OURMatch.com

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I’ve been hanging out with an old friend who is returning to the dating scene. It’s a whole different world since Dan and I went off the market. Now there are pictures and profiles and lots of time on the computer. You need to really think about how you present yourself and what you share. All while being super cautious when pouring through prospective daters profiles – things aren’t always exactly as they appear. I’ve had friends share hysterical stories about first dates that quickly revealed ridiculous exaggerations about everything from jobs to height to age to mental stability.  Times are certainly different in the world of dating, but the basics still remain — before you start looking for a partner, you should know what you are looking for AND there always needs to be some chemistry;)

We are knee deep in our “find the perfect adult program for Jack” project. As Jack and I were on our way to our latest tour, I was talking to him about what I’d read online about the program and how bright and clean the facility looked in the photos, “But who knows JackO. We won’t really know until we get there”. As I was chatting with my boy, it occurred to me that the process is similar to modern dating – we’re looking for the perfect match and starting the search online. 

Like dating, our first step has been to figure out what we’re looking for. What do you look for in a partner?

Jack and I have always been drawn to a similar type of person. Cute, smart and funny. Pluses include a love for music and adventure. Negatives include people who don’t appreciate good food, strong hugs, and a good lick once in a while AND liberal political beliefs (okay – that last one might just be me). When we sat down to think about what we’re looking for in a perfect adult program, I kept thinking about this list.

Cute translates to a clean and comfortable facility. Smart means that the program balances time in the facility with programs out in the community, Smart also includes incorporating creative activities with life skills and providing 1 to 1 support as needed. And, funny – the most important – is that the program has the energy that Jack has become accustomed to. We love Horizon High School so much, but it has set us up for a tough comparison.

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We really enjoyed the adult program we saw last week, but we didn’t have much in common and no sparks flew. So, we’re going to keep on looking for our next one and only. We’ve even been tossing out ideas for a new program to be established. It’s not going to be easy, but I keep reminding myself that, although we may need to kiss a lot of frogs along the way, we WILL fine our perfect match.

Love, Jess

the last FIRST day

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Not a traditional FIRST DAY photo, but it’s pure Jack

Today was Jack’s last FIRST DAY of school. In June he’ll be graduating CPNJ Horizon High School and starting life as an adult. An adult who is funny and sweet and handsome AND and adult with special needs. Twelve years in, and we’re finally comfortable with having a child with special needs, but still — we’re bracing ourselves as we approach this new chapter.

I know we will figure this out – that’s what we do – but as Jack got on the bus this morning, I couldn’t help but get struck with that feeling that we’re just ten months away from a new unknown. Trying to distract myself from the panic, I sat on the black iron bench that was once my grandmothers and looked at the last FIRST DAY photos of JackO. What a life this kid has led.

Not able to shake the feeling all day, I dug through our not-yet-unpacked boxes in the basement for hours until I found it. Jack’s first FIRST DAY picture — Morrow Memorial Preschool. Dan had arrived at the church’s Baker Street entrance at midnight on a cold, early spring night, wanting to be sure that Jack’s name would be at the top of the list (in fact, he was the 7th or 8th, but he made it in). It was the school that all our neighbors had promised was the best and we knew our boy deserved the best. When we walked Jack into the doors of the preschool the first day of class*, Jack was a little nervous, but he was so proud. 

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I know today as Jack walked through the doors of his beloved high school he wasn’t nervous one bit. Jack rules that school — his magical smile making up for his lack of words. I’m so proud of our boy, who’s life has changed in more ways that we could have ever imagined 18 years ago. I just want all of his first days to be wonderful.

We have ten months to figure out the best plan for our boy. We will make it happen — even if it means we need to camp out for a week to make sure his is top of the list.

Love, Jack’s mom

* Jack’s first day of school was September 11th and we will always be grateful that Dan took the later train into work that day. ALD aside, we are a very lucky family.

NJ CAT

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If you’re not part of the Special Needs World you might think that the NJ CAT is some sort of cat-loving, youtube channel for New Jersey. It’s not. It’s something every special needs parent dreads. I completed it last week. The good news is —  I survived.

The NJ CAT is the assessment used by the Division of Developmental Disabilities (DDD) to determine an individual’s eligibility for services. With Jack’s 21st birthday looming and an adult program needed starting next June, we were required to get it done. CPNJ Horizon High School, always there to lend support, allowed me to complete it while sitting with their social worker and Jack’s speech therapist so that I could get through it without losing my mind.

