What's there to say

I have been part of the CDKL5 support group for over 5 years.  For many years I was extremely active, sharing our experience with Sonzee and Sonzee specific related information with no problems.  The older she grew and the more involved she became I found participating to be extremely emotionally draining.  I always hesitated because those who were new members would eventually find their footing and until they did, they didn't necessarily want to see a 3 or 4-year-old potential version of their child in Sonzee.  Maybe that was my personal take because children presenting like Sonzee don't necessarily reek the hope the newly diagnosed parents are seeking.  And now...220 days since she passed away, I represent everything they fear, so what's there to say?

This week a new mom introduced herself and I am assuming my 30-day snooze needs to be reset because I saw it.  This week for the first time in months I scrolled down the comments and read everyone introducing themselves and their child.  Then for the first time in I don't know how long I clicked into the comment space, but then I sat there, rereading the introduction of the mother, reading all of the comments, tears filling my eyes and left wondering, what's there to say? 

What is there to say besides, I once had a daughter who went through all of the same exact challenges as your child and despite the hope you have, the reality is, at some point, they might finally be at peace, but that means you are part of the other CDKL5 group of bereaved parents?  There is no way to share her journey without stating the obvious fact, she isn't here any longer. Who wants to hear that?  Because I don't even want to say it.  

Really, what's there to say?

CDKL5 Awareness 2020

It is after midnight on many of my friends' Facebook pages.  The June 17 CDKL5 awareness posts are starting to consume my newsfeed.  I read them and the tears fill my eyes.  We are all on different journies, yet the same path, and no matter what, it's a heartbreaking one at that.  What is there to say?  How do we really make others aware of the significant impact of one teensie tiny genetic error?  There is no one storming the streets demanding a cure, yet some of us wish we could storm the gates of heaven to see the children who were stolen from us.  There is no one who has found potential cures skipping every potential phase of a trial in order to speedily find a way for those children who are left here to not have to continue to live in silence, enduring thousands of seizures, and with significant developmental delays; yet many parents and family members attempt to make the world aware that something is needed by sharing their individual stories.

I honestly haven't figure out what it takes to get onto Ellen or make a big enough deal that anyone who is a someone will fight for our rare cause.  A cause that isn't reaching into the homes of every single person in this world due to any lack of trying.  I assure you every parent of a child diagnosed with CDKL5 Deficiency Disorder does their damnedest every day of their lives to try to eradicate the nasty impact of this disorder on their child.  It is literally a fight to the death type of attempt, the worst game of beat the clock, and yet sadly many best efforts are just that...efforts that ultimately come up short because sometimes your best just isn't enough.

We have been lucky to have been able to "celebrate" CDKL5 Awareness day for every single year of Sonzee's life and now the first of her death.  Ironically when she was a baby we were told by so many parents of diagnosed children how lucky we were to have a diagnosis at such a young age.  I never felt their extended joy on the topic, and thankfully those parents don't share the same pain we are living now without her.  While there is a sense of relief in having an answer as to why your child is seizing, why they are not making eye contact, why they are not meeting developmental milestones, why they are struggling with feeding issues, why they are unable to be fully functional members of society, there is absolutely not one ounce of luck that comes with having a CDKL5 diagnosis, no matter the age of diagnosis. 

I wish June 17 wasn't another day that is tainted forever.  I wish June 17 meant more to more people and that all of the awareness efforts were not in vain.  I wish that June 17, 2020 was the very last CDKL5 Deficiency Disorder awareness day that was needed to share with the world the devastating effects of a CDKL5 mutation.  And for now, we are left to making Facebook posts that hopefully people share and to dressing in lime green, with the knowledge that some of us don't even have our children to do that anymore.

April 16

Thursday, April 16, we meet again.  Who knew that 5 years from the day we first met I would be honoring you alone, missing the crucial piece that gave you whatever meaning it is you now have.  You are a day that I honestly don't think about for an entire year after you pass, but a day that I dread as you creep slowly towards me on the calendar.  I wonder if there will ever be a time I am at peace over what it is you actually represent.  I wonder if you will ever hold a bigger purpose than to just be another horrible, nagging reminder of all the pain that you brought with you that day in a small square office off of the 101 and 51st Avenue.  I wonder if I will ever forgive you for now being another day that I can no longer spin into something positive because allowing you into our lives ultimately allowed you to take her away.

April 16, you have always been a double-edged sword for me.  I have always tried honor and give recognition to what you have become, a date of vital significance, but one I wish didn't exist.  You will always be a date that I pay homage to the fact that you brought us an answer, albeit one we never wanted and one that at one point we didn't think could even exist.  You will always be a date that changed the course that our family was taking, and maybe one day I will realize it was for the best, it was something we could handle, and it was what was meant to be.  Somehow I don't think any of those sentiments will heal my heart, and they don't offer an ounce of cushion for the havoc that we all have endured over the past 5 years.

