Tag Archives: seizures

Unconditional Love

 Day 3 of Blogging for TSC Awareness Month

by guest blogger Caroline Clyborne Ramirez  (Austin, Texas)

image4-2Since our son, Leif, first learned to talk, we’ve been drilling him on a basic call and response:

“Why do I love you?”

“Because I’m your son.”

We did this because we wanted him to know that he was loved, no matter what. He had our permission to be lost and a knucklehead while figuring himself out. He could worry about other problems, like having to eat vegetables and sharing. He did not need to worry about courting his parents’ love.

Then, my daughter was born. At four months, we learned that Colette had a diagnosis– tuberous sclerosis. She had about 20 benign brain tumors and epilepsy. We didn’t know if she would be smart or independent. Our blank slate of a baby came with no guarantees.

The grief and terror of the first couple of months were intense. I image7wanted to pull away. I wondered if I could ever love this child like I loved my son. What had I told him? “I love you because you’re my son.” I’d promised him. Could I sincerely offer that to my daughter? I felt like a fraud.

Life got busy. I stepped away from my career and into the life of a medical advocate. Colette had weekly PT, OT and eventually speech therapy. She had frequent overnight hospital stays to adjust medication any time we saw seizure activity. There were eye appointments every 3 months because her seizure control medication endangered her vision. We drove to Houston every image6three months to participate in a clinical study. The insurance company required weekly hounding to cover the basics. It was only the beginning, and already, the tasks made me a busy bee. My son loudly demonstrated his frustration with the redirection of my attention. I tried to be enough and constantly fell short. I worried that our sleepy, medicated baby was the most flexible member of the family. Her big blue eyes sparkled, and she never complained.

It’s an odd thing to be given an open-ended diagnosis. There was no adjusting to the news. The hope and despair pulled me up and brought me down like a roller coaster– tea leaf predictions from smiles and gas. I wanted to either grieve or enjoy my child. The image2“what ifs” of the future were easy to Google, from skin lesions on her face to LAM in her lungs. What if she can’t learn and spends the rest of her life in diapers? What if she develops behavioral issues and hits us? My one life experience as a substitute teacher in a Special Education had taught me that was NOT my population. I did not reach out to moms with older kids whose fates scared me. I clung, tooth and nail, to the shallow end of the pool and hoped we would never have to drown.

I was in constant fear that she would take a turn for the worst and we, as a family, would not be okay. Meanwhile, Colette was a bright-eyed and happy baby. She splashed the water in her bath and gnawed on her Sophie giraffe. It was a bizarre juxtaposition. Colette was the poster child of innocence. I was her strung out Mom. In tiny slivers of clarity, I dug my nose into her neck and smelled her yummy baby smell. Regretfully, I often saw TSC more than I saw my daughter.

That was when she had seizure control. When that ended at 10 months old, my nightmares developed a physical form. I took detailed notes of what movements we saw and sent them to the white coats in this army. Please, I said. Please protect Colette. Our precious baby continued to smile, but she almost never babbled.

Even though we were creeping toward the chasm that I’d feared would swallow our family, I felt calm and sad. I acknowledged more publicly what was happening, and wept big tears as I faced how little control we had over a disease that had no cure. Colette had good days and bad days, and so did I. I spent my time taking her to appointments, arguing with insurance, and trying to keep things normal for our family. I felt depleted and I felt despair.

I realized at some point that my nightmares were a very loud image3statement to both my kids. Colette’s imperfection had made Mommy sad. TSC was in her DNA. Colette, by simply being born, had brought TSC and all of its challenges into our home. Her sweet demeanor may have been lovely, but it was a consolation, a kindness that momentarily offset a mountain of pain. She had more to worry about than having to eat vegetables, and even more to worry about than experiencing seizures. She had caused her family to suffer by means of existing. Something was terribly wrong, and that something was within me.

There was a woman on Facebook with a daughter who was cognitively two and physically 25. She kept posting proud mommy posts, and she baffled me with her acceptance of her child. I didn’t understand her, but something in me was shifting. I realized that a 2-year-old is lovable and delightful. My expectations of her child– that her child act 25– imposed onto her child’s existence something presumably painful that might not be real.

As I thought about her child, I was flooded with memories of my beloved Grandpa. Grandpa had Parkinson’s. He was sweet. He threw a purple foam ball back and forth with me. I didn’t “know better” that he’d lost something. I just loved him, and he loved me. Maybe I didn’t need the conditions I had for loving my child. Maybe I could just love my child.