It was still hard.

The test unravels as you take it. If you answer that your child has trouble with speaking, questions get more specific. Can they speak clear enough for a stranger to understand?, Can the speak clearly enough for you to understand?, Can they speak simple three-word sentences?, Can they say a word? When it came to eating: Can they cook and feed themselves without assistance?, Can they use simple kitchen appliances?, Can they use utensils safely?, Can they feed themselves independently? The questions go on and on. 50 pages worth of questions proving just how challenging Jack’s life is.

I was told to be honest. The DDD needs to know exactly what Jack’s needs are so that he receives the adequate funding for an adult program/therapy/etc. The questions didn’t allow for anything but honesty. If Jack was left alone, what could he do? Not much. I wanted to write that Jack’s smile says enough to know what he wants for lunch and that, although he can’t make himself a sandwich or use the toaster, he sits on his island stool and cheers me on with his eyes. I wanted to say that, although he can’t dress himself or brush his teeth or wash his hands or take himself to the bathroom or drink from a cup that he’s the most amazing human I know. 

While I took the test, I kept thinking that they were missing part of who Jack is. There were no questions about his ability to make people laugh or know when I need a hug.

For 12 years I have been Jack’s biggest cheerleader and being forced to answer the NJ CAT questions honestly was depressing. It only took an hour, but even four days on Block Island didn’t erase the dread about the new chapter that is beginning with the NJ CAT. Twelve years into this new life and we have always been so lucky with Jack’s day to day life. Thanks to the help of family and friends and Maria and Lilly and Monica (Jack’s other mothers) we’ve created a wonderful life at home and then the schools we’ve found have been extraordinary. First The PG Chambers School, where we arrived lost and scared and they taught us all how to accept this new life. And, CPNJ Horizon High School where Jack has thrived and they’ve taught our whole family how to embrace and celebrate every ounce of this life (or, MOST ounces – maybe not EVERY ounce).

Now we’re approaching the next chapter — having an adult child with special needs. No more schools with plays and proms and petting zoos. I’m sure we will find a good fit, but I wonder if any adult program can begin to replicate the warm environments that his schools provided.

Because of Jack’s late summer birthday, we get some extra time to prepare, but this time next year he’ll be heading off each day to something else. I’ve got to start hustling to find the perfect plan. I’m never great with change and I know this is going to be a tough one. We are lucky JackO always seems to make these adjustments with ease – and his magical smile.

I’ll keep you posted on what we see.

Love, Jess

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hApPy BiRtDaY bAnAnZ!

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Special siblings are a remarkable lot. Many people assume that these children grow up with something missing. Lack of attention and fear course through their veins, leaving them lost or even resentful and angry. I understand why people might make that assumption, but I’ve found that it couldn’t be further from the truth. The special siblings I’ve come to know are incredible people. Thoughtful, independent, hardworking, understanding, patient, and compassionate – just like Anna.

I did worry about Anna when Jack got sick. She was only six-years-old when our family’s attention was suddenly completely focused on Jack and his survival. We only had a few weeks to prepare for transplant following the diagnosis, and then Dan and I weren’t just not emotionally present for Anna, we were rarely physically there either.

Even after Jack got home from the hospital, the entire dynamic of our family had changed. We had been a family who was very focused on evenly dividing our attention, love and patience to our two kids — we never wanted to be accused of having favorites. After ALD screamed into our lives, the disease crumbled our “even-steven” approach to parenting.

We have always done our best to be there for Anna. We cheered loudly at lacrosse games (Dan was lovingly called “Loud Dan” for years), we tried never to miss parent conferences and would sit with her for hours over the dinner table discussing the trials and tribulations of childhood. She’s always known we adore her BUT she’s also always known we were just one diaper change or stomach flu away from dropping everything.

Jack’s illness/challenges trump everything (too bad that expression is so complicated now). If Jack needs to be medicated or changed, we need to take care of it and if he starts throwing up or looks like something is brewing, we don’t have the luxury of waiting. No matter if Anna needed help with her homework or we are knee deep in a project – ALD could interrupt our plans without any warning. We’ve all become accustomed to the interruptions  — especially Anna. It’s part of being a special sibling.