It has been 2 months and 13 days since she was taken away from me. 2 months and 13 days since I last got to feel her in my arms and since I last gave her a kiss.  It has been 2 months and 13 days since we became a physical family of 6; two boys, two living girls, and a daughter who died.  It was 2 months and 13 days ago that the fear that was always attached to the string of letters that was printed on the piece of paper no longer was fear but real and tangible.  But if I am honest with you, it was on our first encounter, 5 years ago that you essentially stole her from me.  In exchange for a measly piece of paper you took every dream I had for her, every dream I had for her and her siblings, every dream I had for our family, and every dream I stopped making that day.  If I loathe any day of the year, it is today, April 16, and while I am unsure if that is fair given you were just the messenger, I don't know if you can ever really be forgiven.

The Little Green Dress

When Sonzee was first diagnosed the immediate thing that occurred was exactly what her diagnosing physician warned us against; going onto the internet and googling C D K L 5.  Within 2 minutes our world around us crumbled and life as we knew it was never going to be the same.  A mere 5 character string that weighed more than our at the time maybe 9lb daughter.  A string of characters that we didn't quite understand more than it meant we had found our reason for her seizures.  It was the answer we had desperately sought but that we no longer wanted to have found. Yet through the darkness came a network, a secret club, really an immediate family we had no idea that existed up until then.

I cannot exactly remember the first time I learned of the CDKL5 little green dress, but it has been close to Sonzee's entire life since she was diagnosed so early on.  The dress began its travels in the UK and has traveled around the world since it began its journey years ago.  Facebook has really helped give it a sort of fame if you will, as it was the pictures previous recipients (members of our CDKL5 family) postings that originally caught my eye.  Over the course of its travels, I watched as parents dressed up their little girls in a green fairy dress, thinking how sweet the girls looked in the dress, but not thinking too much more about the bigger picture.   That was until last week when the box found its way into our house.

I waited a day to open the box because it was delivered right before Yom Kippur.  I knew no picture would be taking place on Wednesday, so I didn't feel the need to see the entire box's contents.  Immediately after the holiday ended I opened the box.  I saw a smaller box inside and I knew once I peaked inside that I was going to need some moments with that box.  This dress to me is more than a dress with fairy wings and some lime green accessories.  There are children who have worn this dress who are no longer with us, there are children who will wear the dress in years to come who have not even been diagnosed yet, maybe who have not even been born yet.  There is a world that is represented in this dress that is indescribable. 

After I took Sonzee's picture I posted this on her facebook page.  I won't ever know why our family was chosen to live among this community of rare.  I won't ever understand why my daughter has to struggle to live each day and why she has to have seizures all the time.  I won't ever be privy to the details of the greater plan, and truthfully, I am not even sure I would want to even entertain what I would be told because I would probably still be annoyed, upset, disappointed, and downright irate over the reason.  Yet, one thing I do know, one thing I won't ever take for granted, and one thing this dress symbolizes is that we are never alone on this journey.  There are families who have lived this journey before us, there are families living this journey alongside us, and there will be families living this journey after us...and that is something that is unique, powerful, and ironically beautiful about this whole entire world of CDKL5.

September

I wonder what it is about September and my inability to get my thoughts out of my mind.  I am thinking it is because this month historically tends to bring about undesirable thoughts or just doesn't do much to bring closure to any situations we are currently facing.  I have spent the majority of the previous two weeks not even wanting to sit down and write.  A few times I did consider it, but then decided I wasn't ready to make my thoughts completely public.  One additional time I began to write and two paragraphs in I was met with a barricade and haven't gone back to see if I am able to finish.  Tonight I am watching the time tick by, my eyes are blurry, but for some reason, this piece of paper keeps calling me back to it.

There is a constant lump stuck in my throat and tears that are literally a blink away.  4.5 years ago I couldn't have imagined a more delicate, emotional, and challenging journey to unfold for us.  4.5 years ago she was doing so well comparatively, and we were going to have the child who "broke the mold", who was the outlier, who didn't check off every damn box in the potential for CDKL5 directory.  4.5 years ago I told myself that she probably wouldn't sit, and if she did it would be around 3 as a method of self-preservation, but deep down I rooted for her, and could envision the excitement and party that was definitely going to unfold when she DID meet that milestone.  4.5 years ago we were blissfully unaware of the struggles that were occurring within her body metabolically and gastrointestinally speaking.  4.5 years ago we took it all day by day but woke up each day celebrating whatever Sonzee-stone she met.

Today on the couch in our living room we had another weighted conversation.  This wouldn't be the first of its kind this month, and it certainly won't be the last.  They are conversations that I never anticipated could occur in a casual manner, as we were drinking some cold brew, and while two of our kiddos were running through the house.  Conversations that prompted us to keep sending the one child who was old enough to understand on various expeditions to keep him out of earshot because it probably wasn't the most appropriate conversation for a child to be overhearing.  But as everything else CDKL5 related, we find ourselves dealing with a new normal, of completely abnormal and just going along with it, because that is all there really is for us to do. 

