Ten years ago . . .

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2007

What were you doing ten years ago?

Ten years ago our family was in limbo. We had just been transferred from our local hospital to Columbia Presbyterian Morgan Stanley Children’s hospital in New York City. Our lives were standing still as we waited for doctors to figure out what was going on in Jack’s brain.

Seven days earlier, we had gone for an MRI so that we could rule out any significant neurological issues. We were told immediately following the “routine MRI” that it did not rule out anything. Instead, the MRI had confirmed that Jack had significant damage to his brain.

That was April 20th, 2007.

It would be ten days before we were ushered into a small conference room and introduced to the word Adrenoleukodystrophy. Those ten days were surreal.

Waiting is brutal. Although we tried to be optimistic, the doctors were not able to mask their concern. We knew that a diagnosis was coming and that it likely would be bad news. Jack was only eight-years-old and Dan and I both needed to play the role of calm parents, but in the stillness of night our fears would crawl out. There was very little sleeping for us during that time. The “unknown” causes the imagination to spin, often landing on the horrifying or the absurd.

We all know what happened. That we did get a terrible diagnosis and then lived through a nightmare before finding our way to a new life full of challenges. As we approach the tenth anniversary of Jack’s diagnosis and stem cell transplant (his other birthday), I can’t help but relive those days. I can’t help but remember where we were ten years ago. Who we were ten years ago. Bear with me as I spend the next month remembering and sharing.

Sharing has helped me survive the last ten years and reliving these memories is actually helping me to appreciate that we didn’t just survive that period, but we have moved incredibly far since that time. Of corse, I have my moments wondering what life would have looked like without Adrenoleukodystrophy crashing in, but mostly TODAY I am feeling grateful.

Jack survived. His life is complicated, but his quality of life is wonderful. He is happy and stable and manages to bring joy wherever he goes. Anna survived. She runs through life like she runs down a lacrosse field – determined and strong. I’m not exactly sure where she is headed, but her life is going to be extraordinary. Dan and I survived. We are not living the lives we imagined, but I can honestly say that we are closer now than we’ve ever been. I know it sounds cheesy, but he’s my best friend.

Our family has also managed to surround ourselves with friends who hold us up when we need it and encourage us to celebrate the good times (wine and dessert flow often). And, our extended family is incredible. We’ve just gotten to share time with both the Torreys and the Cappellos and we are all feeling incredibly blessed.

For a VERY unlucky family, we are really f*cking lucky;)

Ten years ago our family was living in limbo. Waiting for news that would forever change our lives. Today we are in control. Perhaps not able to control what tomorrow will bring, but in control over how we will face today — AND today is a great day!!

Love, Jess

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Today (not really today, but this year)

Special moms CAN get sick

Last week was tough. It involved long needles and lots of waiting.

I went for my annual mammogram. It was followed by a lengthy sonogram and then a unnerving talk with the radiologist. Two days later, I returned to the hospital for a needle biopsy.

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As I was lying on the table having trouble breathing through the pain, Dan sent me a text from the waiting room – You are strong. You are brave. You are fierce. So sweet, but at that moment I felt anything but those things. I was crying even before the doctor started the procedure, wondering how on earth I would deal if I really was sick. A cold is tough for me. Anything that eats up time and saps my energy, takes me away from my responsibilities.

Special moms can’t get sick.

Like most women, I go to my annual mammogram with a tiny bit of worry, but mostly it’s just a nuisance and a pain (literally – no one likes their breasts to be flat as pancakes). Last week’s mammogram results hit me like a brick, reminding me that life can change quickly and nature can be a bitch. She doesn’t care how much you have on your plate. She doesn’t care if you are terrified of needles/pain/blood. She doesn’t care if your family has already spent too much time in hospitals. She doesn’t care if your husband has already lost his mother to the disease or that your friends have already done their share of suffering from illness.

Bad things happen to good people. Life isn’t fair. Not everything happens for a reason. AND special moms CAN get sick.

After several days of feeling sorry for myself and trying to picture myself bald (not a pleasant image), I got the call that my biopsy was negative. No cancer. I do need a MRI that I still don’t really understand, but my doctor isn’t concerned. My boobs (and hair) are here to stay.

We are all breathing a sigh of relief, but it has gotten me thinking about my health. I don’t take perfect care of myself. Sure — I do my share of 10,000 step days and eat plenty of green things, BUT I drink more than I should, I eat meat and dairy and gluten (I love gluten). I pay monthly for a gym I never go into and I’ve never even signed up for a 5/10/20 K run.