Anna learned early that if she needed to get something done, she needed to know how to do it herself – just in case. Don’t tell the MAPSO schools, but I didn’t sign any school paperwork once Anna hit middle school. Permission slips, notes from teachers – even those nightmare “Information Packets”. Anna took care of them herself. It was safer than putting it on my pile. It might have gotten lost in the medical bills/social security/gaurdianship paperwork. 

This early independence translated to a teenager who handled her college applications with minimal help and now that she’s in college, she doesn’t ask us for much help, other than making sure the bills are paid on time. Not that she doesn’t turn to us for guidance, but she knows how to handle things on her own. It’s how she has survived the ALD part of our family. It’s part of being a special sibling.

Independence has not been the only gift from being a special sibling.

I was getting my boobs squished yesterday (by a professional boob squisher — a mammogram) and I was trying to distract myself by making conversation. I asked if they had any fun plans for the weekend as they tightened the panel, “just one more little bit”. When she asked what my weekend plans were I mentioned that my daughter was coming back from college and we were celebrating her birthday. This, of corse led to where she was in school and what she was studying.

“Pre-Med at Hopkins? Are either you or your husband in medicine?”

I simply answered that her older brother is.

Anna was born strong and determined and Dan and I can take a little credit for who she has become, but Jack has been the biggest influence in her life. It was Jack who inspired Anna to study medicine. It was learning at only six-years-old that nature can be cruel. It was knowing that science saved her brother’s life. It was knowing that there is still so much unknown and she wants to be part of unraveling the mysteries of the human body.

Dan and I try to remind Anna that she’s only 19, and that there’s no need to know what she wants to do with her life, “I’m almost 50 and still trying to figure it out.” Anna’s a talented artist and I encourage her to continue making art. Dan and I both want her to study languages and travel and get the broadest education she possibly can. As much as we put in our two cents, but we know our sweet daughter and when she gets an idea, she can’t turn back. She sets a goal and she exceeds it. It’s who she is. BUT BANANZ IF YOU ARE READING THIS, PLEASE KNOW THAT YOU CAN MAKE CHANGES TO THE PLAN. ANY TIME.

Anna is driving up the NJ Turnpike from Baltimore as I am writing this. I can’t wait to get my hands on her and wish her a happy birthday in person. I can’t wait to watch as Jack jumps out of his chair to throw his arms around her until she screams for mercy. I also can’t wait to see where her life takes her. I wish Special Sibling didn’t need to be one of Anna’s titles, but it is and I appreciate some of the things that it’s taught her. With the combination of Jack’s inspiration to go into medicine and what Anna has learned as a result of being a special sibling, I have no doubt that she will do amazing things.

Happy Birthday Anna Banana – our very favorite special sibling.

Love, MoMo

Dear CPNJ Horizon High School,

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We had Jack’s annual IEP meeting last week.

At one point during the meeting, one of Jack’s therapist brought me a box of tissues. I hadn’t known that I was crying until I saw the box placed next to me. My first thought was, I wonder if other parents lose their mind during these meetings?, but reassured myself that most parents would find such meetings emotional. It’s not just hearing goals for your twenty-year-old child that include “increasing independence with self-care skills” and “transitioning from sit to stand independently”. It’s the fact that we are nearing the end of these meetings – nearing the end of our time at CPNJ Horizon High School. Jack’s not graduating until next Spring, but our next placement is unknown and not knowing where we are headed is scary. We love the school so much and want to savor every last moment Jack get’s to be a Horizon Husky.

I’ve written love letters to CPNJ Horizon High School before – Here I go again.

Dear CPNJ Horizon High School,

Thank you. Not just for being Jack’s second home for the last six years, but for being his other family for the last six years. Thank you for being a place where we know he’s safe and loved and being taught skills to make his life more comfortable and independent. Thank you for finding any excuse for a party, so that Jack can dance and flirt. Thank you for always welcoming our entire family with open arms. 

Thank you for having a staff that has taken the time to really know Jack and what makes him tick AND for always looking for new ways to tackle his challenges. Thank you for having a staff that reaches out to us to tell us what magical things Jack has done during the day. Thank you for having a staff that has promised, that even after Jack’s graduates, they will always be part of his team.

The folks at CPNJ Horizon High School (the kids, the teachers, the aides, the therapists, the nurses, the administration) don’t just feel like family – they are family!

Love, Jess

Please help us give back to Jack’s home away from home.

CLICK HERE!!!!