CDKL5 Awareness Day 2019

2015 was the very first year that today became "a day" in our house.  The very first June 17 we all wore CDKL5 shirts and we hung balloons on the CDKL5 awareness yard sign that was placed at the edge of our yard.  We had only known what life with CDKL5 was for technically 4 months and 6 days but really only for the previous 7 weeks after we first learned that CDKL5 WAS the reason behind Sonzee's lack of eye contact, her lack of ability to hold up her head, her lack of ability to give a social smile or to roll, and the reason why she was constantly seizing.  Since that very first June 17 I have always struggled with this day, staring at a blank blog screen but eventually figuring out the best way for me to give homage to a day I rather not know exists.

My biggest struggle with this day is that my brain is conflicted on what the purpose of this day should be.  I wonder if I am supposed to give a little more insight into what exactly life with CDKL5 really is.  I wonder if I should share statistics of the prevalence of CDKL5.  Then I wonder if it is better for me to not say too much, after all, there is surely a newly pregnant friend of mine scrolling through facebook who certainly does not want to know that such a life like this does exist and could happen to them.  I wonder how much I should share as far as how much Sonzee struggles or post one of her seizure videos that inevitably gets cut off at the 10-minute video mark because that is all the seizure tracker app allows.  I wonder if any part of this actually makes a difference to anyone who is not living this life and if so what type?

Bringing awareness to CDKL5 doesn't help prevent the diagnosis occurring to the projected 2 currently undiagnosed families wondering why their child is experiencing seizures, delays, and or difficulties each week.  It doesn't change the fact that based on the projected rate of incidence there are thought to be 30,000 individuals living with CDKL5, with the "official" diagnosed count between 2,000-3,000.  Knowing about CDKL5 does not change that 1:40,000-60,000 births will result in a new baby joining the family. 

Wearing lime green, a CDKL5 child's "team" shirt or some article of clothing with CDKL5 most likely won't bring about questions or do much to strangers walking by, yet all of us families essentially beg others to do so for us.  When you stumble across one of those requests you might continue to scroll by, thankfully it does not really apply to you, and luckily you dodged this really awful bullet.

As I sort through my emotions about awareness and balance out the ups and downs of this roller coaster of a journey, I am left with the feelings of respect and honor.  Today is a day that some of us will always love to hate and or hate to love, but regardless of which, we will shout about CDKL5 from the rooftops to anyone who says even one word to us.  It is a day to simply be aware of all that those of us with a child diagnosed with a CDKL5 diagnosis have lost but simultaneously gained.  It is 24 hours devoted to so many people coming together due to an unfortunate common bond as we try to do something, anything, whatever it is we can to try and make our children's lives the best they can possibly be.  And so to that I say, please help us spread awareness of CDKL5.  Please help us get our stories heard so we can continue research efforts to maybe one day, hopefully during our children's lives, bring about some sort of permanent formal seizure control, and or some type of way for them to make-up all the milestones that they continue to miss.  If for no other reason, please help support us on our journey as we simply parent children who could have very easily been yours.

Becoming wise

I have always been a type A person, and one of my biggest challenges is relinquishing any type of control.  Add that trait to having a medically complex Sonzee where a slip up in the majority of her care could result in catastrophic results, and well you get a neurotic, anxiety-ridden, overprotective, helicopter mom Randi.  I would say it sounds like it could be a good thing, but rereading the previous sentence, it sounds just as crazy as it is.  The reality is that on one hand, it really is a good thing because when life depends on not making mistakes or following procedures specifically, you need to make sure there is one person in charge, the downside is that then it falls to one person, and the fact is, there doesn't have to be just one person doing it all.

Yes, there is a specific protocol for some of Sonzee's medical care that does require a specific set of directions to be followed.  Does that mean it has to be done in the same exact way by every person? No.  Does that mean if it is done slightly different than it is wrong? No.  Does that mean that I am ok with the slightest alteration of my perceived only way? That would be a BIG FAT No!  The truth is, as long as the main components are followed, in theory, she will survive with someone else performing the care, and raw truth time, the fact that I have made it so I have to be in total control has placed an unnecessary burden on me, and created a situation where I am more apt to make a mistake than someone else.

Coming to this revelation over the last couple of months has been both scary and refreshing.  Caregiver burnout is real, it exists, and it can be dangerous for so many reasons.  There is a reason jobs come with paid time off.  There is a reason for fall, spring, winter, and summer vacations.  Everyone needs and deserves a break.  Everyone needs a chance to rest, recharge, and be given the opportunity to come back to work with a fresh pair of hands and a clear set of eyes.  I can just about promise that the majority of moms of special needs hardly consider the fact that they really really really need a break.  But maybe if we all realize it honestly isn't even just for us, but for the well being of the entire family unit, it might be considered more often. 

Now realizing this truth and doing something about it are totally different things, but awareness is key and knowledge is power.  So like everything else I have learned on this journey, it is the inchstones that count.  So this morning while I write my blog post sitting at my best friends kitchen table in Florida while drinking a venti Starbucks coffee, I trust that I have left Sonzee in the most capable hands, with an immense amount of love, and I did it so that I will come back to her better than I left her, with a refreshed point of view and some solid hours of sleep to carry me through until the next time I am wise enough to know that I too need and deserve a break.