As my eyes opened wider, I became aware also of how my vanity bled into my relationship with my son. He was so smart. He was so handsome. My pride appreciated pieces of him he never chose for himself. It was an easy mistake to make. In a family of nerds, his brains made him feel like our boy. However, he was getting extra credit because of his luck– because I was proud of his gifts.

How unfair of me. My job was to help him develop his character, and my preference for his smarts added conditions to my love and modified my expectations of him. His sister aside, I saw a rot forming in my parenting. Colette’s condition challenged my vanity and made me see both kids more clearly.

Humbly, as a flawed person mid-stream, I am challenging myself to change what I expect of both my kids. I am going to love them both because they’re my kids. I am not going to give Leif extra credit for being smart, and I am not going to turn Colette’s existence into a burden anymore. I’m just going to support her health as she needs and enjoy her in the present, stripped of all the disparaging “shoulds” that diminish her humanity. If I need to, I’ll think of Grandpa and find a way to throw a ball to my daughter. I’ll appreciate the day she can throw it back, but I won’t love her more for it.

I’ll keep love simple. That way, my kids can stop worrying about the quality of my love and start focusing on the road in front of them. When I whisper in my daughter’s ear that I love her, I now really know the answer. I love her because she’s my daughter– no matter what.

Brain surgery is coming this month. Finally, we’re ready.

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You are not winning, TSC.

Day 2 of Blogging for TSC Awareness Month
by guest blogger Mary Garnett  (Roanoke, Virginia)

10530697_10152504883715700_7231308209995918033_nI was just 24 weeks pregnant when the words “tuberous sclerosis complex” were muttered to my husband and me, and pamphlets about this disorder were thrust into our hands by the doctor. They found cardiac rhabdomyomas on my otherwise healthy baby boy in utero. From that point on, I had biweekly monitoring by multiple doctors, scanning every bit of our child to detect any other marker of TSC and they did not find anything, even after a fetal MRI.

Our little boy, Owen, made his appearance on March 16 at exactly 1619175_435903126574175_3888823022529246311_n40 weeks. Everything about labor and delivery couldn’t have been more perfect and our son scored wonderfully on Apgar and hearing. After four days and some NICU monitoring, we were able to take our little man home to enjoy. We didn’t realize how soon that would change.

Three and a half weeks later, I began noticing a twitching of Owen’s r11046409_447237978774023_1711788437182916419_night arm. I had done my research on TSC and the different types of seizures I should be on the watch for. Intuition was telling me these WERE seizures. My husband was more optimistic, but the twitching was increasing, so off to the pediatrician we went. Following that appointment, we were immediately sent to be admitted at the hospital after our pediatrician got to witness what I had been seeing all along.

Multiple tests including a lumbar puncture and bloodwork came back normal. It was not until a VEEG was done that we got our confirmation that these were indeed seizures. A brain MRI the next day then officially diagnosed our son with TSC after finding multiple tumors in our son’s brain. You know when four doctors, a chaplain and social worker walk into your hospital room at the same time, that the news can’t be good. Owen was started on his first anti-epileptic medication that same day. We were thrilled when it worked from the first dose and were excited to go home, thinking this was the end of seizures for Owen. That medication worked for three days.

Multiple seizure types, six medications, one diet and one brain surgery later…

Owen is now 13 months old and experiencing freedom from seizures for the first time since he was a newborn. How has someone who just celebrated their first birthday been through so much already? How does he continue to smile and play despite seizures wreaking havoc on his development for 11 months? Because this kid has strength and spirit that only God could bestow.

We don’t know what the future holds for Owen, but we don’t care. He has taught us that no matter the battle, the strength to continue on will always be there for him, and for us that is enough. You are not winning, TSC.

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Tuberous Sclerosis Complex Awareness Month – Joy

Third Annual Blogging for TSC Awareness Month  Day 1

by guest blogger Ryan Kennedy  (Woodward, Iowa)

Joy

Who knew what this journey had in store?

I was going to be a father again.

My wife held a child within.image1

A healthy birth, everything looks great!

Joy!

Who saw this coming?

A heart murmur

A routine doctor’s visit

A heart tumor

Hope.

This can’t really be TSC. Can it?

More doctorsimage3

Neuro, nephro, cardio, genetics

My son has TSC.

Pain.

How bad will it be?

Infantile spasms

Sleepless nights

My son has autism.

Grief.

What does this mean?

He walks.

He laughs.

He smiles.

