Celebrating Jack and His Ripples

Years #18 — Day #6575

Eighteen years ago, we watched as stem cells went into Jack’s body. The room was full. Our Torrey 4, Mymom, Nonno, several doctors, countless nurses, and a huge amount of hope. Hope that the cells would take over and stop the disease that was destroying Jack’s brain. Hope that we would bring Jack home. Hope that our lives would return to normal.

Seventy-nine days later, two of those hopes had come true. The transplant had worked and Jack was home. But that last hope—the one where life would return to “normal”—never quite happened.

Eighteen years later, we’ve learned that “normal” wasn’t something to return to. Instead, we’ve built something new—something extraordinary. Our lives have shifted in ways we never imagined. Our perspectives, our dreams, even our careers—changed. And in those changes, something beautiful has grown.

This is the ripple effect: how one moment—one life—one experience—can reach far beyond what we can see.

If Jack’s journey has touched your life, we’d love for you to share your story. How has his story touched your life? How did these ripples go beyond you?

I’m starting to compile a list of stories of the ripples Jack created. I want to have them all in one place to treasure them, celebrate them—this is Jack’s legacy. Please share them here or send them to jctorrey@mac.com.

Happy Birthday JackO!!!! 

And thank you in advance or helping us put the ripples together.

Love, Jess

A special thank you to the parents of “The Little Lady from Detroit” who donated the cord blood that saved Jack’s life — THAT was the stone that started the ripples!!!!!!!

 

How many years?

This morning I sat down at the computer to write. Not a progress note or a treatment plan or a worksheet to help folks introduce mindfulness into their lives. I sat down to write a post on this blog to … Continue reading

Special Siblings

As many of you know, I have a favorite daughter. It’s not just that she shares my love of Anthropologie and Madewell or that it’s fun watching her excel academically.  I’m in awe of her strength and resilience and her ability to know what people around her need — especially her brother.

When Jack first got diagnosed, Anna was six years old. Our family changed overnight. Her life went from an idealic suburban childhood to her family scattering. We were completely focused on Jack – getting him treatment — saving his life. I don’t really remember much about what Anna did that summer. I know she took some classes at a local camp and that friends included her on many fun summer activities. Ivete arrived from Brazil. I’m not even sure how that happened but we will forever be grateful to her.

Sometimes at night while Jack’s hospital room was quiet, my mind would have a moment to think about something other than blood counts and GVHD testing I would wonder how Anna was coping and how all these changes were going to affect her life. Our nurses allowed us to bring Anna into Jack’s isolation room and turned a blind eye when she would spend the night. She and I would order delicious Dominican food, watch High School Musical and fight over my favorite blanket. There were times she would have me hold her tight and whisper questions she was scared to ask.

Dan and I agreed that we needed to be honest with her. She had lost the luxury of innocents. 

And that summer was just the beginning. Jack came home and his life had changed dramatically, and it meant that all of our lives needed to adjust.

I know we should have done more for Anna, but those of you have gone through ALD (or any other complicated medical or emotional issue) diagnosis or treatment or the aftereffects – you know that the needs of the other kids in the family sometimes get lost. 

Anna has thrived in her life and so many of the special siblings I’ve come to know over the years have also been quite remarkable. I’ve wondered what helps them and what can hurt them. I spent much of my time in graduate school researching these special siblings and appreciating that there is so much we can’t control when going through these complicated times BUT there are some things that we as parents/grandparents/friends can do to help these kids.

ALD Connect has recognized the importance of these special siblings and asked Anna and I if we would host a webinar discussing the topic. Once our community discovered we were working on this project, I’ve heard from countless people sharing their stories. Newborn screening families, early diagnosis, late diagnosis, siblings of folks with AMN and siblings of women with our disease. We are doing our best to represent all potential circumstances, but also hope to have time for discussion during the webinar. Time to learn from other families.

Please consider joining the Webinar this Wednesday at 7 pm. I hope this is the first of many.

CLICK HERE to register for the event.

Love, Jess

Full Circle

Yesterday was the anniversary of receiving Jack’s ALD diagnosis. 16 years since we heard the word Adrenoleukodystrophy for the first time. We were in a small room behind the nurse’s station on the 6th floor of Morgan Stanley Children’s Hospital at NewYork-Presbyterian Columbia. The room was filled with people as Dan and I sat on a small sofa trying to take in the news that Jack’s symptoms were a result of Adrenoleukodystrophy. That Jack may die. That he needed a horrible treatment if we wanted any hope of saving him. That our lives had changed forever.

Later that day, I was taking a walk to clear my head and I saw a sign — AMAZING THINGS ARE HAPPENING HERE.  All I could think was – there better F$%^ING be!

