Everyone knows that moving is a stressful experience. It’s the three P’s — Purging, Packing, and Paperwork. Is there anyone who really enjoys any of those activities, and all three at once is enough to send you over the edge!! … Continue reading
This handsome man is celebrating a birthday today. He’s not just handsome – he’s brilliant and creative and hysterical and a great father AND the sweetest Nonno on the planet.
If you knew us during my high school/college years, you might be surprised by how close we are now. It took hard work (on both sides), but he and I are as close as can be – we share our highs and our lows AND always manage to find the humor in any situation.
I love you Nonno and am so glad we found our way!
Lesson of the day — Hard work pays off!!
Shhhhhh. Don’t tell my parents, but Dan and I lived together before we got married (even before we got engaged).
We didn’t mean to live in sin. Dan was in-between apartments and my roommate was understanding. We lived in a large rent controlled apartment on the Upper East Side of Manhattan with two bedrooms, 2 bathrooms and a little room off the kitchen that we started calling, “Dan’s room”. It went on for months, but once Dan and I got engaged we decided it was time to make it official. We moved to Brooklyn before Brooklyn was more expensive than Manhattan. Before it was littered with kombucha bars and hipsters. Before it was too cool for us. We found a studio apartment in the parlor of an old brownstone. 132 Joralemon Street was one big room with high ceilings and a steep staircase that lead to a platform where we slept – except in the summer when it was unbearable and we had to move to the couches in the living-room.
Our next apartment was more practical. 54 Orange Street, just north of Joralemon, was built to be an apartment building. It had a real bedroom and even had an elevator to get us to our second floor apartment. We lived there for two years until we found out that we were expecting.
We were tempted to try being young parents in the City, but as the months went by, we became eager to find a house with a yard. That’s when we found Maplewood and the rest is history. First our beautiful 100 Jefferson Avenue and then it’s big sister, 26 Clinton Avenue.
We’ve been living together for 25 years and we’ve had our share of hard times, but each of our homes have always managed to hold us up.
Over the last couple of years, it’s become more and more apparent that this house no longer makes sense for our family. Many of our friends have come to the same conclusion about their family homes, but for different reasons. No longer in the “raising kids stage”, they’re downsizing or moving to get more land or their dream beach houses. Our nest will never be empty (in fact, we may need live-in support as our strength shrinks and Jack’s muscles grow). And, our nest needs to be accommodating for complicated living.
It’s not that we’re in a situation where Jack is unsafe at 26 Clinton Avenue, it’s that we’re wanting to be proactive and want to find something easier — not just for Jack, but for us. Jack can walk up stairs, but needs assistance in both directions and sometimes just getting him out of the house and into the car is a challenge.
Once we decided we needed a new house, we told our friend/hot-shot realtor our list of requirements:
* One level for jack (the house could have more, but we wanted JackO to be able to access every bit of his home easily)
* Easy access to the home – loads of beautiful houses in the area fit the bill inside, but would be a challenge to get to from the driveway
* An attached garage
* Something we could move in without too much work – we don’t mind a project, but didn’t want to need to redo every inch of a new home
* Something cool to distract us from why we are leaving our beautiful home – either a quick walk to town or on the reservation or a stunning view or a pool
Our realtor/friend was sweet, and shook her head politely, but I’m pretty sure that she thought she had just landed the most difficult clients of her career. Luckily, she’s determined and did her magic. She spread the word and our amazing community came together and found us our next forever home.
I swear that it was made for us. The opposite of our 109 year-old center-hall colonial, but in a good way. It’s 50 years old and open and easy. Two bedrooms downstairs and plenty of room for Anna and guests upstairs, completely remodeled, an attached garage, a driveway that goes right up to the front door — AND it has a pool. I didn’t know I was a pool person until I looked at the back yard where I could almost see it filled with friends and family.
Realizing we needed a different home initially made me angry. WHEN IS ALD GOING TO BE DONE STEALING THINGS FROM OUR FAMILY?!?! Now that we’ve found this house, I am feeling more excited about our next chapter. ALD isn’t in charge of this decision – WE ARE and it’s going to be great.
From Manhattan to Brooklyn to Maplewood to South Orange. May 1 is the big day – time to start packing!
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.
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!