CDKL5 Family

Yesterday was Rare disease day and one of Sonzee's CDKL5 sibling's mother created this amazing slide show of some of our kiddos.  I saw it posted in the afternoon on our parent page, but did not watch it.  I saw I was tagged in something on my wall in the evening, and when I saw it was the video I decided to wait until later on to sit down and watch it.  I knew from the minute I hit play that it was going to be something that would cause tears to well up in my eyes.  To begin with, I have zero ability to control any of my emotions at night, I am beyond exhausted to the point where my eyes actually hurt and can hardly remain open, and it is just what happens to me when it comes to slide shows.  At 10:23pm I decided to press play and let me tell you, my intuition about the tears was spot on, and as I listened to the lyrics paired with all of the pictures, I had such chills run through my body.

She could not have picked a better song to accompany the faces of our beautiful children and to solidify how we have become a family simply because our children brought each and every one of us together.  We have others who "get us", who "understand" on a level that honestly no one else possibly can, and who are there for us on days we need to randomly vent about insurance, celebrate the inchstones, or cry with during the more devastating and challenging times. 

The day Sonzee received her diagnosis I went to the Internet and reached out to anyone that popped up in the search results of "CDKL5".  We were given a 5 character string that answered the easy questions, the why she wasn't developing typically or why she was seizing.  But the real questions were answered and are still being answered by the parents of the faces in the video.  The same day we were given a piece of a paper that said "CDKL5" was also the day we were given an entire extended family.  There is a connection between us all that has no adequate words to give it justice and no matter where any of our children's stories take us, I hope every parent with a child diagnosed with CDKL5 knows to "Just stay strong, cause you know I'm here for you."

Nine

When Sonzee’s oldest sister began Kindergarten I wrote a blog post wondering what it would be like when it would be Sonzee’s turn to do the same.  I have this constant inner battle trying to emotionally prepare for future scenarios such as that while trying to protect myself from the possibility that another scenario could take its place.  This past week has been birthday week at our house again.  Today is the day before Sonzee’s oldest sister turns 9.  A birthday that is a milestone simply because it is the LAST single digit birthday she will ever celebrate.  A thought I honestly probably never would have considered if it weren’t for Sonzee.

As I was getting ready to take a shower, abandoning the idea of writing a blog post, the post began to write itself.  What chapter will Sonya’s Story be on 5 years from now,  What will have unfolded in the days, weeks, months, and years between now and then.  Will I be in a state of shock that we would be 3 weeks from a celebration I was fairly doubtful would occur?  Or will I be mentally preparing for the day in a completely different manner?

There are situations that parents should never ever have to consider, fates they should never have to entertain, obstacles that should never need to be overcome.  There are realities parents should never have to face, yet unfortunately so many have to.  When you are faced in such a slimy predicament, the most difficult part is allowing yourself to dream of the less “expected” outcome becoming the reality.  It is telling yourself that maybe, just maybe things will work out differently than you can allow yourself to anticipate.  It is trying to convince yourself that it is OK to think positive because you might actually not get hurt doing so.

Living life with a medically complex and fragile child is working really hard at playing devils advocate in the opposite manner and challenging yourself to believe that your child could defy unknown odds.  What I personally find the absolutely hardest thing to process when it comes to mentally “preparing” is overcoming the notion that no matter how many wars we win, ultimately, at some point in time, the unsugar coated reality of this type of life means that we will lose the battle...it is just a matter of when...so while we wait for “when”, I have to sometimes require myself to celebrate all the nows.

Unexplainable joy

One of the greatest joys of being a parent is watching your child participate in something he/she loves and be able to express that love in an outward manner complete with giggles, a grin as wide as the width of his or her face, and an invisible aura that radiates from the soul.  If you are not a parent, I am sure you have at least experienced seeing a child engage in an activity that resulted in obvious happiness that it was contagious enough to enlighten your mood.  There are very few "life of a medically complex special needs parent" experiences that I feel I am lucky to experience, yet if you have never met a child who has difficulty outwardly expressing his or her emotions and then you witness him/her outwardly display joy, there is really little justice with words that can explain the affect it has.  It is one of those "you have to experience yourself" types of situations.

Over the past 3 years and 8 months there has not been one smile, peaceful or calm day, seizure free period, pain free time that has been taken for granted.  Every time our family is blessed with an obvious joyful day for Sonzee it is felt by everyone.  I personally can feel the happiness course through my blood and down to my bones.  It brings chills and tears to my eyes.  I have to fight the tears the same way I do when I am overwhelmed by negative emotions.  It is as if my brain does not know how to correctly process the information, I go into system overload.

I am sitting here tonight re watching the videos and pictures I have taken over the past 3 days of Sonzee in her Make-A-Wish spa and the tears are hard to hold back.  So many emotions wash over me.  Besides the obvious momentary bliss and joy being in the water brings to her, it is validation, we did it...we understand her...we did something right...we have not completely failed her...we can help her be happy.  I will not ever be able to adequately express how much of a positive impact this 2400-gallon rectangle of water has brought to this house, our family, and our little bear.  We will forever be grateful to Make-A-Wish and everyone in Arizona who made this possible.  This momma might actually get some sound sleep for the first time in 3 years and 8 months...