He has joy.

He gives me joy.

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Tardy thoughts on the Superbowl, dadvertising, and that stupid fire dress.

Let’s start with the game. It gets my standard review. Didn’t care. Didn’t watch it. Well, except for that fight at the end. That was kind of entertaining.  I hate football. YES! I SAID IT! I live in the southeast where college football is king and I neither care about SEC football (I mean, I want the Dawgs to win, I just don’t need to watch it happen) nor do I care about the NFL.

As for the half time show — thank you, Missy Elliott. It should have been your half time show. Not that I hate Katy Perry or anything, but Cinna was right there on stage with you, and that was the best fire dress you could come up with?!

I always watch for the commercials, specifically the humorous ones, although it seems like those are fewer every year. Or maybe I just thought they were funny back when I bothered to go to Superbowl parties and started drinking at noon. Of course the humorous ones were always mixed in there with the stereotypical scantily clad, partying women selling booze.

This year was an interesting departure. Not a lot of naked chicks, but a lot of kids and dad commercials. It’s funny. If that change had been made just a few years ago, I would have thought, great, wonderful! About time. And then I would have gone on with my life. But watching the commercials, even as a mom was a strange experience.

Let’s start with THAT Nationwide commercial. I’ll give you props, Nationwide. You got the nation’s attention. You collectively sucked the breath out of every room that had a TV tuned to the game. Adorable kid, charming and quirky depictions of childhood imagination; we fell in love with this little boy in 15 seconds. Then you killed him. We were treated to visuals of overflowing bathtubs, cabinets opened to containers of poison, and a flat screen television smashed on the floor. I conducted a very unscientific poll and have gathered that 63 percent of viewers responded with What the f—! 32 percent responded with mouths gaping open. And the remaining 5 percent were lucky enough to be in the bathroom.

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If it saves even one kid, it was worth it. But as a parent that is faced with  the reality of childhood mortality every day, I sure didn’t like it or want to see it when I just wanted laugh at idiots doing dumb crap to get Miller Lite or Doritos. Connor does not have any life threatening complications, but seizures are always dangerous and unpredictable. And I know so many people via my involvement in cannabis legislation that are dealing with far more dire situations than I am. The TSC community has lost two teenagers recently, and I’m going to be selfish and say I didn’t want to think about that during the stupid Super Bowl.

That Dove ad with a sequence of young children hitting milestones and calling out to dad. Dad. Daaad! Sweet commercial. I was a little confused by the Cats in the Cradle Nissan ad. Seemed depressing. Here, buy a Nissan and drive away from your family! Not everyone interpreted it that way, but if you are familiar with the song, it was kind of hard to view the commercial in an uplifting manner. But at least dad was there to pick up his teen son at the end. Toyota depicted a dad raising his daughter and tearfully dropping her off at the end to her military deployment.

This shift in advertising should have been a welcome change to me, but it sort of wasn’t. Don’t get me wrong. I’m no fan of naked chicks spraying themselves with Coors Light. I’m not saying this a bad change. I just realized how different the experience of these commercials can be for some people in the special needs community, and especially for those who have lost or are facing losing a child.

Watching kids hit milestones and do things they can’t do yet, or may never do was extraordinarily painful for a LOT of parents, as I realized quickly from my Facebook feed. I know I felt a little funny, and I wasn’t even the target of the advertising. The Dove commercial with kids calling out for Dad…as I’m desperately waiting for Connor to say his first word made me stop and pause in the kitchen as I poured my drink. I read more than one thread online of parents that had clearly been taken out of the moment of enjoyment and festiveness by these ads. To be clear, no one was critical of the ads, it was just interesting to realize how much my own perspective has changed in the last three years.

As for me, next year I’ll probably watch Netflix upstairs, perhaps Nationwide Presents: The Never Ending Story 4: More About the Horse that Drowned in the First One. I’ll watch the funny commercials online later.

 

Georgia Rally for In-State Cultivation of Medical Cannabis

As I previously posted, Gov. Deal stripped HB1 of the growing option, leaving it as immunity only. There will be a rally at the Capitol tomorrow to demonstrate the support for in-state growing. Please attend to show your support.

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There are currently 17 medical conditions included in the bill. However, the Georgia Sheriffs’ Association and District Attorneys’ Association do not support the expansion to other diagnoses beyond epilepsy. Please contact your local sheriff and DA.

Hope to see you tomorrow!

A trip to the ER and other medical hassles.