Thank you Jennifer for allowing me to share a little of Ethan’s story. Ethan is almost 13 now – such a handsome (almost) teenager!
Are there any GOOD ALD stories? I guess we need to define the word GOOD.
Jack (THIS is ALD #1), as a GOOD ALD story. He’s happy and can walk and see and hear and laugh. Although his life is full of challenges, we’re grateful that he’s enjoying a wonderful quality of life. If you look through the previous 22 THIS is ALD stories we’ve shared, you will find other GOOD stories, but sadly ALD is not a disease known for GOOD stories. As Newborn Screening spreads across the country (the world), GOOD stories will take over. Until then, a determined family, curious doctors and a lot of luck needs to come together for GOOD to happen. Mason had all three.
THIS is ALD #23 — Mason
Mason was born on March 19, 2011- completely healthy according to doctors. When he was 4 years old, he was admitted to the hospital for the first time. He had gotten sick out of nowhere — started vomiting and could not get out bed on his own. In the hospital, all the tests they ran were negative, so after a few nights we were sent home with no answers. They said it was just a virus.
Everything went back to normal for close to a year when the same thing happened, but this time with a fever. Mason started vomiting and became weak and dehydrated and refused to get out of bed. He was admitted to the hospital for a few days and again all the tests came back negative and we were sent home being told it was just a virus. Three to six months later, it happened again and then again in December, 2017. It was the forth time he was admitted to the hospital with similar symptoms. Luckily, that time an endocrinologist was asked to come see him. The doctor reviewed Mason’s charts and immediately ordered an adrenal test. Mason was diagnosed with adrenal insufficiency and put on hydrocortisone. Before we left the hospital, the endocrinologist mentioned the word “Adrenoluekodystrophy” (ALD), but didn’t give us many details. All he said was that Mason was not showing any signs of the disease (other than the adrenal insufficiency), but to be safe, he ordered an MRI to rule it out.
The MRI was scheduled for January 25, 2018. After Mason had his MRI, I started Googling ALD, and convinced myself he did not have it because we had no family history of the diseases and he was not showing any symptoms. His appointment with the neurologist to review his MRI was on February 19, 2018 and I was calm leading up the meeting. February 19th arrived, and we got the news I thought for sure we would never hear — Mason had ALD.
I broke down and was terrified that Mason would start showing signs of the disease quickly. Our neurologist called Dr. Lund at University of Minnesota Masonic Children’s Hospital (Dr Lund is a leader in ALD treatment). Within a couple of weeks we were heading to Minnesota for our consultation for a bone marrow transplant (BMT). We were there for a week and found out Mason’s LOES Score (a determination used to rate the severity of the progression of the disease – it ranges from 0-34) was between a 3 and 4 and he was a good candidate for a BMT.
Instead of starting the process right away, they sent us home to wait for insurance to approve the treatment. That was the longest and most stressful month of our lives. Waiting on our Michigan Medicaid to approve an out-of-state BMT that was considered a “trial or experiment” (BMT, if successful, stops the progression of the disease, but is not considered a cure). For a month, a day did not go by without me crying on the phone with the insurance company or the doctors in Minnesota.
At the beginning of April, we finally received approval from insurance and were told that our doctors found and 8 out of 8 cord blood match. Mason had his transplant on April 26, 2018 and it went better than doctors expected. We were discharged from the hospital only 12 days post transplant.
I know Mason’s story is a miracle and I have not heard many other ALD stories as positive as ours. We are very blessed to have had the transplant in time and that Mason continues to be symptom free (with the exception of adrenal insufficiency). Michigan does not do the ALD newborn screening yet, but will soon hopefully.
Reading Mason’s story gave me chills. My hope is that stories like his will be the new face of our disease. An early diagnose, treatment, followed by a healthy life.
I’m by no means saying that ALD will ever be an easy diagnosis. Even with the “luck” of having that endocrinologist being wise enough to test for adrenal insufficiency and then following up with the MRI which properly diagnosed Mason, his family faced a lot of challenges. Fighting with insurance companies, financial responsibilities connected to treatment/travel/etc, the pain/discomfort/agony of a transplant — all these things will never make ALD an easy diagnosis. Still, the future looks bright(er).
And, Mason’s smile is super bright!
Thank you Erica for sharing Mason’s ALD story.