Do us a favor

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Two people who share one disease

 

Today is Rare Disease Day. Please take the opportunity to celebrate by sending off letters to help pass Aidan’s Law. It’s time for every newborn in the country to be tested for ALD. This life-saving test shouldn’t be available depending on your zip code.

I look forward to a day where ALD is not the disease that Jack faced 12 years ago.

This will take you less than 2 minutes and will save lives. 

https://actionnetwork.org/letters/letter-to-congress-to-pass-aidans-law

Love, Jess

 

 

on my last nerve

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When the kids were little, I had a friend who always made me smile. She had a way of making even the toughest days seem manageable. She knew how to poke fun of herself, her mood and life as a young mom. “He/she/it is on my last nerve” was her favorite expression. As a young mom myself, I could relate to being over-worked and under-rested. I could relate to feeling like my nerves were exposed, ready to react to any little thing. 

“You’re on my last nerve” was all her kids or husband needed to hear to stop what they were doing and leave the room. When I would hear her say those words over the phone as we were bitching about life, I knew she was frustrated, but that she had a smile on her face.

I would like to apologize to anyone who has gotten in my way or said the wrong thing to me the last couple of weeks. I’m tired and stressed — I’m working on my last nerve. I know that once we find our next home, I’ll be fine. Our family is up for anything — we just need to know if we are buying or renting or pitching a tent somewhere. I need to stop focusing on saying good-bye to this beautiful house and start thinking about saying hello to our next adventure. Not knowing is killing me.

Good news is that we have found a wonderful option that really appears to have been made for our family. Nothing is finalized yet, but we’re feeling optimistic. Still, that last nerve is exposed until the paperwork is complete.

Last night as I was lying in bed, too tired to sleep (is that a thing or just something that my body has invented?), I swear I could hear my friend speaking in my ear. She passed away many years ago. Bravely fought cancer with more grace than most people fight a cold. She died before Jack got sick, but her memory managed to help to me during the darkest days and once again she’s helping me regain focus.

Stay strong Jess. You can deal with anything. You are just working on your last nerve.

Thank you girl.

Fingers crossed that part two of our move project will be over soon!! Then the real fun begins – packing. Crap!!!!!

Love, Jess

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THIS is ALD #25 — Grady

Ten days ago I got a text from a dear friend from MA, “Watching the news on NBC – it’s about newborn screening for ALD.”

I stopped what I was doing, went to the computer and Googled — NBC, MA, ALD and this popped up.

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I thought, What a great ALD story! I should reach out to this mom. Within a day, we found each other — ALD is a small world (and thanks to social media, it’s getting smaller every day). We exchanged notes on facebook, emailed back and forth, and then spoke on the phone. For me, it’s like talking to an old friend when I find another ALD mom. I asked her tons of questions and let her share and vent. Of corse, I also asked her to please let me share her family’s story on THIS is ALD.

THIS is ALD #25 — Grady

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I thought he had too much wax in his ears. That’s how this started, wax. My boys always have gross waxy ears, no matter how much I clean them. Pretty gross right? I thought Grady couldn’t hear me well because of waxy ears. 

So after about two weeks, I decided to bring Grady to his pediatrician. She checked and they were clear. We proceeded to do a hearing test. He passed. Gut punch #1. 

His pediatrician suggested we follow up with ENT. I asked if it could be neurological. She didn’t think so, everything else was perfect. About an hour after we got home, she called me saying, “You are not an alarmist with the kids, let’s see an ENT today”. 

She got us in and he passed most of the exams. Gut punch #2. I knew something bad was coming. My husband and I took Grady to Boston Children’s Hospital right from the ENT. I felt like we had to push to really get them to listen. Neuro came and did a consult. Grady’s so strong. A crazy NATURAL athlete. How could it be his brain? Physically he checked out perfect. Then, the doctor asked, “What is 3×4…” Grady said, “Football”. Now we were crying. Something was really wrong. 

They came back and said they felt he was fine to go home, and out came Mama Bear. We told them we did not feel comfortable bringing him home. Twice. We told them SOMETHING is wrong with our son. I begged to scan him then. Sobbing. They felt a scan could wait and would book it in the weeks to come. 

So we went home. Sick to our stomachs. 

The next morning I woke up, called the pediatrician, and told them that I was bringing Grady back to Children’s and I wasn’t leaving until they scanned him. Long story short, a few frustrating hours later, they did. Gut punch #3…….and the death of the “old me”

They told us that they believe that Grady had ALD. What the hell is ALD?!? I Googled it, alone in the “quiet room” after an ER doctor told me not to. Google was obviously lying because there was no WAY my football and basketball obsessed boy was going to die in 1-5 years — slowly deteriorating to vegetive state, to death. No way. Someone was was wrong, and they wanted me to call my husband and tell him this?? Part of me died then. 