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weight

It is midnight.

My eyelids are beyond heavy and my eyes are blurry and dry, but as usual I am awake to welcome in the new day as the date changes on my watch.  My stomach feels a bit off and it is not any sort of stomach bug or illness.  My mind is a thought away from sending my eyes a memo that a flood is incoming and my chest a second away from skipping a beat.  I have been hitting refresh on one of Sonzee's CDKL5 sister's mom's Facebook page.  I hate this game.

Waiting is the worst part.  I try to tell myself no news is good news, it is the truth, right?  After all, it has been 10 hours since she last posted, and every other tag of her name on her profile page is her original post tagged, so I am sticking with my original thought.  The alternative is just too much.  I have lost count of how many of our CDKL5 siblings have been lost this year and it makes my heart feel excruciatingly heavy.

Today is one of those days that makes CDKL5 feel suffocating and inescapable.  I replay in my mind and on my camera images of Sonzee smiling in her spa during her first swim.  While the images bring me immense joy, the reality behind why there is an aquatic training vessel in my backyard and the organization that gifted it to us, paired with her CDKL5 sister in the ICU makes me want to run towards the trash can and then afterward partake in some ugly crying.  There are certainly times that the weight of this life is just beyond any earthly comprehension and I can tell you 12:40am is one of those times...

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Thought but never said...

I should be folding the massive amounts of clean laundry sitting in the hampers; besides seeing the other kiddos, that was my 2nd reason for allowing Sam to switch "night duty with Sonzee" for tonight.  I have somehow managed to order two Shutterfly books, one 16 x 20 canvas of our most recent family photo shoot, made and stored the baby his food, ate some amazing dinner brought to us by our longest Phoenix friends (and amazing cook), answered a lot of texts, watched our 2nd oldest yank out another tooth (gross, it is always so gross) but still have not folded the dang laundry.  Instead an earlier text conversation is repeating itself in my mind.

"It must be so incredibly hard to watch your child go through this..."

The replies I wrote and erased:

Watching her seize I am honestly used to, except on occasions.

I am used to it all.

Eh, she has been in pain for so long, it doesn't even phase us anymore.

I settled with:

"It sucks :-("

I debated sugar coating my reply.  That is usually my " go to".  I try to pretend.  I do not know why, who am I actually fooling?  I settled on the middle ground, with a quick and succinct reply of "It sucks...(semi cushioned) with the sad face".  It is the truth, it does suck, and the sad face is how I have felt the majority of the time when it comes to all things Sonzee.  The reality is this is so incredibly hard.  In fact it is so beyond incredibly hard there really are no words to do any of the feelings justice, and unless you are a parent of a child with CDKL5 or some other disability or genetic mutation that results in a nonverbal child along with every potential pitfall that could possibly occur in life, then there really is nothing comparable to offer the situation to.  

I cannot even find a way to express the extreme guilt, sadness, anger, and broken heartedness I have felt since Sunday.  Before now I could not really imagine feeling worse than I already have over the past 3.5 years of her life.  These last 30ish hours have brought on an entirely new level of all of my feelings.  More than 5 people today reached out to me concerned they were the ones who potentially hurt Sonzee, they are not even related to her, so I can assure you telling me any similar phrase to "Do not be hard on yourself", is never going to make a difference.  I am her mom, I should be able to know what, how, or if ever, (and g-d forbid) who is hurting her.  The depressing reality is, I DON'T AND I REALLY DO NOT THINK I EVER WILL.

This feels like the heaviest blanket of extreme parenting failure there ever could be.  In addition is the paralyzing fear of wondering what if we cannot find an actual fix? Not a band aid, but an actual useful, ongoing, actual real permanent fix?  What if she keeps getting hurt?  What if we wait too long to bring her in?  What if we keep causing her to suffer more and more?  Doesn't she suffer enough as it is?  

So if you ever find yourself thinking "It must be so incredibly hard to watch your child go through this..." the brutal honest answer is that it is something I wish and pray for with every ounce of my being that you never have to ever learn about, think about, imagine, or experience, because no parent should ever have to experience this form of parenting and from the bottom of my heart to every parent who does..."It sucks :-(". 

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Dear Newly Diagnosed Parent

Dear Newly Diagnosed Parent, 

Welcome.  Today is the first of many days that your heart will simultaneously break and be put back together at the same time.  After all, when you agreed to the testing that has led you to this moment you did not really expect for the results to bring you here, to this point, an answer.  An answer that will undoubtedly leave you with more questions then you even know to ask and one that will never actually bring you any real type of closure.  

Whether you have reached this point while your child is still in-utero, hours, days, weeks, or years old, those of us who are already on this journey will become your best friends.  We have all worn a similar pair of shoes and while our children may not have the same diagnosis or the same presentation of the same disorder, we all get it in a way that others will never be able to.  No matter how far along we all may be on our own individual journeys I can assure you, we are all still grieving at various times and even if we look put together, we continue to take our turns falling apart.  