It’s been a while since I’ve shared a THIS is ALD story, so I reached out to our ALD community. Within a few minutes I heard from several families willing to share their stories. The first is from Kiomara.
THIS is ALD #22 — Alexis, Gerald and Jacob.
When I was 8-years-old, my 6-year-old brother Alexis suddenly lost his vision. After a long week at the Puerto Rico University Pediatric Hospital, the doctors told my parents that my brother had Adrenoleukodystrophy (ALD). My parents traveled with my brother to Baltimore, MD where they met with Dr. Hugo Moser and Dr. Raymond (leaders in ALD at the Kennedy Krieger Institute at the time). They were told that it was too late for a BMT (bone marrow transplant), but Alexis started taking Lorenzo’s Oil (a mixture of oils thought to slow the progression of the disease). Alexis stayed with us for 12 years, until he lost his battle when he was 18-years-old.
It was a terrible loss for our family, but my sister and I say that Alexis saved his two nephews’ lives. My 31-year-old sister has a 7-year-old son. His name is Gerald. He was diagnosed with ALD at birth because we knew that we were carriers. I am 33-years-old and I have an 18-month-old son named Jacob. When he was born I requested that he be tested for ALD and two weeks later I was told that Jacob tested positive for ALD.
Now we have a long way to go to prevent this disease from winning. Trusting in God and with our angel, Alexis, we know we will win. My sister left Puerto Rico and now lives in Massachusetts and my nephew is evaluated every 6 months by Dr. Eichler (a leader in ALD at Massachusetts General Hospital). I live in Georgia and travel annually for Jacob to be evaluated by Dr. Eichler. Thanks to my beautiful brother, my son and nephew are being monitored and will be treated early if there are any signs of active disease.
I hate this ALD, and don’t want to lose anymore boys in my family to this horrible disease.
Learning about Kiomara’s brother Alexis and how he saved his nephew’s lives, made me think about the importance of Newborn Screening. Newborn Screening is a huge topic in the ALD community. ALD is currently on the Newborn Screening Panel in 10 states, will be testing soon in another 5 states and are mobilizing efforts in 12 others. Why is it so important? Because it gives the power back to the family.
Without an early diagnosis, Alexis was not able to be treated and the disease continued to progress. Because the family knew to look for ALD following Alexis’ passing, Gerald and Jacob had the luxury of an early diagnosis. Their families are working with a top ALD doctor and the boys are being closely monitored. If there is any hint of the disease starting to progress, they are prepared to begin treatment quickly — before significant damage can occur. Looking at the photos of these beautiful boys, I’m grateful that their stories will be different than many with ALD. They are the future of our disease. A future that is far brighter than past generations.
Thank you Kiomara for sharing your family’s story.
In the old days – before Anna left for college – I loved that moment when I closed the front door after putting Jack on the bus. Besides my four-legged friends, I had a quiet house to myself for the next seven hours. The mornings at our house are rather chaotic, and the silence of that moment was a welcome guest. These days, I close the door and crave some noise.
The quiet is driving me nuts!!!
I’ve always loved every inch of our girl, but I never appreciated the noise Anna omitted. The music blaring from the bathroom as she showered. The sound of her feet pounding up and down the stairs as she searched for her missing keys. Her screaming down from her third floor hideaway that she will be down for breakfast in, “JUST ONE MORE MINUTE!!”
And, the afternoons were filled with more noisy commotion. Anna would walk in the door from school sharing tales from the high-school hallways. Crazy teachers, teenage gossip, mean girls, unfair/interesting/unusual assignments. Often her boyfriend, Will, would be at her side filling any gaps in the conversation with stories of his own. I sometimes wished that they would slow down and catch a breath, but now I miss those loud afternoons.
It’s not just me who is missing the noise. I need to be careful about the silence with JackO, especially when Dan is away. Dan’s always traveled more than most, and our family has adapted over the years. I hate when he’s gone for more than a few days, but short trips have always been fine. A time to simplify dinners, finish house projects and catch up on Bravo. Now when he travels, I’m finding I need to fill our time and the silence with more than just frozen dinners, cleaning closets and Real Housewives.