We lived 5 days — well not lived, we walked around somehow and tried to take care of the kids, while in the back of our minds we were thinking about losing our son. Then, we met Dr Eichler and Catie Becker. Two angles who told us that we would not lose Grady. With a Loes score of 10, they felt that perhaps Grady might lose some hearing, some vision, he might have a change in his gait. We could handle anything as long as he was with us. With newfound strength we got ready to fight. 

We met angel #3 a short time after — Dr Christine Duncan at Dana Farber. Grady ended up with an amazing 10/10 unrelated bone marrow match right away. Grady’s brother Colin tested negative for ALD and everything went just so fast from there. 

Admitted to the hospital on 9/11/18 and met what came to be some new “family” members (his loving nurses) and chemo started the next day. Grady was a rockstar. Me, not so much – I dubbed myself “the neurotic mom in room 613” . He was transplanted 9/20/18.  Celebrated his 8th birthday on 10/2/18 and also started engrafting that same day. We were home 10/11/18.

The fear really set in when we got past transplant, but there was still this ALD we had to process. Every little thing Grady did I was so scared…is this progression?  He blinked 3 times more than he did 5 min ago….is this progression? Every single day that kid was outside throwing the football. Making one handed catches. Working out to get his strength back. I still panicked over everything, even though I was told by his NP, “If he is out there making one handed catches, you have no right to worry about progression “. 

I still did.

We were also trying to come to terms with some signs of ALD that presented post transplant, like an Auditory Processing Disorder. Grady can hear us, but he stuggles to understand language. Luckily – that’s his ONLY deficit. He is a miracle boy!

Other than not really looking like Grady from all the prednisone and stupid hairy cyclosporine, he is still the same Grady, but he is angry.  So angry, and rightfully so. Some days are better than others, but he is here and doing amazing. 

Grady’s follow up MRI was also a miracle. Not only was there no progression, but his lesion has also gotten smaller. They are not sure why, and have only seen this once before, but smaller. Miracle. We also found out that I am not a carrier. Grady spontaneously mutated. More crazy to add to our story. 

We still have a long road ahead of us. We have had a couple readmissions that seem to come with the BMT world, but he is doing amazing. There is hope – so much hope.  

This disease is awful, but if he has to have it, I’m glad to have found the people I have in this ALD community. The Smiths might be one small family, but we are joining the cause and going to help do big things!!!

#NBS #ALDawareness #toughtimesdontladttoughpeopledo #yougottabelieve 

💙

— Jillian

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Jillian is amazing. Without her determination to get answers, it would have taken weeks or months to get the proper diagnosis. If you have followed any THIS is ALD stories, you know how important an early diagnosis can be. I’m not actually sure of when (or if) Jillian sleeps, but Grady is one lucky kid to have her as a mom and the ALD community is lucky to have her on board. She’s only five months into this journey and already she’s determined to dive into sharing her family’s ALD story and raising awareness for our (not so rare — about 1/15,000) rare disease. Since she sent me this story, her family was on the news again. 

With the Super Bowl just days away, all you Patriots fans will love that Julian Edelman is a fan of Gradys — just like the rest of us!!

CLICK HERE

Jillian — Thank you for sharing your family’s story and we look forward to watching Grady’s progress as he moves on with his beautiful, sports-filled life.

Love, Jess

 

 

THIS is LEUKODYSTROPHY #24 — Ethan

For most people, Facebook is all about travel pictures, political comments and dog videos, but for me it’s largely about connecting with the ALD and other Leukodystrophy communities. Last weekend, I stumbled on a post from a mom that I wanted to share. Much of the focus on our diseases lately has about getting an early diagnosis and the newest treatment options. It’s important to remember that some of our families have been living with ALD and similar diseases for a long time. It’s not as thrilling as the new stories, but our boys are beautiful and important too.

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THIS is ALD (ish) #24 — Ethan

9 years ago, Ethan’s father and I were sitting in a neurologists office listening to a doctor tell us, “Your son was misdiagnosed with Cerebral Palsy. He actually has an unknown leukodystrophy – a very rare disease that is progressive”. 