While I wish I could offer you a way to heal your now broken heart, that my friend will only come with time and in ways you aren't capable of grasping today.  Today is the beginning of your new journey, please try to wade through the waters slowly, and at your own pace.  The waves will come crashing at you and you may feel like you are drowning, be sure to grasp onto that life line even if it leaves just your nose and mouth out of the water.  Take deep slow breaths and remind yourself that nothing has changed since the moment you were actually told there was a reason for what your child has been going through.

My new friend, what I want you to know is that no matter how much time continues to pass from this day the emotions will remain raw and triggering moments will catch you off guard and always when you least expect them to do so.  You will welcome new parents into this club more than you would prefer, and each time it will be a moment mixed with excitement and sadness.  You will want to tell them everything you have learned since you first stood in their place, but you will remember back to that exact time and you will take a deep breath and just tell them to contact you when they are ready. 

One of the most important lessons I have been taught on this journey is that some things we all have to learn on our own and at our own pace, but eventually we all learn it.  There is no right or wrong way to sift through the cobwebs you have found yourself tangled in, so find a good circle of support, grab multiple boxes of tissues, and tell yourself that you will survive, it will not be easy, but "the greater your storm, the brighter the rainbow" - original author unknown.

Sincerely, 

A mom to a child who was diagnosed 3 years 4 months, and 11 days ago

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Conference 2018

This weekend is the Biennial CDKL5 conference taking place in Denver, Colorado.  From the looks of my Facebook feed and the parent support page, the majority of our CDKL5 family will be present.  This is the second conference to take place since we have known of Sonzee's diagnosis and the second conference we will miss.  The obvious reason is because the weekend has coincided with our second weekend in New York both times, but if I am honest, the more psychological reasoning is a bit deeper in nature.

I would be lying if I said I wasn't a bit envious of everyone who is there.  A part of me that is sitting here in New York aching to meet all of my virtual family in person and to meet the children and siblings who went with their families.  There is a big part of me who would love Sonzee to be around children who are the most like her, just in case there are times she may feel like she is the "only one".  There is a piece of me wondering if I went if this would be the mom group that I would finally feel like I fit in most with.

Despite my envy of those at the conference, there is a significant portion of me that is not ready to be in the room with so many parents whose children also suffer from the effects of a CDKL5 deficiency.  I cannot physically see so many impacted children, in what would feel to me, a small confined space.  It breaks my heart that this is all of our reality, that such a debilitating deficiency exists.  I just will not ever understand and maybe avoidance is my way of dealing, because I realize more and more every day, I am still unable, incapable, and unwilling to fully accept the diagnosis. 

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More than seizures

Today marks day 4 of CDKL5 awareness month.  It is a month I have been lucky enough to honor over the 3 years of Sonzee's life.  The entire month brings similar feelings to that of her diagnosis day; a mixture of gratitude for having an answer to the "why", and pain because of everything that comes with the 5 characters that don't go away when awareness month ends.  Historically, I spend each day of this month trying to balance the positives and negatives that have come with this diagnosis, not wanting to highlight only the bad but trying to give the weight of these characters their due justice.  The truth is while the hallmark of CDKL5 is early onset, difficult to control seizures, CDKL5 is more than just seizures.

Two years ago yesterday Sonzee was finally discharged from a 28 day hospital stay.  It was a discharge we were not sure would occur, and the experience left us jolted to the core.  It was during that stay that it was clear she would most likely never tolerate feeds into her stomach again, 2 years later and those thoughts are pretty much confirmed.  She is still fighting the same battle and we still have yet to figure out how to help her.  That sadly seems to be a recurring theme, and it weighs heavily on me as a mother.  My job is to not allow her to suffer, and CDKL5 makes that nearly impossible on every level.

Sonzee is 3 years and 3.5 months old, yet our 6 month old moves circles around her, almost literally.  She cannot sit, she cannot crawl, nor can she walk.  I am able to say those words without tears now, and we focus on what makes her happy, but the facts still tug at my heart.  I wish for her that she was able to sit, that she was able to crawl so she could get to toys or places she wants, and that she was able to functionally use her hands to request hugs when she wants.  I wish for her that her voice was not locked inside her unable to communicate her basic wants and needs.

I do not need a month to remind me of everything that having a CDKL5 mutation has taken from Sonzee or our family.  I live the effects every hour of every day, and when this dreaded deficiency takes her earthly vessel from us, it will continue to wreak its havoc on those of us who have fallen in love with her over the years.  What this month simply does is allow me to reflect on the significance this string of characters has on Sonzee and every child impacted and share the weight so that I do not have to carry it alone.

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Dear parents

Dear parents who have a child with a life limiting diagnosis,

I know you are afraid.  You dreamt about this child long before he or she was born, and those dreams did not involve a rare disorder.  Now you have found yourself parenting in uncharted waters, unsure of how your child's particular story is going to end but knowing in the deep recesses of your soul it most likely will end before yours.  Not everyone will understand, not even every parent who has a child with the same diagnosis of yours, but that is okay, your fears are real, and the thoughts are okay.

