Tag Archives: special needs family

The Skimm and the Panda

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Yesterday morning, The Skimm brought me an early Christmas present.

I get most of my news from the morning talk shows. A sound bite of serious, sprinkled within hollywood gossip and seasonal recipe ideas. It’s about all I can handle, but several months ago a friend recommended I check out The Skimm. Perfection. It’s an email that arrives every weekday morning with the important news stories of the day. It’s written like a friend is telling me (for the “Jesses” out there, not the “Dans”). No Skimm on the weekends which makes it even better – who really wants news on the weekends?

Our weekday morning routine is nuts here. We rush around, as if the school bus arriving is the strike of midnight and we will turn into pumpkins. Showering, toileting, eating, medicating, hydrating, brushing and tackling Jack’s “special shoes” onto his “special feet”. When we are done, Jack and I relax, plant our bottoms on the stairs, and open up the Skimm. Jack sits up straight, puts his arm around my neck and we read the news for the day.

Yesterday, among the clutter of news about the fight against ISIS, E.coli and gun control (pro gun control/con ISIS and E. coli), was a story about THE PANDA IN THE SNOWMEN. Finally, I understood what I’d been half-hearing all morning on the Today Show. I double clicked the link so that I could check it out. I’m not great at getting through a newspaper, but I am good at puzzles and within a minute I saw him. “Jack I see the panda. How about you?”

I pointed my finger, which he took without hesitation, and he pointed directly at the panda. Seconds. Amazing.

I know that some of you are thinking that it’s cheating because I let Jack use my hand to point. I thought the same thing when the school told me that it was their latest technique for having Jack make choices. I figured that it was like using a ouija board and that whoever was in change was subconsciously directing. I assure you that it’s not. Jack is quite clear about his intentions. And, Jack quickly saw the panda.

A friend commented to me that the trick with those types of puzzles is to relax your eyes and not stress. No wonder it came so easily to Jack. Jack lives his life fully relaxed and with no stress. We should all be so lucky.

MeRrY ChRiStMaS EvE!!

 

Love, Jess

 

Time and a little innocence

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I was talking to a mom yesterday who’s struggling to find peace with a difficult diagnosis. She asked how I stayed so positive. I hear this sometimes and I wonder if I shouldn’t post a youtube video of my less-that-positive moments. I have them — trust me.

While I’m not always the picture of positivity, most days I am optimistic. After all, we’re lucky for a bunch of reasons. For one, we have a son who never complains. Not just because he can’t speak, but because he is the happiest person on the planet. We are also blessed with a daughter who never spends a moment questioning her family’s situation (she does question some of my decisions, but nothing having to do with Jack). Our “special” family also had one advantage that not all “special” families are given — time.

When we started our new life we didn’t know we were starting a new life. Our family assumed that we were living a dark chapter and that we would one day return to normal. We got it wrong and I am grateful for our innocence.

Eight years ago I don’t think we were prepared to accept a world that looks like ours or understand that our family could thrive under our complicated circumstances. Instead, we grew into our new life little by little and it’s worked out well. As the mom, I needed every minute of the eight years I was given to process this new reality. It’s far easier when information trickles in, than when you’re hit by an avalanche.

Jack was diagnosed with ALD before social media. Yes, there was the internet to track down information about rare diseases, but there were not online communities to join. I know, because I tried. I did find a few other families who were battling ALD and we grew close, but now newly diagnosed families can find their peers by simply typing “ALD” into their Facebook search. Within seconds, they’re connected to dozens of families willing to share their experiences.

It’s wonderful for people to know that they are not alone and to acquire information, but I worry that a heap of details about a disease like ours might be overwhelming and discouraging. I’m not sure how I would have reacted if someone had described what our future would look like when I was still processing the diagnosis and treatment.

I’ve shared our family’s journey publicly for years, and many ALD families have reached out. I hear the silence on the other end of the phone (or the keyboard) following a quick description about how “GREAT Jack is doing.” The word “GREAT” is following words like transplants, diapers, g-tubes, seizures, non-verbal, etc. I try to rewind and point out all the things that Jack is still able to do, “Jack can still see, hear, walk, laugh.” The silence continues.

Eight years ago, if some mother tried to tell me that her son was doing “GREAT” because he could still see, hear and walk, I would have slapped her.

As I tried to reassure the young mother yesterday, my heart went out to her. This world full of information is a mixed blessing. While I was impressed with her determination and knowledge of her child’s disease, she was getting buried in facts and statistics and details.

I kept trying to find the right words to make her feel better. I told her to stay strong, find a team of experts, pray if she is lucky enough to have faith, and breathe.

