that she has tuberous sclerosis and there is no cure, I could get her the best medical care possible and be aggressive and proactive with her treatments. I got her into a TSC clinic and I immediately enrolled her in research studies to help learn more about the disease and to help find a cure, (and selfishly, to have more doctors track her development and provide early identification of potential issues). It gave me some sense of control over an uncontrollable diagnosis and an unpredictable future. At least I could take comfort in that.

Today, my daughter is a beautiful, smiling 15 month old toddler. She isn’t yet walking or talking, but we are working on it. She may have significant developmental delays and may require special education and assistance, we just don’t know yet. She still has those cardiac rhabdomyomas, but they are not causing any issues and her eyes and kidneys are clear for now. She does have mild epilepsy, which is well controlled with medication. But these days I just try to focus on the person that she is becoming, rather than the diagnosis that she has. She is not tuberous sclerosis. She is my beautiful daughter Estelle, who laughs and hugs and smiles and just got two new teeth.

Estelle 1 year

 

 

Gearing up for TSC Awareness Month

Three therapists so far are kind of “meh” on the autism diagnosis. They recognize the “quirks” he has, but don’t particularly think of him as autistic. The diagnosis opens the door to more help, but it’s comforting to see a look of surprise from people who know him so well. It’s a tricky thing, the secondary diagnosis, when there are so many potential causes of issues. He’s social this boy. He may chew on your pants, but he’ll look you in the eye when he’s done.

Chris and I have decided to raise money towards this year’s TSC walk by selling awareness t-shirts. We initially thought about team shirts but decided a general awareness shirt would have a bigger reach. If you don’t want a t-shirt, you can donate directly to the walk at the link at the top of the page. But if you’d like a shirt from which a portion of the proceeds benefit the TS Alliance, go here. At the moment I am posting this the shirts are unisex, but I hope to have a woman’s cut available soon.

back-big front-big

Next month is TSC Awareness Month and I plan to do a month of daily guest posts from other people living and dealing with TSC. Last year was a huge success and there is a tab at the top of the page to check out last year’s submissions.

If you would like to share your TSC story this year, I need you to e-mail me the following at pin.the.map@gmail.com:

*Your general story or you can focus on a particular issue you have had to deal with (e.g. advocating in schools, a surgery, balancing family, LAM). I don’t make rules on length. Your story is your story. I’m also open to creative entries, such as inspirational poetry. I cut and paste to the blog so a word doc or just the body of an e-mail is fine.

*city and state or country (I would really love to have more countries represented this year!)

*1-4 pictures

*if you have an awareness page, blog or fundraising page, I will share the link

Hope to hear from you!

 

Focusing on Today

Day 22 of Guest Blogging for TSC Awareness Month

By guest blogger Cassie McClung  (Houston, Texas)

Avery1My husband and I learned that we were pregnant in the late spring of 2007. Married just two years, we were a bit surprised, but honestly thrilled beyond words. We had a ton of fun preparing for our new addition, even despite the fact that I was so horribly nauseated for the first five months that I lost 12 pounds. Her development, however, was always right on track, and every test and check-up went well. Just a month before her due date, we decided it would be fun to get the new 3-D ultrasound photos that we kept seeing at the doctor’s office. We ended up trying three different times. Every time we went, the baby had her arms up around her face, completely covering every feature. The first time was kind of cute. The second time was a little frustrating. The third time I asked the technician, “Isn’t it a little unusual to have her arms up every time?”

“Yes,” she said, flat out, “I’ve never experienced this before.” I remember my heart went into my throat. Could something be wrong? The doctor dismissed my concern later, telling me not to worry. I tried not to.

The next thing I knew my delivery date was around the corner but the baby was in breach position, so a C-section was scheduled. In late January of 2008, we were blessed with our beautiful daughter Avery. The surgical delivery went well, but within an hour of her birth, I was surrounded by a number of doctors with very serious faces.

They were concerned because it appeared that our precious newborn was having small but frequent seizures while under observation in the nursery. They bombarded me with a million questions at once. “Was she seizing in utero?” is the one that still stands out. WHAT?? What does that feel like? This was my first pregnancy. She kicked a lot, does that count? Were there other signs I should have noticed? I was stunned. Immediately, the doctors sent her away to a bigger hospital with a higher level N.I.C.U. I remember my Avery2delivery doctor turned to me and said, “I’m sorry,” before walking out the door, not to be seen again.