I know this is scary.  Each day you wake up wondering if today will be your child’s first time completing a long overdue inch-stone, or the last time he or she will make an attempt.  You do everything you can throughout the day to ensure that if tomorrow does not occur you did the best that you could, hoping that it will maybe prevent the inevitable guilt you will most likely feel when eventually tomorrow does not come.  When the day comes to a close you secretly wonder if this will be your last time you will both take part in their bedtime routine.  You kiss your child goodnight and give an extra squeeze, you just never know.

I know this is lonely.  The subject remains taboo.  You fight within yourself whenever one of these negative thoughts pop into your mind.  Others will tell you to "not to think like this" and or that "it is not healthy", so you are left to wonder if you are the only one who thinks about these things.  You are afraid to talk about death and your child in the same sentence openly, not wanting to be silenced by those who might disagree with your feelings or be misunderstood by those who really have no idea.  You feel a sense of entrapment, suffocation, and uncertainty.

I know this is your life.  So, do your best to make the most of every situation.  If you have other children, then these thoughts in the back of your mind will inevitably make you a better parent.  I know you are not alone, because I am someone who gets it, I am someone who thinks these thoughts, I am someone who lives this journey along with you, and I am someone who will be here when your reality becomes real.

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"Hope"

There was a post over the weekend in our CDKL5 support group of a mom of a 10 month old who was recently diagnosed.  Change the date by 3 years and 7 days, and her daughter's age to 8 weeks and there we were.  She mentioned her daughter's current status, and she sounded pretty similar to Sonzee at that age.  I skimmed the replies and had zero intention of replying, after all, she was caught off guard by the diagnosis, in shock, and was looking for some hope.  I know what she is looking for, I know how she is feeling, I know what she wants to hear, and I know I am not the support she currently needs.  I am having a difficult time myself defining what hope even looks like at this point.

I remember 3 years ago it was merely a voice in the back of my mind that was saying she would not outgrow the seizures she was experiencing.  I remember 3 years ago how often Sam said exactly the opposite, he not only hoped, but really believed that when she was a little older the seizures would stop and she would be just like her siblings.  Her stint in the NICU and subsequent 8 day PCH hospitalization would become a distant nightmare and not part of a recurring adventure.  I wonder if deep down I clung to any minuscule amount of hope that I wouldn't allow myself to consider out of the devastating fear of the reality crushing me. 

It was 3 years and 6 days ago we received that phone call that redirected our focus on the path we had been journeying.  The phone call that told us we had an "answer".  I remember feeling at peace that we had an answer, eager to not want to wait the night to hear what it was, but "at least we knew what we would be dealing with".  Later on that day, Sam told me nothing we were going to be told was going to be good.  It was an odd switch of roles.  I asked him how he knew, and he told me he looked up the infant epilepsy panel and only two diagnoses were "good" and they were not what Sonya had.  I think it was one of the few times I remained more calm than him, and said, "well, we will know what it is tomorrow".

From the moment we read "CDKL5" on that genetics report, we clung to the hope that Sonya would not fall victim to all of its devastating effects.  Day after day, week after week, and year after year, I have watched her with my own eyes become its prey.  There have been some successes on this journey, and invaluable experiences, but my faith and trust in hope has been shaken to the core.  I hope she isn't suffering.  I hope that she knows she is loved.  I hope she feels we are making what we feel are the best decisions for her.  Gone are the days where I place the measurements of my hope on her accomplishment of typical milestones.  I would still love for her to sit just one time unsupported in her life, to take her first steps, to say one word, to purposefully communicate with her family, and to interact with her siblings, but if someone asked me to give them hope for their child diagnosed with CDKL5, I would say there is certainly hope, but, the reality might not follow in those footsteps.


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Mommy-ing

Sonzee's baby brother turned 4 months old last week, and I wish I could say I am enjoying every minute of the experience, but that would not be the complete truth.  After you have a child following your child who falls under the category of "rare" it becomes challenging to accept the "typical atypical" baby behaviors for what they are, and not for what they might be.  So here I find myself sitting at my computer watching videos of my first daughter when she was 4-5 months old after spending the entire day sending videos of my son to his pediatrician, two good friends, and panicking to Sam that things are not right.  

It was on my 7th video of watching my oldest doing everything similar to her youngest brother, yet vocalizing significantly less, that I wanted to cry.  I sent two different but similar texts, one said "I want to go back to being that mom", the other continued to say "...the mom you sadly never got to be and the one I miss being.  The one where her baby does everything [Sonzee's brother] does and even more questionable movements but the mom who had zero [expletive] clue about rare".  Then the tears could not help themselves, because this is just too much to keep inside.  This is not how it should be.  

No one should know raising a child with CDKL5.  I have always been grateful Sonzee was baby #4, I got to experience my naive mommy-ing moments.  The negative is that I am aware of how my mommy-ing was different, I know the type of mommy-ing I am missing.  Despite my son's congenital heart defect, there was nothing that prepared me for the situations CDKL5 has brought to the table.  I wish I could go back to being the type of neurotic mom I was with my first, because CDKL5 has brought me to an entirely different level.  