Knowledge is power, but sometimes I think that a little innocence is not such a bad thing.

 

Love, Jess

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2007

Giving Tuesday!

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I’m guilty too. After laughing about how absurd it was to dash out from family — and dishes — to shop on Black Friday, I found myself sneaking on the computer first thing Monday to see what was on sale. Suddenly, I was in a frenzy. 50% off at JCrew, 25% off TVs at Best Buy! I forget everything I said, grabbed my credit card, and went nuts.

Giving Tuesday is the perfect opportunity to regroup and remember what the holiday season is really all about.

YES — this is the part where I talk you into pulling out your credit card and supporting something other than your family’s wardrobe or gaming systems or pot racks (Williams Sonoma also had a monster sale).

CPNJ Horizon High School has been a life saver for our family. Finding the right fit for Jack following our wonderful experience at The PG Chambers School was difficult. If you have a special needs child, you understand. If you don’t, I want you to take a moment and try to imagine.

School is always a source of concern for parents. We all want to feel that our child will be safe at school and have days filled with engaging experiences. When your child has limitations, you worry more. Dan and I needed to find a high school program that would support Jack’s needs while keeping his smile firmly intact. There are no schools for non-verbal boys with ALD and Epilepsy, who need help eating, toileting, and walking down the hall BUT who also what to have fun. We started our search with a huge list of requirements.

We wanted a school where Jack would receive physical therapy, occupational therapy and speech therapy during his school day. We wanted a school with an accessible playground, a therapy pool, an outdoor vegetable garden, art and music. We wanted Jack to be exposed to instruction in subjects like science and history. We wanted Jack to get to enjoy community trips, sports, plays and a prom.

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Prom 2015

 

We found all those things and more at CPNJ Horizon High School! Jack gets on the school bus every morning with a huge smile on his face and comes home seven hours later tired but happy.

Now it’s time to grab your credit card and make a donation. Let us know and you will receive a thank you note from Jack;-) AND we will inform elves from all faiths that you were extra good this year!

Love, Jess

 

46 ain’t so bad

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There is nothing sexy about being 46. You’re neither young and spry or old and wise. You still need to cover your gray and squeeze into skinny jeans, but you can’t really compete with the 20-year-old crowd (or the 30-year-old crowd). You’re just middle-aged. But here I am, and I’m doing just fine.

I’m not sure when I’ll get used to the increasing amount of lines on my forehead or how my legs crack when I stand up after sitting on the floor, but I feel blessed for the life I woke up to this morning.

A gentle kiss on my cheek from my husband with a “Happy Birthday” whispered in my ear. Then my sweet Banana came tiptoeing into my room and crawled in my bed to give me a birthday hug. As she left the room, I noticed that she had slipped a note under my pillow. I would share what she wrote, but I can’t – 1. She would kill me 2. It’s mine and I don’t want to share the magic. Jack can’t sneak into my room or write me sweet notes, but he did share his brilliant smile when I walked into his room this morning. He knows it’s his mama’s birthday.

It’s not just my family that warms me, my friends are an incredible bunch. I’ve always heard that when learning a sport you should practice with better players. I’m not an athlete, but I’ve always thought of this when choosing friends. Since I was a little girl, I’ve managed to surround myself with people who teach me, encourage me and make me want to be my best.

Not that my friends have been a group of saints. “Best” hasn’t always included intellectually interesting endeavors, or even healthy activities, but my friends have always been an assortment of people who I find remarkable. I just had a great lunch with a dear friend (thanks Kim) and look forward to celebrating more this weekend. And, thanks to technology, friends from all over my life have remembered my birthday. I’m feeling extra loved.

Lately I’ve been watching the two generation on either side of me and wondering where I fit. My parents and in-laws are spending their retirement years traveling so much that I have trouble remember where everyone is on a given day. And, Anna and her pals get to enjoy the benefits of teenage life, where their only real priorities are working hard in school and make it home before curfew.

Sometimes, I feel a little buried under the responsibilities of being a middle-aged grown-up, but today I’m just trying to enjoy the fact that I’ve accomplished quite a bit in 46 years AND hoping that I have another 46 or so years to go.

Thanks for the Birthday love! I’m a lucky (kinda old) gal!!

Love, Jess

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Happy tears

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We’ve prepared for this news for eight years. I’d worked so hard to be equipped for a different outcome, that I was not ready to hear the words, “Anna is NOT a carrier.”

I was in the middle of World Market with my cellphone pressed tightly to my ear, sobbing, asking to hear the words again.