AMAZING THINGS ARE HAPPENING HERE is an ad campaign that continues at NewYork-Presbyterian Columbia. Every time I see it, I take a breath and nod my head. Amazing things are happening behind their walls. Lives are being saved, new treatments are being used, and doctors are being trained.

We learned that NewYork-Presbyterian Columbia was a teaching hospital when a month into our stay there, a pile of young faces marched into our room to meet Jack. We’d been asked if it was okay for a few medical students to stop by with their instructor. They wanted to learn more about ALD. We agreed and, later that day during my nightly call with Anna, I shared how cool it was to watch soon-to-be-doctors learn about our disease.

Anna soaked in the story. She was already thinking that being a doctor was in her future.

For 16 years, Anna’s determination to be a doctor has been incredible to witness. Her brain allowed her to excel in many subjects, but she chose to focus on the sciences. She could have gone to any college, but she chose Johns Hopkins University knowing it was the top pre-med program. She could have made some extra money working as a server or a bartender, but she instead spent countless hours working for extraordinary doctors and researchers. She studied hard, graduated in just six semesters, and nailed the MCAT exam with a top score. Although she reminded us often that there was no guarantee (even with her great resume) that she would be admitted to any medical school, she got offers at many top schools.

The last offer she received was the offer she had been dreaming of since 2007.

Anna will be attending Columbia University Vagelos College of Physicians and Surgeons!

Our family has always tried to focus less on her accomplishments and more on who Anna is in her core — a beautiful human who is kind and empathetic and knows how to get us all laughing when we need it — but today we want to focus on this incredible accomplishment!

Anna — We are so proud of who you are as a human and all the beauty add to the world. AND we are super proud of your determination and hard work and brilliant mind. YOU are going to do amazing things!

AMAZING THINGS are indeed HAPPENING!!!!!!

Love, Jess

2 shots (8 total) and 1 shoulder

It’s hard now to find the time to sit down and write something that’s not about a specific therapy or therapeutic practice, but I wanted to sneak away form my studies and fill everyone in on some BIG news — The Torreys of MAPSO are now fully vaccinated!!!!

You may have heard that the second dose of either COVID-19 vaccine often results in a crappy day – fever, joint pain, chills and other “crappy” stuff. Both Dan and I each had a day feeling the effects and were worried about how Jack would do. We spoke with his doctors and decided the minimal risk of a reaction was outweighed but the HUGE reward of protecting him from the virus. We did stress dose him with his steroids for a day following the second dose and kept him super hydrated. Then we watched him like new parents watching their newborn breathe. The only one who had any side effects from Jack’s second dose was me, because I was waking up constantly to check on him. Jack got through it like a champ!

We are so relieved to be on the other side of the vaccine. We are not planning any big trips just yet, but looking forward to not freaking out about every trip to the grocery store. AND, we are excited to be part of history and part of the solution to reaching the end of this crazy pandemic.

In other medical news – Dan had a shoulder replacement today. It’s been a long time coming and he is eager to see how this new one works. Not sure he will be pitching for the Yankees any time soon, but he is excited to be able to raise his arm over his head.

Back to my school work for now. Look out for another post soon about the next Camp-at-Home ALD Family Weekend at the Painted Turtle!

Love, Jess

Day +5000 (a post from Dan/Dad)

Day 5000


Lately I’ve been distracted.  Distracted by the lousy weather outside the window.  The cold.  The grey sky.  The snow piling up… Distracted by the inane MTG politico drama playing out on TV every day and night…  Distracted by work stuff ( I just started a new job this week).  Work can sometimes be a positive and useful distraction – especially when living through the first 12 months of a pandemic (Yes, we are now in our 12th month…).  But at the end of the day, it is still a DISTRACTION.   


Sometimes the only part of the day when things come into focus, when my mind clears, when I shed all the distractions is when I get a giant hug from Jack.  It’s the best part of my day – every day. 

 
Even if you haven’t spent a lot of time with Jack, you know that he is non-verbal.  But you probably can’t fully understand how he communicates most directly and most effectively.  It’s when he gives you a hug.  He is extremely strong.  He will literally squeeze the breath right out of your chest.  It’s the best feeling in the world.  It’s when I regain all perspective — as I squeeze back! 


Today is Day 5000 in the Torrey house.  It’s been 5000 days since Jack received his stem-cell transplant in May 2007.  Since the doctors at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital saved my son’s life.  5000 days of a wonderful life.  5000 days of smiles and belly laughs and hugs and dancing to 70’s tunes.  5000 days of watching him and his baby sister grow up to be adults.  5000 days of “our normal life” with Jack.  


