Showing posts with label advocate. Show all posts
Showing posts with label advocate. Show all posts

Monday, June 17, 2019

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.

The Mighty Contributor

Sunday, April 16, 2017

Happy Diagnosis Day?

Happy Diagnosis Day?  I am typically a fan of celebrating every inch stone, milestone, Sonzee-stone, what have you, so it only seems fitting to somehow adorn our house with balloons and give thanks to CDKL5 being placed into our lives two years ago today.  Since I am not quite ready for that after only two years, I suppose the all-out celebration will have to be placed on a brief hold and reconsidered next year (or the year after?).  Regardless, today marks an important day in our family's life, and so today I am going to explain to every person who reads this blog post and for those of you who share the information written on this blog that CDKL5 does NOT mean your child has a worthless, unmeaningful, depressing, insert any negative connotation type of life.

CDKL5 has brought many challenges for Sonzee and our family.  The diagnosis made our worst fears become a reality in a matter of seconds.  However, two years in and our daughter is still alive and has not given up, so we will not either.  There are many people who pity the life that Sonzee lives.  There are those who decide that her quality of life is not "quality".  There are those who think she would be or that we would be better off without her here.  Yes, having a CDKL5 mutation is not ideal, no, I would never have chosen for my child to have a CDKL5 mutation, but this is how she was given to us and we love her the way she is.  She may be a little girl trapped inside her body, but she is smart and she is aware and she knows what is going on (it only takes one minute of actually being present with her to know all of this).

I pity people who think that having a disability defines a person.  I actually despise people who think that because a child is nonverbal that means they have no idea what is going on.  I feel sorry for people who do not take the time to get to know the child and learn to communicate with them in a different manner.  Every person has a story to tell and it may not be told verbally, and if you do not give a person the chance to tell it in his/her own way, that is not reflective of their cognitive capabilities.  If you meet a child or a person with CDKL5 I challenge you to spend time really getting to know him/her, not just petting their heads, or looking through their eyes.  I promise you will see the light in their eyes and their individual personality shine through, along with their obvious likes and dislikes made abundantly clear.

Having a CDKL5 diagnosis for Sonzee did not give us the answers we wanted, it did not give us closure and it did not give us any specific path to take.  It continues to give us speedbumps, hurdles, and roadblocks that we must creatively maneuver around.  It brings many nights of tears and a lifetime of fears as a parent.  CDKL5 means a life of challenges for Sonzee and a life of defending her capabilities to others who are too blind and closeminded to see them.  CDKL5 has given me various new perspectives, many great friendships, and an extended family that I will forever be grateful for. 

After only two years, the diagnosis is still too raw for me to embrace with open arms, but the strength, perseverance, and bearlike qualities it has given to Sonzee and honestly every other person in our immediate family is helping me to accept it a little more every day.  


So... I guess happy CDKL5 diagnosis day?


Mommy bloggers, Join me @ Top Mommy Blogs If you like what you just read please click to send a quick vote for me on Top Mommy Blogs- The best mommy blog directory featuring top mom bloggers

Wednesday, October 19, 2016

Pity

We are all guilty of thinking it.  We are all guilty of feeling it.  When we find out someone's child was diagnosed with cancer, or when someone has a family member who has died, its essence surrounds us.  When we learn a child is diagnosed with an incurable disease, we all immediately think "How horrible", "I can't even imagine", "So awful", the list goes on and on, and so does the overwhelming sense of pity.

Pity: "the feeling of sorrow and compassion caused by the suffering and misfortunes of others"
I have a whole new relationship with these words.  It frustrates me in a way that I have never felt, but I am sure I am not alone.  I feel upset with myself for letting such a small word take me over and make a huge impact.  A negative impact at that. I feel so badly for all of those times I myself gave way to that feeling when I met someone who had a child or family member who was experiencing a less than perfect situation.  Now I am the person and family member on the receiving end.  I hate to impose my emotions on others, but many of us (if not all?) who find ourselves in a position listed above, or any other position that others might feel warrants this emotion....do not want or need your pity.

I can spot the look from across the room when a persons glance lingers a second longer.  I can feel it in the air when someone walks over to the stroller and attempts to interact with my daughter who does not even acknowledge this persons presence.  I can read it on the faces of the stranger who overhears my conversations with others as the conversation shifts to talks of seizures and development.  It is all around me and it is impossible to escape.

I understand the situation can become uncomfortable fairly quickly when someone realizes that Sonzee has epilepsy, a developmental delay, and is unable to eat by mouth.  Yes, it absolutely sucks that this was all caused by a random de novo, no one person is responsible type of genetic mutation.  I know the typical response is the stoned face expression followed by various questions about whether the seizures can be cured or if she will grow up to have the same cognitive abilities as typical children.  I can handle the conversational dialogue and in fact I encourage questions and love to talk about everything CDKL5.  But please hold the pity.