I’ll never forget that day. The doctor had no bedside manner and told me not to Google the disease because awful things will happen to Ethan and then he will pass away. I left that appointment feeling helpless and hopeless. The doctor’s words played over and over again through my head as we drove home and I cried on the highway. I remember looking back at Ethan in his car seat all smiles and happy, not knowing he was very sick. 

For over a year, I let that doctor rule my thoughts “Ethan is dying  — the doctor basically said there is nothing we can do, “Don’t Google the disease”. I would have constant nightmares about Ethan’s funeral and wake up in a panic. I would check on him while he was sleeping to see if he was still breathing. 

A couple years later, we finally met Dr. Eichler (the director of the Leukodystrophy service at MassGeneral Hospital for Children) who has given us nothing but hope and a positive attitude. He genuinely loves Ethan and has never once said, “Awful things will happen to him.” Or, “He is going to die.”

What Dr. Eichler does tell us is, “Look how far he’s come” and, ”Yes this disease is progressive, but Ethan is a fighter”. Ever since meeting Dr. Eichler my outlook on Ethan’s disease has changed. When a doctor actually looks you in the eye, answers your questions, hugs your child, laughs with your child, checks in with you via text, email and phone calls, then you know you have the right doctor. 

Shame on the doctor who gave Ethan a death sentence and no hope! Guess what? I Googled his disease and ended up connecting with amazing families all over the world who share the same life we do. Connecting with other families has been a wonderful experience. Seeing all their pictures and how loved these boys are by their family and friends like Ethan, makes me so happy. And now Dr. Eichler introduced us to another amazing doctor, Dr. Rodan, who has helped give Ethan a better quality of life! I’m so happy these two doctors never gave up on Ethan and I’m so proud of my boy who continues to fight and has an incredible will to live. ❤️

A couple of days later, this mom wrote something else on Facebook that took my breath away . . .

Ethan ten years ago. Before wheelchairs, seizures, helmets, daily medications, and intrusive medical procedures. But some things haven’t changed: Ethan’s giggle, his funny jokes, his amazing personality, his hugs and kisses, his “I love you momma”, his ability to make any task fun, his will to defy the odds, his outlook on life, his ability to live in the moment. All the medical issues might be happening to Ethan, but he doesn’t let them define him or change him. Ethan is still Ethan, he’s my son, he’s my everything. Love you Super Mario boy!

— Jennifer

Thank you Jennifer for allowing me to share a little of Ethan’s story. Ethan is almost 13 now – such a handsome (almost) teenager!

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the future is bright(er)

A few times a year I have the opportunity to spend a couple of days in a room full of people who know what the letters ALD stand for and what it means to live with them in your home. This week I attended the Aidan Jack Seeger Foundation – ALD Standards of Care meeting. It was exciting to hear about the continued progress being made with newborn screening and the latest treatment options for this next generation of ALD boys. There’s not anything that will benefit Jack, but I hope in a small way, our boy (and his story) is helping the progress move forward.

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I know it’s not for everyone to sign up for juggling their real-life responsibilities to attend conferences highlighting the worst part of their life, but I never regret attending these meetings. I’d be lying if I said I understand all the medical talk, but the connections I’ve made over the years have been invaluable. I still get a little star-struck when I meet people that I’ve been following for years, but I’m always pleasantly surprised by how welcoming everyone is. These conferences are filled with doctors, researchers, and ALD parents who have become hard-core ALD advocates (trust me – I’ve done nothing compared to these folks). Everyone is always willing to answer questions and share their experiences. And, now there’s a new generation of ALD families recently diagnosed through newborn screening – they are the strongest people I’ve ever met. I’m not sure I would have been ready to dive in 12 years ago. 12 years ago ALD was a different disease.

12 years ago, when we first heard the word Adrenoleukodystrophy, a diagnosis usually meant that your son was already symptomatic – often too far along to treat. Even when you were lucky enough to find doctors willing to move forward with treatment, the outcomes (if successful) often lead to a new life, full of challenges. And, when you looked for other families for support or guidance, our community was hard to find. It was pre-Facebook and all that Goggle could tell us was horrific statistics and old information. Today, the ALD community is strong and the future is bright(er) and I want our family to be part of the future. I’ll keep attending any ALD conference I can get to, put on my fancy name tag, and enjoy some time with our ALD family.

For more information about ALD, please check out the Aidan Jack Seeger Foundation and ALD Connect.

Love, Jess