Think about what has happened in your life over the last 5000 days.  It’s hard to grasp all the changes, the good and the bad, the ups and downs,  the mundane and the thrilling, Hell, some days I can barely remember life before COVID.  But Jack and his hugs help me remember what is really important in life.  Not the distractions.  That’s nothing but a lot of noise.


Thank you Jack for being in my life. 


Love,
Dad 

4999 Days

Day +4999 . . . 

4999 days since Jack received the stem cells that saved his life. 4999 days ago we never could have imaged what our lives would look like now. And if we had, I’m not sure that we would have thought that we could embrace lives that look like this. 

A few days ago incredible members of our ALD community lost their son. It wasn’t ALD that ended the life of this beautiful young man, but an accident. We’ve known many people who have lost loved ones this year. Not ALD, but COVID, cancer, heart attacks. Life is complicated and fragile and we need to appreciate every day. Our family is grateful for the last 4999 days and will treasure each day ahead of us.

I’ve been writing tiny love stories for the last couple of months. The New York Times keeps passing 😏, but I’ll share what I wrote last week. 

I open the door that separates our rooms and look at him lying there. The most beautiful face I’ve ever seen. As if in a trance, I crawl into bed next to him, trying to be careful. His bed is littered with complication. I slowly take his hand and place it between my own. I hold my face against his and I linger over his sour breath. There is always so much I want to tell him and sometimes wonder when we’ll run out of time. Tonight I will just be quiet and enjoy the moment with my beautiful boy. 

4999 days.

Love, Jess

PS Stay tuned — Dan is working on a post for tomorrow.

She Can’t Sing

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She can’t sing.

I mean that seriously. She’s terrible. Like – hurt your ears bad. What makes it worse is that she tries. Sings loud and proud, but she shouldn’t. Because she’s dreadful.

I know it sounds mean, but we point it out whenever we have the opportunity. After all, isn’t that our job as parents? We can’t always just be applauding her.

Anna excels at academics, athletics, and artistic ability. She’s kind and graceful and beautiful. She’s generous and funny. It’s a little obnoxious, so we feel like it’s important to remind her that she will never be on The Voice or on Broadway. And, if she cares about people’s hearing — she should never even sing karaoke.

I wish I could take credit for half of who Anna is, but I think she is who she is because everything just came together and fit — like one of those 1000 piece puzzles with a huge amount of sky. You think there’s no way anyone can make it happen, but it does (at least on Block Island with Nana Sue taking the lead).

Anna was born determined and smart and when life changed for our family, she managed to get what she needed and continued growing and learning. I’m proud of all of her accomplishments, but when she does something that I can actually understand, I’m in awe.

Anna wrote a blog piece for Remember the Girls — an incredible organization founded by Taylor Kane, created to give a voice to women/carriers of x-linked diseases. Anna wrote about being tested for ALD. Her voice shines through in this piece and I couldn’t be prouder. She can’t sing, but she can write.

My Experience Getting Tested for the ALD Gene

Love you Banana.

Love, Momo

Calling all ALD caregivers!!

If you are an ALD caregiver for someone who has received an allogeneic hematopoietic stem cell transplant, please consider participating on this advisory board. It coincides with this year’s ALD Connect Annual Meeting.

Love, Jess

bluebird bio plans to host a caregiver advisory board on November 7th in advance of the ALD Connect meeting in Waltham, MA. bluebird is looking for 6-8 caregivers of boys with ALD who have received allogeneic hematopoietic stem cell transplant (allo-HSCT) to gain insight and better understanding into the current allo-HSCT experience and unmet need, and perspectives on education gaps and current patient services for the community in the United States.

Please note that all interested individuals will go through a screening process and not all who are interested will qualify. For those who do qualify, an honorarium will be provided in compensation for their time as well as hotel accommodations for the night of November 6 and 7. For those participants who are not already anticipating attending the ALD Connect meeting, a travel stipend may be available.

For more information contact:

 Liza Fiore (Snow Companies)

1-866-375-7249

elizabeth@mypatientstory.com

 

 

 

THIS is ALD #26 – Hutch

Chelette reached out to me to share her son’s story and I was so impressed with how determined she is as a mother. Many of us ALD moms have been forced to fight with doctors to find the correct diagnosis for our sons. In this family’s story, this mom wasn’t just fighting for her son, she was fighting for answers to other questions in her family’s history. Thank you Chelette for sharing Hutch’s ALD story.

 

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THIS is ALD #26 – Hutch

Our son Hutch was a perfect 9lb. baby. As a child he was kind, bright and athletic! Hutch was the kind of kid who never had to be told twice and never needed to be put in a time out or punished. So when he was nine-years-old and we started seeing changes in behavior and struggles in school, I got concerned. I started telling doctors that something was up, but everyone blamed adolescence.