Awareness.  That is what I hope to impart on others.  I want others to learn that people are different for various reasons, and a good majority of the time it occurs due to random circumstances.  I want others to not feel embarrassed to ask why Sonzee has a sticker holding a tube on her face.  I want someone to question why I am unfolding a stroller from the trunk of my car that is parked in a handicapped parking space.  I want people to ask why I have a light up blinking toy in the water at her swim class.  I want to provide education.  I do not want people to assume anything.

What I really do not ever want is for others to feel sorry for me, for Sonzee, or for our family.  There is no reason to feel this way.  Everyone has challenges and misfortunes in their lives.  No one is exempt from tragedy.  Yes, the circumstances are unfortunate, and I wish my daughter was a typical almost 20 month old toddler capable of doing typical 20 month old toddler activities, but that is not the case.  Please do not ever feel sorry for us.  Please continue to ask questions, tell Sonzee's story, offer support and a shoulder to cry on when the days get overbearing, and do your best to be there to celebrate with us when the days are amazing.

Friday, October 7, 2016

Resilience

"All this stuff...other people's opinions.  It's nothing, you know what's not nothing?  When a Dr tells you there is something wrong with your kid.  All the things he is never gonna do, and it's a nice long list....so now when something happens, it's like "what else you got?  Bring it on.  I get it.  Normal seems good, but guess what?  We're not normal.  We're better, we're...bulletproof."  -Jimmy DiMeo (Speechless TV Show)


I feel like once you enter into the unknown and you begin your special needs journey it feels like one constant uphill battle.  There might be small spots to sit and catch your breath, but as a special needs parent there really is nothing that comes easy.  It wasn't until last week at the weekly parent support group I attend that it became clear that if you asked me one word to describe a special needs family it would be "resilient".

The new television show "speechless" to me is a blend of Parenthood meeting Modern Family with a special needs child component.  The writers are witty,  full of heart and from what I have read, one of them is a father who has a child with "Pitt-Hopkins".  Another rare disease that has no known cure, with similar symptoms of CDKL5, and one I was just introduced to a couple of weeks ago when Sonzee made a new friend.  

I have watched the clip including the quote on the top of this post 30 times at a minimum.  My eyes filled with tears and yet my heart full of happiness simultaneously.  I guess a summary of my experience this far.  I think the notion that special needs families are bulletproof holds some truth, but at the same time I am torn because I think there are times that the bullets penetrate and even after recovery things will never be the same.  The fact is, the bullets just keep flying. 

There is something to be said about the resilience of special needs families.  That's not to say that if your family isn't in this world that you are exempt from struggles or trials.  It is just a special needs parent develops a hard shell like a turtle yet with the elasticity of a rubber band.  Many things are thrown at us, some make a dent, but a lot of it we just send flying right back.  We are a special blend of warrior and human combined...and our lives are far from normal.  Sometimes it would be easier to go back to the way things were prior to having a special child, but then I wouldn't  have the understanding of resilience that I do now. 

Mommy bloggers, Join me @ Top Mommy BlogsIf you like what you just read please click to send a quick vote for me on Top Mommy Blogs- The best mommy blog directory featuring top mom bloggers

Friday, April 15, 2016

Drained

This week has been especially exhausting.  While having four children and one with special needs could never be classified as a refreshing daily spa extravaganza, this past week has really taken a toll on me.  I have not fully recovered from my solo parenting gig while Sam was back east for 4 days.  I give MAD PROPS to those of you who are single parents...  (Please take a moment to pat yourself on the back while I clap my hands in a standing ovation).  I feel drained and just completely empty in all areas.  I almost feel as if whatever energy I had in me has been sucked out with an industrial vacuum cleaner, removing the fight I usually have from within me.  I am so burnt out from having to advocate and fight for literally every single thing related to Sonzee.  Why do I even need to fight?  I cannot comprehend why insurance companies, hospitals, doctors’ offices, the state system, etc. have a system that is essentially so broken that parents need to go to war for the tiniest little things.  I can only say that clearly those in upper level management have only had healthy family members, and g-d bless them, but so not helpful for me.


My body is tired, my brain is tired, my eyes are tired...there is literally not one part of me that is just not over it.  If I had a motto this week it would sound like Dane Cook in "Nothing Fight"..."...I don't even care...zzzzz...I don't even care...don't even care...”  My patience is thin, my tolerance is low, I have zero desire to blog, and I am definitely not in the mood to smile.  So what I have decided is that I am going to wallow in self-pity for a little, then take advantage of the amazing gift of me time that was donated to me this morning and I am going to get a large iced coffee afterwards.  Then I am going to smack myself across the face, paste on my smile, get some big girl panties on, and start my weekend in a much better place.  This way when Monday rolls around and I have to resume the chaos of crazy Zaila family life, I will be able to tackle it head on with a much better attitude.