My husband and I were absolutely shocked and terrified.There was no holding, cuddling or bonding.  I tried to recover quickly from surgery, all the while imagining my baby girl across town under the care of who knows who, doing who knows what. Complete and utter torture. This was when I started thinking about the genetic condition that runs in my husband’s family. We were told previously by family members that we should not worry about it…that it was basically no big deal. Then I heard someone at the hospital say it for the first time. TS. Tuberous sclerosis. We hadn’t a clue.

I broke out of the hospital early and rushed to the N.I.C.U. I couldn’t believe how tiny she was, hooked up to so many tubes…all of the nurses knew her name. My Avery. They already knew so much about her. They’d spent so much more time with her than I had. It felt so strange. At first glance, she looked pretty and pink, sleeping peacefully like a typical newborn. And then I saw it. All of a sudden, she puckered her little lips, turned bright red, and her right arm extended straight out. It faded quickly, but there was no mistaking that she was seizing. Nothing could ever have prepared us for what happened next.

We were shown into a large meeting room across the hall. A doctor sat across from me and five or six med students and residents sat next to her. I’ll never understand why they were invited…why they needed to sit and watch this intrinsically personal experience unfold. They never spoke, just watched. The doctor slowly explained to us that Avery had been born with a rare genetic condition called tuberous sclerosis. Benign tumors grew willy nilly in her brain and heart. She had many of these growths in the left side of her brain, which were causing massive abnormalities and resulting in seizures. She also had a few in her heart, but they were not affecting her breathing, and we were told they would eventually disappear. Small victory. The ones in her brain, unfortunately, would not just go away.

Avery3So that’s when Avery’s brain surgeon appeared. Yep, my daughter has a brain surgeon. Surreal. And that’s when we found out that our newborn needed a radical brain surgery that was meant to end her seizures, or she would not survive: a hemispherectomy. The two sides of the brain would be disconnected from each other, and large portions of “bad brain” would be removed from the left side. Before we could even begin to digest this information, the surgeon went on to explain that he had never performed this surgery on a baby less than nine months old, and most of his colleagues had told him he was crazy. But that it was her only chance.

This is the part where I have to pause and breathe. Because more than two years after the fact, I can still feel the residual effects of this man’s words pulsating through my mind and body. I can still close my eyes and remember the breath-stealing sobs I cried as I said goodbye to my week-old daughter and heartbrokenly handed her to the nurse that would take her to the operating room. We waited hours and hours, hardly breathing, wondering if we made the right decision. It was, and Avery did beautifully. Her strength amazed us. It still does! She was in and out of brain surgery three times in her first month of life. She came home after one month and five days in the hospital, eating on her own, cooing and wiggling. The seizures had completely stopped. We had renewed hope, renewed faith. Her future appeared so much brighter.

We were told by the doctors that there was really no way to predict her future as far as cognitive and physical ability; but the upside was that the earlier the surgery, the better– i.e. giving the “normal” side of her brain time to take over tasks that the opposite side can’t handle anymore…and we couldn’t have done it any earlier!

Avery actually needed two more brain surgeries, at three months of age and at five months, before the seizures stopped returning. She continued taking Vigabatrin (Sabril) for the next four years as a back-up, in case they did try to come back. It was the only drug that had ever slowed down her seizures before.

For four years, Avery thoroughly enjoyed a total break from seizures, as did her parents. We were busy attending to her other many needs, like the fact that the surgery had resulted in the left side of her body being extremely weakened (hemiparesis). No one ever mentioned this side effect before surgery. It was then, and is now, our biggest challenge among many. When she was still not sitting up by herself at 18 months and after lots of therapy, we knew we needed a lot more help. We were lucky enough to find an amazing, private special needs preschool that had experience with children just like Avery. They taught her to sit and scoot. They taught her sign language, how to drink with a straw, and how to use a fork and spoon. And they continue to teach her now. I don’t know what we’d do without these amazing teachers that love my daughter for exactly who she is, and not what she lacks.

Sadly, this past year the seizures returned. We were devastated of course, but not surprised. We knew it was a miracle that they stopped for as long as they did. They are under Avery4control again now with new meds: Onfi and Vimpat. She seems a little more tired now, but overall a happier disposition.