And of the medical hassles, the ER was the most pleasant one.

Our Christmas Eve tradition for the last few years is to have family over for Christmas Eve dinner. We stuff ourselves with appetizers and leave a ton of leftover ham, mashed potatoes, pasta salad and green bean casserole. Within three minutes of our guests leaving, hardly even giving us time to complain about the bottle of wine that we opened and was hardly touched (it was one of those mondo size bottles that leaves me torn between not wasting perfectly good wine and the fear of sleeping through Christmas Day in a stupor), Connor was fussing for his iPad by the kitchen table and went down with a loud thunk. I picked him up and set him on the island, hoping for his standard forehead bruise. It’s a constant battle to keep his forehead a normal skin color, and that is why he frequently wears head protection. I realized he was bleeding and called to Chris for paper towels. One swipe and I knew we had a problem. This was deep.

We headed to the Kennestone Hospital ER where Connor received three stitches. We were in and out in just under two hours. It was impressively simple and undramatic, but I guess when you’ve already done the NICU and brain surgery, three stitches ain’t no thang. In fact, Connor had spent the entire day being royally uncooperative as far as smiling for photos, giving me the first in the waiting room with a hole in his forehead.

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Getting the stitches in was easy. Getting them out turned out to be the pain. The ER doctor informed us that while we could come back after the holiday, the wait would go back to standard long waits and suture removal is bottom priority. He recommended getting them removed at his pediatrician. I love his pediatrician. I do NOT love the office staff that stands between us. I called to make an appointment and was told that she’d have to check and see if anyone would do it on a young child’s face. “It’s just three!” I tried to persuade her. Two hours later, a nurse calls me back and says it’s okay. She transfers me to the scheduler. “Well, they don’t usually do this on kids under three. I need to check.”

“We just went through this,” I explained. “I was transferred to you by the person who got the okay.”

“I still need to check.”

WTF.

After a long hold, she comes back. “You’ll have to take him back to where you got them.” I don’t think a doctor was even consulted. It was just “office policy.”

I was pissed now. I informed her we would not be going back to the ER. I did not inform her of how wasteful of time and money this was, or what a burden this kind of crap is on the system. I asked if an urgent care would do it. She thought they would. But after careful consideration of the all the germs floating around in waiting areas and the fact that the flu is reportedly raging through Georgia, we opted to Google stitch removal and do it at home. If there were a lot, we wouldn’t, but three seemed doable, and it was actually pretty easy. So take that, idiotic office policy.

I also handled the fact that last month’s paperwork glitch regarding Connor’s Sabril (vigabatrin) prescription was apparently never resolved. Typically, if there is an issue filling this prescription, a group called SHARE works with the manufacturer to make sure prescriptions go out. I learned that this is not the case if you are marked non-compliant with the eye doctor paper work. They had sent us last month’s prescription in spite of the screwup. Thanks to the FDA, they couldn’t do it again.

You see, Connor takes a seizure med that carries some risk to peripheral vision. The FDA, when they finally got around to approving it in 2009 — 30 years after initial clinical trials — decided that if you wanted to use it, you had to have eye exams every three months. They also recommend ERGs every three months. An ERG requires Connor to be put under for 45 minutes to an hour. We stopped those a long time ago. He had one come back indicating a change. But nobody could tell us squat about what that meant, or if it was even more than a fluke. Not even all eye doctors recommend it. Some bend to the fear of the FDA and others flat out tell you it’s a waste of time and they can tell you very little with young children.

The regular eye exams (at which the eye doctors also acknowledge they can’t tell you much and it’s just an empty requirement) are very mandatory. Paperwork must be submitted to keep the meds coming. Some parents speak of obtaining waivers for these, but those waivers seem like unicorns to most of us. Something wasn’t submitted properly. Then it didn’t get fixed properly. And then it was decided by all parties (other than me) that the best option was to not give my child his seizure meds and status seizures, brain damage, even death was a better possible option than some minor impairment of his peripheral vision. The FDA is apparently well aware that one needs 20/20 vision when on a ventilator fighting for life. I did not inform the manufacturer or pharmacy that I was able to obtain some for Connor so that he was not at risk for the terrible dangers of cutting a med cold turkey. Eventually the kickass assistant at his neurologist’s office was able to fix the situation, further proving that they are the only medical office I have ever been able to count on.