Yesterday, I picked up Jack from school and we came home, made dinner, ate dinner and started our hydration/medication routine when I realized that we hadn’t said a word for over an hour. To be fair, Jack hasn’t said a word in 11 years, but I have no excuse. Just because he doesn’t speak, doesn’t mean that Jack doesn’t crave some conversation.
Last night when I noticed the silence filling our house, I quickly turned on some music and started telling Jack stories about my day. Then we sat down and face-timed Anna and then Dan. This morning I made sure to get through our morning routine with more than just CBS News filling the air. We chatted, looked at Jack Mackay’s video (one of our Jack’s oldest friends, favorite humans and now one of his heros) a dozen times, and took some pictures.
First he strangles — then he demands a kiss;)
After Jack got on the bus and I closed the front door, I thought of all the things I could do to continue filling my day with noise. I turned up the music and reminded myself that Dan gets home soon and our noisy girl gets home on Friday! Life is good.
PS Next week I suspect I will be sharing that I need some quiet — 19 people and 5 dogs are coming for Thanksgiving. I can’t wait!!!!!!!!!
I hate that I know how to spell Adrenoleukodystrophy and know words like phenotype and chimerism. I hate knowing the difference between stem cell transplantation and gene therapy. I hate that I know dozens of mothers who have watched their sons suffer for months, losing all their abilities before this hideous disease stole them completely. I hate knowing that the disease that has effected every inch of my son’s life may start progressing in me.
I hate ALD — every little part of it except for one. The people!
I just spent two days surrounded by ALD parents, patients, researchers and doctors at the ALD Connect Annual Meeting and feel overwhelmed by the love and support that filled the room. I’ve walked way feeling extremely lucky to be part of this community.
I talk about our duct tape a lot on this blog. Duct tape representing the people and things that have helped hold us together for the last eleven years. We would not have survived without our friends and family and teachers and doctors and therapists and nurses and dinners and wine. We’re so grateful and now we are adding our ALD family to the mix. At this point in our ALD journey, being part of this community is helping us take back some of the power the disease stole from our family.
The ALD Connect Annual Metting is all about learning and sharing. I have notes about different treatments and potential therapies that may lead to a cure for ALD. I listened to how other counties are battling our disease. I heard about the remarkable momentum of newborn screening. I heard countless stories of strength and courage. I learned diapering tricks that made some people at our table cringe, but I can’t wait to try out. I shared Jack’s story, spent time with people I’ve known for years and met many who are new to our community.
Thanks to newborn screening, there is a new, quickly growing group in our community. Young families that have just learned of the disease and that their children have the mutation. These families have been thrown into our world and are holding on tightly to their beautiful children as they learn how to monitor and plan for a disease that MAY effect their child sooner or later.
Sitting in a room with parents who have lost children, parents whose children have survived treatment with varies amounts of success, and patients who are struggling every day with symptoms of the disease — I kept going from feeling sorry for these newborn screening parents to being painfully jealous of them.
When Jack was young and healthy, we had the luxury of just living. I can’t imagine having known what his future would hold. All the worry – all the planning. But, the benefit of having the knowledge that an early diagnosis provides, allows these families to prepare for the onset of the disease and will likely prevent following the same path that so many of us have been forced to follow. For two days I kept reminding these young parents that their stories will be different. They have the power in their hands to have treatments ready when/if their children need it. I also kept reminding myself that we can’t change Jack’s path, but if we can help others, we’re kicking ALD where it hurts.
Dan, Jack, Nonno and Mymom came down to join the Smiles and Duct Tape Book Club. I got to share our family’s story and it turned into a wonderful opportunity for many to share their own stories. Jack – as always – was a huge hit. For a kid with a lot of challenges, he always seems to have everyone around him smiling. Anna met me as the meeting was winding down, but she got to hear some remarkable presentations that further encouraged her to study hard and keep reaching for her goals.
I’m a little exhausted and need to make sense of my notes, but I’m already looking forward to the next excuse to spend time with our ALD community.
Thank you ALD people — I hate our disease, but I love the people!!!
PS I was telling a friend about all the amazing people at the conference and kept referring to the newborn screening parents as the Newborn Housewives. My love of Bravo is ever-present and trust me — these ladies (and gentlemen) are as real (and amazing) as they get!!!
I realize that my children are 18 and 20, but they both still LOVE to dress up for Halloween.