Walking is still our biggest goal. The left side of her body just doesn’t want to cooperate! Although still extremely developmentally delayed, her cognitive skills continue improving. No words yet, but lots of sounds. We have three PT’s, two OT’s and two SP sessions every single week, on top of her school “work.” Avery works harder than any kid I know, and she does it with a smile. She has taught us endless lessons about love, grace, and the simple joys in life. Almost two years ago, we were blessed with another sweet girl! A healthy, TS free little sister, who dotes on her older sister.

As many special needs moms have said before me, it’s impossible to focus on the future right now. In order to get there, we have to focus on today. Today she is healthy, happy and working as hard as she possibly can to reach her potential. What that is, no one knows, but we will move heaven and earth to get her there.

Please check out Cassie’s blog at www.abubslifeblog.blogspot.com

Alee’s Advocate

Day 21 of Guest Blogging for TSC Awareness

By guest blogger Mindee Mata  (Kilgore, Texas)

photoWhen I was first asked to write about Alee I thought..sure ..no problem..I have been Alee’s advocate, her voice for 4 years. I can talk about her forever. As I prepared, I realized that on a daily basis I intentionally put all the horrible parts of her disease in the back of my mind. Her past…her future… I can not think about those things. I have to think about today and today is good! But in order for you to understand Alee I needed to revisit those things.

When Alee was born she was perfect…just like every baby should be but I was still scared to death. I had a 17-month-old and a 4-year-old. I wish I could say I enjoyed every minute of her infant stage but in reality I was on auto pilot until the day after her 6 month check up. She was falling asleep, but every time she started to doze off she would almost jump. It reminded me of the infant startle reflex. At first it just happened every now and then, but it gradually became so frequent that it happened every time she would try to sleep. It would happen all night long off and on with crying in between the clusters. I met with her pediatrician at the time but he had no answers. I called an old pediatrician I had used when we lived in Houston and even went to see her. She set us up with a neurologist but still nothing. Four months went by and she eventually stopped. I was relieved but deep in my heart I knew something was still wrong. My whole life changed one night when she was 11 months old. We were getting ready for bed and she seemed hot, so I gave her some Tylenol and thought she must be getting sick. We went to bed. A little while later I heard the awful noise…the noise I would start hearing so frequently I could hear it in a stadium of 100,000 people. Alee gasping for  breath. I looked at her and she looked like she was in a daze. She could not make eye contact and was completely limp. The only noise was her trying hard to breath. I had no clue what was going on. I had never seen a seizure before, especially one that started like this. My husband called 911. After 20 minutes of the blank stare, the all out seizing started and she stopped breathing all together. I had to do CPR on my baby girl…me…I just did it because I had no other choice. There was no time for an emotional breakdown. The EMT’s arrived, gave her an IV, and headed for the hospital. She was still seizing. At the ER we were able to stop the seizing but her breathing would not return to normal. They were forced to intubate and call for life flight to take her to the nearest pediatric ICU. My husband and I watched all of this basically in shock. I held her, sang to her, kissed her, but I held it together…until she was being loaded on the helicopter and we could not go with her. I looked at her little body all attached to wires and tubes with tears running down her face but no sound. I felt so helpless. The next 30 minutes felt like a lifetime as we drove entirely too fast to the hospital. In my mind the next part is just a haze of doctors, tests, sedation, and questions, but still no answers. We were in the hospital for five days until finally we had a diagnosis. There were eight doctors in the room when they came with her test results. I can remember watching the second hand tick by behind the doctors head because if I did not make eye contact it would not be real. She had tuberous sclerosis. WHAT!! What was that?  And there is no cure? What do we do? Do our other kids have it? We had so many questions, but we finally had a reason for why Alee was sick.