I have always tried to balance healthy choices with fun. Figuring that life is short and complicated and should be enjoyed when possible. I always find any excuse for the extra glass of wine or slice of cake. Last week scared me. I’m starting to think that as I approach the big 5-0, I need to focus more on the long road and being there for my family.

Special moms can get sick and nature can be a bitch — I really don’t want to add to the odds.

Love, Jess – (written while enjoying some green tea and kale)

P.S. To all of my friends and family that have fought breast cancer. YOU are my heroes! That one little biopsy nearly sent me over the edge (honestly, I nearly passed out when I saw the length of the needle).

Five Stages of a Day at Social Security

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I spent Wednesday at the Social Security office in Newark, NJ. It was an emotional day.

Denial

As I walked into the large waiting room, I was surprised that it was so crowded. How could every seat be filled on a Wednesday in the middle of the month? Deep breath. This is going to be fine. Today will be the last time I need to come to this office. I have everything they might need right here in my green Whole Foods bag filled with paper.

Ninety minutes later, I hear my number, I grab my green Whole Foods bag and race up to the counter. I give Jack’s social security number and the woman behind the counter starts typing frantically on her keyboard. Five minutes later she looks up, “I’m sorry Mrs. Torrey. It looks like you need to speak with Ms. @#$%. I can make you an appointment for next week.”

Anger

“Are you kidding me? I’ve been here for ninety minutes already and I called Ms. @#$% 17 times in the last two weeks. 17 TIMES! She has not returned one of those phone calls. THAT IS WHY I AM HERE! I can’t come back next week. I need to see someone NOW!”

I’m not sure if it was my strong words or my teary eyes that got to her, but suddenly the woman behind the counter told me to wait, went back to her keyboard, typed in some magic, and then directed me to another desk. I was introduced to the allusive Ms. @#$%.

Hopeful/Bargaining

I took a deep breath and put on the sweetest smile I could muster, “Thank you so much for seeing me Ms. @#$%. I’m sorry that I have been calling so much, it’s just that we are anxious to get this done. I promise I have ANYTHING you might need here in this bag.”

As I held up the green Whole Foods bag, she started shaking her head. “I just don’t think we can get this done quickly. I need a little more information from you and to have our lawyers look at your son’s case again. I will get back to you next week.”

Depression

Tears are now rolling down my face and I set down my green bag, “Next week? You can’t understand how complicated our lives are. My son turned eighteen last summer. We’ve been working on this for eight months. He should be worried about getting accepted into college this year – not whether he qualifies of SSI.”

The word “college” really got me going and I sat down with my head in my hands, “My son qualities for Social Security. He’s disabled. YOU know that he is! We’ve shown medical records and you have his school information. He will never work a day in his life. It’s not that he doesn’t want to – he can’t. HE can’t do anything on his own. We have given you all our his information. We have followed all the rules. We have filled out all of the paperwork you asked for. How on earth do you not have an answer?”

Ms. @#$% sat looking up at me and didn’t seem to know what to say. She turned around and I was worried she was going to call security, but instead she came back with a box of tissues, “Mrs. Torrey I’m going to get started on this right now. Just let me see your guardianship papers and the other account information we discussed. We are going to find out as soon as we can how to proceed. What is your cell number? I will call you as soon as I hear anything.”

I was shocked. Not prepared for her to be so helpful. I opened my green Whole Foods bag, pulled out the paperwork she asked for and said “Thank you.” There was nothing more for me to say. This is our life. It’s filled with paperwork, disappointments and reminders of what could have/should have been.

Without another word, I stood up, grabbed my green Whole Foods bag and turned around to walk away. I cried the whole way home and then went into the house and cried some more. I called Dan and cried. Then I called Mymom and cried. Once all the tears were done, I took a warm shower and started my day again.

I needed to pick up Jack early so that we could go watch Anna play lacrosse. As Jack and I made our way to the field arm in arm, I realized my mood had completely turned around. Our life is not just filled with paperwork and disappointments – it’s also filled with sunny days, fun games and magical hugs. THAT should be our focus.

Acceptance

Love, Jess

UPDATE: Ms. @#$% called yesterday at 4:59 pm. Jack has been approved for Social Security. Before I hung up the phone the tears started flowing again. She must think I am nuts.