Sabril was not the only source of my fun with pharmacies. I tried to refill his Onfi. When I called to do so I was informed they were out and I could fill it locally if I had the local pharmacy call to transfer it. Annoying (don’t you plan for your regulars?) but okay. I had filled it at CVS before. First I tried Walgreens because it’s closest. No pharmacy in the area had it. Then CVS. Nope. Then Kroger. Nope. I called the mail order pharmacy, Optum Rx, back and asked what was I supposed to do now.

“Well, you may have to call his neurologist and get a prescription for something else.”

Something else? Just replace his highly addictive benzo?

“I don’t understand how you just run out of something you are supposed to mail on a regular basis. I want a supervisor.”

Three people later, we were able to piece together that by “out” what they actually meant was that they could have it to me by the following Wednesday, but they didn’t have it that day (Friday). It apparently took three people to get this vital piece of information that took a major issue to a non-issue. In pissed relief, I told them that was fine.

Have I mentioned I have three different pharmacies for Connor? So much for safeguards where the pharmacist can be that extra set of eyes watching for interactions and issues. I have to get Sabril from CVS Caremark (which is great as long as the FDA stays out of it), Onfi is from Optum Rx (their motto is “At least we’re not Accredo”) and all others from a local CVS.

So now we’re stocked back up on meds. It’s 2015. Despite all the venting in this post, I think it will be a good year and I hope it will be a good year for all my friends in the epilepsy community that spent the holidays in hospitals. I will leave you with some pics of Connor’s Christmas (three times in three homes!) to cleanse the palate.

Emptying the stocking.
Emptying the stocking.

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With Aunt Donna.
With Aunt Donna.

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Checking out the turtles with Grandpa John.
Checking out the turtles with Grandpa John.

 

We had to use Diastat for the first time today.

There is no rhyme or reason to seizures. It’s enough to make you insane. There can be good periods then bad periods with no explanation, no known triggers or med changes.

A little before 1 a.m. this morning Chris and I had an idea we were about to have a day with an unexplained seizure increase. Connor’s Emfit alerted us to a convulsive seizure a little before 1 am. He doesn’t set off the monitor every night, but when he does, we typically see seizures from 4 a.m. on. Right off the bat we knew it would be a funky night if he was having a seizure that early.

We put him in bed with us and slept until the next rough one at 4:52 a.m. Then he had another one at 5:46. Then 6:59. But shortly after, they clustered and he had four in half an hour. It was totally unlike him. We had never had to use Diastat before, which is why I think we hesitated longer than more seasoned parents would have, but we administered it at 7:30 a.m. It was an easier and smoother process than I had built it up to be in my head through all those years I had to be trained to use it as a teacher (I never actually had to administer it while working, and never could have dreamed at the time I would ever have a prescription for it in my house). For those not familiar, Diastat is an emergency med used to stop status seizures (ones that won’t stop) and clusters of seizures and is administered rectally.

Connor slept on the couch with me for two hours afterward, and amazingly, woke up perky happy and raring to go. He did have one shorter seizure shortly after waking (sleep cycles are his big trigger) but it was much shorter than the previous ones, and not long after, he was up and moving around again.

I’m so baffled by seizures and their effect. Connor had nine convulsive seizures throughout the night, required emergency meds, yet wakes up ready to antagonize the dog and terrorize the Christmas tree. But sometimes he has days where he is weak and struggling to walk or eat because of seizures we can barely see or can’t see at all.

I know many parents that believe the full moon triggers more seizures. I never gave it much thought, but last night was a full moon… Who knows? Hopefully we are done seizing for the day. Connor is currently shrieking at Paw Patrol and testing how far he can toss his milk between sips AKA being himself, so fingers crossed the rest of the day will be good.

We did finally get word that he will be starting Epidiolex in early February. I wish it was sooner, but I’m grateful we get to try it so I won’t complain. Fingers crossed it will provide relief.

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Connor gets to join an Epidiolex trial!

We’ve been waiting months for confirmation that Connor can take part in a compassionate use trial for Epidiolex. His doctor was on board, but had to submit paperwork and jump hurdles due to the absurd schedule 1 classification by the DEA. Epidiolex is a marijuana-derived pharmaceutical. It contains CBD, and no THC. As we are still fighting for medical cannabis legislation here in Georgia, Chris and I desperately wanted this legal opportunity for Connor.