Mommy bloggers, Join me @ Top Mommy Blogs If you like what you just read please click to send a quick vote for me on Top Mommy Blogs- The best mommy blog directory featuring top mom bloggers

Sunday, February 28, 2016

What nightmares are made of

On Friday we arrived at the hospital at 9am to check-in for the bear’s surgery.  Sonzee was visibly upset due to not eating, so Sam was walking around with her while I took care of her admission.  We went up the fourth floor and by 10:30, we were back in the pre-op room.  They took her vitals; she received Osito a tiny red beanie baby bear.  Things were going smoothly and we were just waiting around.  Sonzee had a little stint of spasms around 10:45, and then again around 11:20.  We were told around 11:30 that the surgeon was running behind and it would be at least another hour, so we asked if it would be possible to get some food into her.  After speaking with the anesthesiologist, it was decided we could start her on IV fluids.

It always takes a minimum of three attempts to get into Sonzee’s veins; it is just how it goes.  After multiple attempts, and two nurses, she was finally set up at 12pm.  I made sure multiple times that they were going to administer straight sodium chloride vs the dextrose 5 bag, as she is on the ketogenic diet.  Our neurology team made it clear that even if I tell the nurses about the ketogenic diet, and they act like they understand,  I shouldn’t trust anyone’s word, and so I peaked at the bag myself to ensure it was the correct one.  Around 12:05, they began to administer the fluids.  I was holding Sonzee at this point to attempt to calm her down because she was clearly uncomfortable, but we decided shortly after I took her that it would be better if Sam held her since I just stopped pumping and she could probably still smell breastmilk.

At 12:10pm, she started to cough.  She looked panicked, she was clearly having problems breathing, but I was assured it was nothing, and it was because she was upset.  (She was not that upset to cause this type of coughing).  Another 2 minutes of her coughing goes by and she is now having large amounts of secretions come out of her mouth.  She suctioned her mouth.  I am visibly upset, the nurse is staying right next to us, and she tells Sam to place her on the bed.  He does.  I ask her if we can turn off the IV, and she reassures me it is just water and that this is not due to the IV.  I was doing my best not to be combative, but I made it clear this was not normal behavior, and while I was not arguing to the fact that it was straight water, clearly something was wrong with Sonzee.

Thankfully, an air pocket was found in the IV tube, so the pump began to ring and the nurse was forced to work out the kink.  Over a couple of minutes, the IV was turned off, and she started to calm down, and had less coughing.  Sam decided it was a good time to run downstairs to grab a quick snack as we had not eaten and were waiting for her to be taken back.  He left, the kink was fixed, and the nurse turned the IV pump back on.  Within a couple of seconds her coughing began, I was repeatedly telling the nurse this is not normal, she continued to reassure me, and as a peace offering, decided to put a pulse ox on Sonzee’s foot so we could see the amount of oxygen in her body as well as her heart rate.  After a couple of minutes her oxygen dropped to the 70s, there was foam coming out of Sonzee’s mouth and I am pretty sure I screamed to the nurse, "this is not normal, you need to do something".  I ended up walking out of the room as the oxygen bag was taken out and I am pretty sure the “code blue pre-op room 1” alarm must have sounded because within 1 second there were 20 people standing in and outside her room.  I tried to text Sam and give him a warning that they were taking the oxygen out, but he did not read the text and when he walked through the pre-op doors, all he saw was the chaos.

Everyone was trying to blame her current state on a seizure.  I was adamant this was not a seizure.  I was continuously telling everyone that I was not trying to argue, but while they might be new to Sonya and seizures, I knew this was NOT at all seizure related.  Her stomach was distended, her lungs sounded tight, they rushed in a chest x-ray, and shoved an NG tube down her nose into her stomach to release the air/pressure that was inside.  That was an immediate help, but at this point, she was just lying there.  There was no movement.

Her surgeon was the only person willing to listen to me that this was not due to any seizure activity.  I had spoken with my dad who is a doctor and he asked how many cc’s of fluid were given, I was not sure at the time, but he told me if it was less than 100cc then it would be fine.  I went back to the nurse and asked, and they said it was 150cc’s.  I said, I think that is the problem, and I was met with all 20 people telling me this was appropriate for a baby Sonzee’s size based on a calculation (which I will find out which calculation they used because it makes zero sense with what I know her weight is and what my dad says is the recommended dosage).  No one listened to me.

