Mymom and I were recently interviewed by friends and fellow ALD folks, Ken and Christie, for ALD No Limits, and I can confirm: speaking about ALD feels great, but it’s a little distracting when the whole time you’re wondering, “Is it strange that my mother and I have the same haircut?”
But in all seriousness, what Ken and Christie are doing by sharing these stories is incredible.
ALD is complicated. It is medical and emotional and genetic and generational and can be different for every person/family. For our family it is motherhood and frustration and pain and fear and celebration and advocacy all wrapped into one long story. And getting to sit beside Mymom — we are two women connected by more than just DNA — and talk about what this journey felt powerful.
It felt honest.
It felt a little vulnerable.
It felt like we were connecting with community.
I know most of you many know our story, but if you’ve ever wondered what living with ALD looks like across generations… if you’ve ever wanted to understand the human side of this diagnosis… if you’ve ever needed proof that you can carry something heavy and still laugh — I hope you’ll watch.
A mother and daughter trying not to talk over each other.
A mother and daughter who share a haircut and ALD and a love for JackO.
A few earnest moments.
A lot of heart.
At least one facial expression I didn’t rehearse.
Most importantly, you’ll see why sharing your story is important.
Community is not optional in rare disease. It is survival. It is education. It is connection. It is the life vest when the waters feel rough. Thank you Ken and Christie for creating this incredible platform and for inviting Mymom and I to participate!
If the video moves you — even a little — please consider supporting ALD Connect. Your donation funds necessary research, helps families find answers, find each other, and find steadier ground.
Last month, I received a note from a dear friend (and a founding member of ALD Connect), that made me pause, breathe, and let out one of those slow, grateful exhales that seem to come from a place deeper than … Continue reading →
By the time Jack was eight years old he had been to Chile three times. It’s where I was born, where we have family and where my folks have a beautiful property. Chile was a huge part of my childhood, and it was going to be a huge part of my children’s lives.
Then ALD changed so many of our plans.
For nineteen years, Chile lived in the category of someday. Not because we didn’t want to go—but because of the what ifs.
What if Jack had trouble on the flight (11 hours overnight)? What if he couldn’t tolerate the change in routine? What if he had an accident mid-flight? What if something went wrong and we were far from home, far from familiarity, far from safety?
If you live with ALD, you know these what ifs well. They multiply quietly over time, stacking themselves into reasons not to go, not to risk, not to try. And so, for nineteen years, we didn’t return to Chile—the place we once loved, the place tied to memories from before diagnosis, before life split into “before” and “after.”
But this year, we went anyway.
It started as what felt like a dare. Anna announced that she and her boyfriend, Asher, had spoken to my folks about going to Chile. She was only six years old the last time we were there and has always felt cheated from Chilean memories. She announced that my parents were not only encouraging the trip, but wanted to join them. Anna reminded us that this may be the only window of time she has for such a trip as graduation approaches and residency looms. She said that going as a family would mean the world to her.
Then my folks started their campaign.
Conversations that ended with maybes were followed with links to airline tickets and hotel information. My parents are beyond generous and know how to make things happen.
So, Christmas Eve we put the what ifs in a box and went to Chile.
It wasn’t a small undertaking. It was ten days away, involved four flights, unfamiliar beds, new foods, long days, and the emotional weight of returning to a place we hadn’t seen since Jack was diagnosed.
And many of the what ifs came true.
Jack did not sleep one single wink on any of our four flights. Not one.
As we boarded our flight to Puerto Montt, Jack pooped. We were told that we couldn’t return to the terminal bathroom so we sat for 90 minutes with poop and unhappy glares from our fellow passengers.
At the end of a beautiful six-course, wine-paired meal at a vineyard, Jack suddenly vomited all over the table. It was embarrassing, yes—but more than that, it was scary. That split second where your heart drops, your mind races, and you wonder if this is the beginning of something bigger.
There were also an assortment of large uber tips following pee stains and the need to find bathrooms in the most unlikely places – yes toileting for both Jack and I is always an adventure.
But here’s the part that matters most — We survived.
Not just survived—we adapted, adjusted, laughed when we could, cried when we needed to, and kept going. We leaned on each other. We problem-solved. We reminded ourselves that discomfort is not the same as danger, and fear does not get to make all the decisions.
And in between the hard moments, there was so much good. There was beauty. There was connection. There were delicious empanadas and more pisco sours than I should have enjoyed. There was joy in being together, in watching Jack, Anna and Asher experience something new, watching my parents share stories and experiences, and in reclaiming a place that once felt stolen from us for nearly two decades.
ALD has taken enough. It has taken certainty, ease, and spontaneity. But it does not get to take our lives.
This trip to Chile wasn’t about perfection. It wasn’t smooth, or restful. It was real. It was messy. It was brave. AND it was Instagram worthy – enjoy the photos!
It was also proof that we will not let the what ifs win.
Because here’s what we learned, nineteen years later: We can be scared—and still go. Things can go wrong—and still be okay. We can live with ALD—and still thrive.
Thank you Anna for the push and thank you Nonno and Mymom for the glorious trip!
I sat down yesterday to write a post about our summer. I was stuck. I kept getting started but the words just didn’t seem to flow. On a whim I asked ChatGPT if they knew the blog Smiles and Duct … Continue reading →
smiles and duct tape 