Hutch had febrile seizures as a child that no one seemed concerned with.  He had a seizure when he was six (almost out of normal range for febrile seizures) so I spoke with a neurologist, but he was not concerned. Then Hutch had another seizure when he was nine, so I saw another neurologist. She actually told me he would never have another seizure and not to worry about anything. This was not believable to me. At every neurologist visit I would always share that my dad had a neurological disorder, but still no one listened to me. They all blamed adolescence. 

My father had some neurological issues that started around age 28. His gait changed and he started to drag his legs while walking. No one was ever able to give him a true diagnosis. They said he had spastic familiar paraparesis, which never felt right to me.  His skin was very dark and he was bald.  By the end of his life, he was wheelchair bound (he could walk, but it was too taxing on him). He died during an angiogram at age 51.

I became so concerned by the time Hutch was nine-years-old, that I took him to see a neuropsychologist, an audiologist, a few neurologists. No one seemed concerned. He had what seemed to be auditory processing disorder and he had attention issues but no hyperactivity so again doctors were not convinced there was anything significantly wrong. Every direction I turned, we could not find an answer. 

In November of 2015, 3 days before his 13th birthday, Hutch had a 90 minute seizure. Yep, that wasn’t a typo, he had a 90 minute seizure … I didn’t think we would see him again. Miraculously he survived and that seizure was an important piece to the puzzle. The hospital we were in didn’t have a pediatric neurologist so they consulted with a pediatric neurologist at Tulane. When we were being discharged, they told us the neurologist had ordered a metabolic evaluation. I knew at that moment we were finally going to get the answers we needed.

Two weeks later we sat in that neurologist office and he spoke those words that we were not prepared to hear. He said our son had Adrenoleukodystrophy, that he would more than likely die within 2 to 4 years, most of which would be in a minimally conscious state, unable to walk, talk, eat, etc.. (he actually used the word vegetative state but I hate that word because people are not vegetables). He said Hutch would most likely die during a seizure and there was nothing that we could do to help or stop the disease as he was too far progressed (spoiler alert, he was wrong about the last part!).

My husband was completely devastated. Oddly, I was still so grateful that Hutch had survived the seizure that finding out we had 2 to 4 more years with him still seemed like a gift. Within a week we were in a geneticist office, he asked what our plans were and we told him that we have been vetting hospitals just to find out more about the disease and what our lives would look like. He pointed us in the direction of the University of Minnesota. He told us they had treated more boys with ALD than anybody in the world. At this point we did not think Hutch was a candidate for transplant based on what the neurologist we met with had told us — thank God he was wrong. 

One thing led to another, and the first week of January 2016 we were consulting with an amazing team of doctors at University of Minnesota to see if our son would be a candidate for a bone marrow transplant. At the end of our time there, they told us that they felt like Hutch would be a candidate. They didn’t know if he’d be able to live an independent life as an adult but they felt like BMT would preserve his physical abilities. We were thrilled AND scared to death!  

Two months later, on March 16, 2016, we moved to Minneapolis for a BMT that took place on March 22.  We lived in the hospital for 40 days and then stayed in Minneapolis for the next 2 months. Hutch did exceptionally well through his transplant and we moved home at the very end on June. Then life got really difficult. 

Hutch‘s case is different than most boys with ALD — his disease started in the front of his brain and there is no damage to the back of his brain. This means he has all of his physical ability still intact, but the front of his brain is profoundly damaged, so he can often look like a traumatic brain injury patient — he is impulsive, often inappropriate, and has no filter.

Anger and rage took over his body once we got home from Minneapolis.  Our girls, who were 15 & 10, had to move out of the house for a while because he was so out of control. Thankfully, better management of his dosing schedule of hydrocortisone, some amazing vitamins and blood pressure medicine worked and little by little we got our life back. 

It took about two years following transplant for us to see a little light at the end of the tunnel, but now Hutch is in school and and loving life. He swam on his high school’s swim team and played golf for his school team also! He needs many accommodations, but he is smarter than he appears on paper. 

We are very grateful for Hutch’s diagnosis, because as hard as it is, it saved his life and it explained all of the issues he was having. With Hutch’s diagnosis we determined that my dad had AMN (adult onset version of ALD) and more than likely died during an angiogram due to undiagnosed adrenal insufficiency.

Our lives are very different than we ever imagined, but also better than we expected following transplant. Because of Hutch is a poor decision maker and struggles to self-regulate, he needs constant supervision. But, he is here and has taught us a lot about life and the dignity of life. ALD took a lot away from us but it also gave us more than we could have ever imagined. 

— Chelette