We were transferred to the ER, and she just laid still on the gurney.  Her body was beyond pale, and her lips were a greyish/blue tinged color.  I get it now what people are referring to when they ask if lip color has changed.  She looked so awful; I took a picture and could not bear to look at it.  It made me sick.  We got into the ER and the ER doctor comes in and talks to me as if this is my first go around with seizures.  He starts to tell me that it is possible Sonzee is having sub-clinical seizures that we might not be able to see, I retort back with “You mean status?”  I think he was taken back when I said those words.  He said, “Yes”.  He then continued to tell me that he just spoke with neuro and they want to give her Ativan to take her out of the seizure.  At this point, Sam almost punched him in the face, I told him to sit down and be quiet or get out.  I told the doctor, we were not doing that, but I would be more than happy for her to have an EEG and if it showed she was actually in status, he could give it to her.  He said, “Why are you against the Ativan”, I said, “Because she isn’t having subclinical seizures”.  He said, “Well I can’t just order an EEG, she would need to go to the ICU for constant monitoring”.  To which I replied, “Okay, then put her in the ICU”.  He goes onto to explain that usually Ativan is just administered so as not to waste the time it would take to get her hooked up to the EEG.  I said, “Well until you show me she is having a seizure, you aren’t giving her anything.”  I am pretty sure he did not realize I know a thing or two about seizures; he walked away, I am sure to make a phone call. 


When he came back, he listed all of the tests he would need to perform since I was not willing to give her the Ativan.  I am pretty sure he was not so excited her blood work indicated she was sick, not saying he wanted her to be sick, but it was not helping his case.  He had them do urine cultures with catheters, he had them drawing blood out of her arms, they put in another IV, she continued to lay there.  We were adamant this was related to the IV and the fluid administration; everyone else was blaming it on a seizure, or they would simply say, “Well, we just don’t know what happened, it’s hard to say”.  I know they have to do that to protect themselves, but it can be quite frustrating to deal with.  We wanted to try to feed her; the poor girl still had not eaten.  I kept asking for an NG tube if they were not going to let me feed her by mouth.  We were told for that they would need to do more x-rays of her stomach and lungs in order to make sure we could place the NG tube.  Neither of those tests was ever done.  Finally, around 3:15pm after all of the poking and prodding, the bear began to come back to life.  We begged to give her a bottle, by 3:30pm, she was finally taking one.

Mommy bloggers, Join me @ Top Mommy Blogs If you like what you just read please click to send a quick vote for me on Top Mommy Blogs- The best mommy blog directory featuring top mom bloggers

Tuesday, June 2, 2015

CDKL5 5 Push-Up Challenge

Help us raise awareness for CDKL5. 
Use #cdkl5challenge on your videos!! 

  1. Donate $5 to the International Foundation for CDKL5 Research at www.cdkl5.com
  2. Do 5 push-ups
  3. Share this video and tag 5 friends 

Monday, June 1, 2015

Awareness

Before July 26, 2011, Sam and I had no real life experience with a NICU.  Just 18 months earlier with our first child, we delivered in a hospital that had a level 3 NICU for the "just in case" scenario.   On that Tuesday night with uncertainty, we were quickly thrown into a new experience.  We had known throughout my pregnancy that our son had a congenital heart defect, but how severe, no one knew.  Luckily for us, his stay was brief, and he was discharged back to rooming in with me in couplet care within 12 hours.  His diagnosis, we would later learn was a bicuspid aortic valve with mild aortic stenosis.

My knowledge of the heart has definitely grown, although I still find it a bit overwhelming with all the pieces of information we receive.  Before July 26, 2011 I was unaware that a bicuspid aortic valve is the most common congenital condition of the aortic valve.  

Fast forward to this year.  On March 11, 2015, I had no idea what a seizure looked like in a one month old.  It took just 3 more days to gain that knowledge.  On Thursday, April 16, 2015, at 2pm I was blissfully unaware of CDKL5 and the cause of Sonya's seizures, and then a mere 30 minutes later, I became aware.
We see ribbons of awareness all the time, all around us.  Some of the more "popular" ones we know without hesitation.  We look at those ribbons and give pause to our own experience with the disease or person it is representing.  Then there are others we look at and we are not quite sure what those stand for or who they stand for.  I probably wouldn't be wrong if I said that for those less than popular ones, the majority of us don't run to the Internet to do a quick google search to learn more.  We may not ever learn that the infertility awareness ribbon is pink and blue, that bright yellow is for spina bfida, or that purple is for epilepsy. 

It typically takes a diagnosis and deep rooted desire for a cure to want to spread information.  It takes being at the very bottom of an unfortunate situation to reach out and try to garner interest.  It is on the shoulders of those impacted at the first degree to teach as many people who are willing to listen so they themselves can share the information.  It is our job to help raise awareness so that our ribbon color is always known.
--------

This month is CDKL5 awareness month. Our colors are purple for epilepsy and bright green for CDKL5 itself.  Hope-love-cure is our motto.  I ask you to join me in helping spread awareness.