Being off at school, Anna left few hints of her plans, other than an Amazon purchase that I did NOT approve (you still owe me $30 Banana). She had two parties this weekend and sent me photos of her costumes. Although I know that it’s inappropriate for my underage girl, I couldn’t help but laugh at her first costume – Whispering Angel.
And, who doesn’t love a good vampire?
I had to be more hands-on with Jack’s costume. I spent weeks trying to find a clever idea, when it found me at Target last Friday. A large flamingo hat almost screamed at me from an isle full of Michael Myers, Demogorgons and Black Panthers. I introduce you to The Dancing Flamingo!! ****
I got to spend some time with the Flamingo at the Trunk & Treats event at CPNJ Horizon High School. Always fun to hang with Jack and his schoolmates AND I got to sneak in a little last minute campaigning. Not sure if you’ve heard, but there is an election coming up next week . . . Jack is running for president!!
Tomorrow I head down to Philadelphia for the ALD Connect Annual Meeting and Patient Learning Academy. This year they are hosting a book club where I am leading the discussion on Smiles and Duct Tape. I’m looking forward to spending time with many of our ALD community and introducing Jack (and Dan, Anna, Mymom and Nonno) to the crew.
**** In case you are new to Smiles and Duct Tape, Dancing Flamingo has been a nickname for our boy for a while. To learn why, CLICK HERE.
The other day I was talking with a friend who was bitching about her teenager not doing their chores. She was going on and on about how hard parenting is, when she suddenly stopped mid-sentence and looked at me, “Sorry Jess. I shouldn’t complain to you about all this normal parenting stuff.”
At first I didn’t understand why I shouldn’t be the appropriate audience for her complaints. We’ve been friends for years and I like to think of myself as a pretty good listener. Then I realized what she meant. She shouldn’t complain to me, because parenting for me isn’t normal.
I’m actually a very normal parent. Not just because I have one typical child, but because for me parenting is just about loving your child and doing whatever they need to keep them comfortable, safe and happy (with limits on the happy part if it includes super late curfews, sports cars or jellybeans for dinner).
Maybe my parenting doesn’t look like everybody else’s, but what the hell is normal anyway?
1 1. conforming to a standard; usual, typical, or expected.”it’s quite normal for puppies to bolt their food”
For me it’s completely standard; usual, typical AND expected to:
— Separate laundry, not by light and dark, but by urine-soaked or not (and I sometimes sneak some urine-soaked clothing in with the non urine-soaked stuff).
— Buy diapers in bulk – both XL Goodnights and XS Depends (one of each and we can sometimes prevent leakage).
— Help my son walk up/down the stairs.
— Bathe my 20-year-old son.
— Help my son get into the car and buckle his seatbelt (and check every few minutes to see if he has unhooked it).
— Check on my son at least two times during the night.
— Hydrate my son through a tube in his stomach.
— Change that tube ever couple of months.
— Change my son’s diaper in a parking lot to avoid changing him in a dirty public restroom with people asking, “Why are you bringing him in the bathroom with you?”
— Medicate my son three times a day.
— Check my son’s mouth periodically to retrieve coins, jewelry, etc.
— Brush my son’s teeth twice a day and lie to his dentist twice a year when I tell him that I also floss Jack’s teeth.
— Infuse butter with marijuana and bake cookies to help my son walk, sleep, and eat.
— Feed my son and, when he holds food in his mouth for too long without swallowing, bringing him to the sink and scoop it out of his mouth.
— Bring pee pads any time we go to a friend’s house so that we don’t ruin furniture. — Only have friends that can handle having their furniture peed on.
— Sing and dance to 70s music in the bathroom to entertain my son while he sits on the toilet for 30 minute stretches.
Some of you might find this list extreme or sad, while others may have similar lists of normal. Either way, know that even though parenting can be a little more hands-on or complicated or messy, anything can seem normal after a while AND Jack makes all these duties quite manageable (and often rather funny). If you don’t believe me, come spend the day with us. I can promise you that you will see a very normal home. And, I can’t speak for every special mom, but one thing that makes me feel less than special, is when people act like my family isn’t normal.
So, I encourage everyone to bitch all they want to me about their kids not making their beds or not mowing the lawn or sneaking a beer from the basement fridge or procrastinating on they college essays.
Treating me normal makes me feel special.