Every day I wake up and tell myself that my son "is not seizing", "he makes eye contact", "he has an adorable laugh", "he smiles at everyone and everything", and "he is fine".  But then there is a picture posted to Facebook of another child his age doing something he is not that I did not even consider he should be, or there is a momentary flashback of Sonzee at his age doing the same "weird" movement, and the panic washes over me in an unstoppable manner.  There is no rationalizing with me, or convincing me otherwise, because I am sitting here waiting for the shoe to drop.  I am so confused between my actual gut feeling, nerves, and the potential to journey down a similar path of Sonzee's with another child that it makes me nauseous.  There is something to be said about the carefree first-time mom of a typical child, the one I will not ever be again, and sadly, the one I never realized until now, I once was.

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Do not want...

Between Christmas Eve and Christmas as I scrolled through my Facebook news feed I was met with 100's of sweet family pajama pictures.  I absolutely love watching my friends’ families change and grow over the years; each picture I see brings a smile to my face and for a moment I wonder how on earth time has flown by so quickly.  So many of the pictures were posted in our CDKL5 support page and while I may not personally know these families, I know more about them than some of my closest friends' children.  They posted their pictures with a blurb, "Wishing our CDKL5 family a Merry Christmas" or "From our CDKL5 family to yours..." thrown into the mix were those with well wishes to the families in the hospitals, pictures of her CDKL5 siblings on various breathing equipment helping them to survive their colds and infections.  I was nursing little man and Sonzee was in her Rifton chair participating in her typical hand stereotypies, making her noises that express she is not exactly comfortable and the tears filled my eyes.

I am so grateful for so many of the parents who have become more than just people on the Internet.  I am so thankful there is a place to go that has parents who get it in a manner that no one can unless they have a child who has a CDKL5 mutation.  It is a place that when someone types "I am so sorry you are going through this", you know they aren't just words and that they understand the depths of whatever the current struggle is.  I truly am appreciative of our CDKL5 family, but honestly, I HATE that we are part of this family.  I DO NOT want to understand anything CDKL5.  I DO NOT want to know about seizures and the side effects from being on anti-epileptic drugs.  I DO NOT want to witness so much pain, grief, and sadness.  I DO NOT want to HAVE to celebrate inch-stones.  I DO NOT want to know family support groups like CDKL5 even exist.

On December 15, 2010 on the "on this day" memories page on Facebook was a status I wrote that said, "I know G-d only gives people what they can handle, but some things no one should have to handle".  At the time I could not have predicted how true my own words would circle back to express my current disposition in such an exact manner.  I know this journey was given to Sonzee and our family for a(n) (unknown) reason.  I have to truly believe I can handle it in its entirety, but personally, I feel this is just one of those "life experiences" that no one should know anything about.

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Spectrum

It has been four days since our CDKL5 family lost another precious little soul.  A sweet 2 year 10-month-old little boy who was just 4 months older than Sonzee.  The pain is a mixture of heartbreak for his family tinged with fear for my own.  Within those four days another CDKL5 2-year-old learned how to take her first independent steps.  My heart filled with joy for all she has accomplished and immense amount of hope for her journey, but simultaneously breaks for what Sonzee might never do.  My heart and mind both torn at the fact that I should be less selfish about my feelings toward other CDKL5 children’s' advancements and just be grateful it's not my turn to be planning a funeral. 

This incurable disorder is just devastating on every imaginable level possible.  The spectrum is so wide and confusing.  We all want to grasp onto hope with the term representing various parts.  We hope our children do not constantly seize, we hope our children gain milestones, we hope our children are happy, we hope our children do not suffer, we hope our children do not catch a common cold that sends them into the hospital and has them clinging onto their lives, and most importantly we hope and pray our time to bury our child does not come today.

I spend every moment trying to keep Sonzee's life expectancy in perspective.  I try not to focus on the "what if" and "when".  I do not let those aspects consume my life, but the thoughts are never distant from my mind.  I know plenty will say "I shouldn't think that way", even other parents of children with CDKL5, but I will not convince myself otherwise when I know how unforgiving these toddler years can be, when I have witnessed Sonzee teeter on the delicate rope between life and death, and when I watch her seizures increase in both length and intensity right before my eyes.  It works the same with her Sonzee-stone achievements, I try not to focus on the "what if" and "When" but just let her do what her body is capable of, trying to truly believe when I say that I am content with where she is at.  

Daily we have new CDKL5 family members added to our group.  Having your child affected by a disorder with such a spectrum is cruel and unfair.  A parent posts a picture a picture of their 14-month-old standing and some say it "gives them hope", while I do my best to not compare an apple to an orange.  No one wants to have their child "more severely impacted", but someone must fill those shoes.  It is just the luck of the draw when it comes to CDKL5 and the role it plays and while we could not have won a bigger jackpot having Sonzee as part of our family, we could not have fathomed how difficult and painful her journey was going to be. 

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