The next year was the hardest thing I have ever had to go through in my life. Alee was in the hospital 1 to 2 days every week. We could not get her seizures under control.  We were photo-18trying every medication available and we just had to wait and see if any would work. She literally ate, slept and seized. My whole life revolved around the seizures and the hardest part was it was affecting my other kids. My son was looking forward to kindergarten, so his first day of school we all got ready and headed out to walk him in and get some pictures. Our house was only three minutes from school, but it was just long enough for Alee to try to fall asleep and the seizures began. As we were walking in Alee started having a long seizure so I had to lay her on the grass in front of the school on her left side and start getting my emergency meds ready. My son was so nervous he was going to be late on the first day, so I gave him a hug and said, “I know you can remember how to get to your class so go ahead and go and I will be there in a few minutes to check on you.” He is so brave. He went and  I watched my 5-year-old have to grow up too fast because of this terrible disease. Alee’s sister went with me everywhere. I was forced to stop working because Alee need 24-hour care and I did not have any family in Waco. Alee was having to get blood work all the time because we were changing meds so frequently and we needed to know how much was in her blood. She had so many IV’s and blood draws that her little veins just collapsed. At one visit they strapped Alee to the board and started trying to get blood. No luck. By stick nine she was screaming and in and out of seizures. The tech was crying and I looked over at Isabella who was sitting like a big kid in a chair and tears were just running down her little face.  All she said was, “Mommy, please make them stop.” Well, I basically lost it then. After stick 14 there was still not blood so we called it a day and would try again tomorrow. I realized that we were all suffering. My husband and I decided to move closer to family so we could have some help with the older kids. And..well..that was God’s plan all along. We had not even started looking for a job yet when my husband received a call that there was a job opening in his home town.  So, within a few months, we moved to Kilgore.

Alee’s social worker at the time told me about a clinic for TSC kids in Houston so I got on the waiting list. After a long 4 month wait we were finally able to see the docs there. Her new neurologist wanted us to try an experimental drug, Sabril, and at this point I would have done anything. I gave it to her for the first time on a Monday and by Thursday she was down to three seizures a day. My prayers had been answered. But the downfall of this drug is it can cause permanent vision loss. Today Alee has lost a little of her peripheral  vision and once that is gone it will take it all. So, we were forced to make a decision. How much vision loss is too much? So when all of her peripheral vision is gone we will take her off the one and only drug that is keeping her from seizing out of control.  We will start the cycle all over again…this may be in six years or six months. We just have to wait and see. On top of the seizures she has tumors in her brain, heart, eyes, skin, face and kidneys. We will more than likely have brain surgery at some point. She will develop polycystic kidney disease, go into kidney failure, and be placed on a transplant list. I know the reason God made her so strong willed…it is because she is going to have to fight for the rest of her life! Her struggles are not going to get any easier, just harder as time goes on. When you think about your children in the future you picture them playing with their friends at recess at school, falling in love, going to college, getting married, having children, but that is not the life that was given to Alee. She has a different path. She is going to be an advocate for TSC. She will help find a cure for this horrible disease.

I wish I could say I was always this positive, but in reality, some days you just want to give up. The loneliest place in our house is the laundry room. That is where I go when TSC gets too big for me to handle. Many, many breakdowns have happened in there, but it is also where I pull it all back together. The emotional side of any disease is too much for most people, but that is not all that is involved when you have a sick child. We are struggling now with so many decisions because she is about to turn 5. Public or private school? What things do we fight for on her IEP? How do we handle that she does not sweat due to long-term use of topamax or her sleepiness from all her meds at school? How do you send your baby to school knowing that she cannot communicate well enough to tell you what is happening there?  I really do believe that God carefully chooses special needs parents and children. You have to be strong, patient, and sensitive at the same time. You have to be able to comfort your seizing child while fighting the ER doctors for her life. You have to be able to hold it all together when the specialty pharmacy forgets to send her meds and you know the outcome will be a life-threatening hospital stay.  Our entire family fights the TSC battle every day and we will not stop. We will give everything but up!!!

And now a word from another mother…..

I’m a guest blogger over at Captain Jacktastic today!

quilterina's avataryou don't know Jack

We are still in May
And that means

We are still in TUBEROUS SCLEROSIS AWARENESS MONTH!!

I asked my internet friend and mother of Connor– an adorable, sweet boy who also has TSC – to tell HER story.
Here she tells us about the diagnosis, and her journey…..

Please be sure to check out her son’s Facebook page here, and her blog here.

 

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I worried about so many things when I was pregnant. I researched the best prenatal vitamins (didn’t find much conclusive). I decided I would not have the occasional glass of wine until I was out of the first trimester, which turned into the second trimester, which turned into after birth. At most I had a sip or two at a wedding and indulged in an O’Douls. My doctor talked me into a flu shot, and then I spent the next two nights…

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