I actually cried when I got the confirmation. I had no idea how much of a weight this was on my shoulders until that moment because I hardly ever cry anymore. People who have known me for a long time might think, yeah right. I used to be Queen Crybaby, crying over the stupidest little things all the time. But now, on the rare occasions I do cry, it is still over something stupid — like the death of a favorite character on Walking Dead (and unlike some people who like to spoil things instantaneously on Facebook, I STILL won’t name names here for those who are playing catch up on Netflix–oops, veered off on a pet peeve tangent. Suffice to say, the instant someone croaks, you don’t need to flippin’ post it). But I never cry over important things that I probably should. Sometimes it kind of weirds me out and I wonder if something is wrong with me. At any rate, I knew tears were a sign of how important this is to me. As you can see, I may not be able to display emotion when it comes to Connor and TSC, but I’ll sob and punch you in the face over The Walking Dead.

Epidiolex trials are exceptionally difficult to get into, and I don’t know how we got so lucky. I know so many who have tried and haven’t been accepted. This also doesn’t change the need for legislation. Epidiolex is one formulation. It is not the same thing that kids like Charlotte Figi or Haleigh Cox are using out in Colorado. They are on whole plant strains of high-CBD, low-THC oils called Charlotte’s Web and Haleigh’s Hope. Some kids are benefitting from THCa. Others are supplementing with THC when the ratios in the oils don’t hit the spot for seizure control. And it will still be years before Epidiolex is available to the general public. What I’m saying is, Epidiolex isn’t one size fits all. But we hope it will fit Connor.

We aren’t sure on the start date yet. Before he can receive his first dose, he’s required to have a screening appointment. Being the holidays, the next available appointment isn’t until Jan. 6. I was rather dismayed by that as you must keep track of the seizures for a month after that appointment, and that meant he can’t start the med until February. But he happens to have a follow up appointment on the calendar already in early December. The study coordinator is looking into whether that slot will allow enough time for the screening. That would put him on the med by early January. Fingers crossed it’s sooner rather than later.

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CONNOR

NICHOLE MONTANEZ

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CONNOR

Connor was born in March of 2012. Ten weeks prior — at the 30-week ultrasound — we were told there was an irregularity of some sort on the heart wall. The explanation was vague. It might be nothing, or it might be <insert a bunch of big words we had never heard before>.
Tuberous sclerosis complex was mentioned as a possible cause, but it was such a vague maybe that we dismissed it when we Googled the stats. One in 6,000 live births. Well, it couldn’t be that. I was monitored carefully until Connor was born, but whatever was in his heart never grew or affected the heart function. Everything seemed normal until a few hours after delivery. That was when a nurse in the nursery realized he was having seizures. The next 37 days were spent in the NICU. The seemingly benign heart abnormality was confirmed as…

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Thanks, Sen. Renee Unterman and Lt. Gov. Casey Cagle!

My heart is going a mile a minute and I am trying not to go into a rage. The one thing that made it okay that HB 885 didn’t pass in its final form last session was that by then it had been stripped to an immunity bill. Not a lot of good when you can’t obtain it in your state. But Realm of Caring has decided not to move forward to with their plans to ship Charlotte’s Web UNLESS the state has already passed AT LEAST an immunity bill due to the closer scrutiny they have endured since rolling out this plan. GEORGIA FAMILIES THAT THOUGHT THEY WERE GOING TO BE ABLE TO GET IT SHIPPED AS EARLY AS NEXT MONTH NOW CAN’T. This is thanks to the despicable actions of SENATOR RENEE UNTERMAN of Buford (who is on the current medical cannabis committee and typically appears to be asleep in meetings–IF she bothers to stay for the whole thing) and LT. GOV. CASEY CAGLE who thought it would be cute to smirk at the grieving families as the session closed without it being allowed to go to a vote at his discretion. Please share the word of what they have done. Georgia families now have to wait for the next session to get a law that will allow them to receive it, when every state around us already can.

From RoC:

“This change will not impact availability for those of you who live in states with clearly defined statutes that allow individuals to possess CBD or low THC, regardless of the specific means by which these products are acquired. For everyone else: we will be seeking clarification from the appropriate agencies in all 50 states in order to determine the legal accessibility and risks of possession of CBD products. To be clear, as soon as we have confirmation from your state authorities that you will be exempt from prosecution, we will ship to you.”

So let them know how you feel:

Sen. Renee Unterman:

Renee.Unterman@senate.ga.gov

121-H State Capitol
Atlanta, GA 30334
Phone: (404) 463-1368
Fax: (404) 651-6767

Lt. Gov. Casey Cagle

e-mail here.

240 State Capitol
Atlanta, GA 30334
Phone: (404) 656-5030
Fax: (404) 656-6739