When Jack was first diagnosed with ALD, we’d never heard of the disease. We had a difficult time understanding the way it had traveled down our family line without appearance – until Jack. An X-linked disease, carried by the mother. It effects only boys. My brothers seemed to have won a lottery, but my son was not so lucky. Nature is not fair.

Of corse the focus for our family has been to help Jack survive the disease, but a question has been asked a lot over the past eight years. Often in hushed tones with gentle hands gripping my arm, “What about Anna?”

My answer was always at the ready. Sounding confident and positive, I’d say that we didn’t know, but weren’t worried. Anna’s odds of being a carrier were 50/50. If she carried the disease the biggest concern was the gene spilling into the next generation. I’d list the variety of options Anna would have to conceive, if in fact she was a carrier. I’d go on and on about the wonders of modern science and finish with,  “By the time Anna is ready to start a family, there will probably be a simple cure for ALD.”

Here’s the truth — underneath that speech, I was terrified. ALD has stolen enough from our family and I wasn’t sure I could find the energy to fight with ALD again. While it would not be impossible for Anna to have children without the mutation, it would be complicated. Having children is complicated enough. And our family has been through enough COMPLICATED.

So for eight years I’ve been crossing my fingers, while trying to prepare for whatever news we would hear. We didn’t want to test Anna until she was ready, but as soon as she asked, we made an appointment.

Meeting with the geneticist last month was fascinating for our science girl, Anna. For her it was interesting and she approached the information like a research project. It was not as easy for me. I did my best to keep a polite smile on my face during the meeting and make the day as festive as possible. Anna has always been the most important audience for my “We are not worried” speech. I think I managed to get away with it because last night when Dan and I shared the news, her only question was, “WHY are you crying?”

We’re so thrilled with the news that I’m still weeping a day later. I hadn’t appreciated the weight of this threat until it was released. Our beautiful girl dodged a bullet. I think I’ll be crying for a while. Happy tears.

Anna’s always been a good student and this is just another test that she managed to crush!!!

Love, Jess

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Anna and I share a lot. I’m just glad that we don’t share everything.

My other silent boy

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For those of you who have been worried that I may be sharing too much with Jack, I’m sorry. It is true that he has heard more than a teenage boy should about local gossip and various peri-manopausal symptoms. I am trying to be better at avoiding such topics when Jack’s in earshot. And, it’s not just because I’m worried that he is going to blackmail me – it’s just the right thing to do.

The truth is that he is not the only holder of my secrets. I have another silent boy in the house who’s also a really good listener. His ears are floppy and he lets me lie on the couch with him and rant about everything. He never gets bothered if my breath is bad or my feet are stinky. He just snuggles in and lets me vent about things and sort out my crap. He is the one that people should be worried about – Keegan knows EVERYTHING about EVERYONE.

Things I am too scared to even write in my private journal have been shared with my furry friend. There’s something about the way he looks at me, that I know he understands and cares. Keegan’s brother, Finn (AKA “Bad Dog”), walks away in the middle of a story if he hears a truck outside or the postman walking up the front steps. Keegan never leaves my side until he knows I’ve really let it all out.

Yes, I know that technically Keegan is Jack’s service dog, but the truth is that without him, I’m not sure that I could manage. There are just some days that I feel like I am going to explode (or implode). Stuff builds up and I need someone. I can’t always burden my friends and family – particularly when it’s my friends and family that I need to discuss. We all need a sounding board and Keegan is mine.

Yesterday was Keegan’s 7th birthday. I tend to forget birthdays of people/creatures I love (just ask my nieces and nephews). Ironic, because I expect everyone to remember mine — November 19 — 13 more shopping days left. Keegan’s puppy raisers reminded me today and I instantly stopped what I was doing to showered our boy with some love. Then, I gave him a nice long walk and two cups of kibble for dinner. Next year, I promise to throw in some balloons and streamers.

Thank you Keegan for being Jack’s best friend and my therapist.

Love, Jess

For more information about Canine Companions for Independence check out: http://www.CCI.org

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A great listener and so handsome.

Our uninvited guest.

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What if ALD had never found its way into our family?

I used to ask myself this question every day, sometimes several times a day. The answer was so clear. It was sugary and sweet — in technicolor. Without ALD, our family would be perfect, free of fear and any complication.

Eight years into this new life and I have a harder time seeing the answer. It’s buried under piles of experiences, which have all been a least grazed by ALD. The disease is so much a part of our lives that now it almost makes me feel uneasy to think about life without it. As if it’s the disease that holds our family together.

So much has happened with ALD as the center of our family that it has distanced us from who we all were before those letters entered our lives. It sneaks its way into every part of our day and every plan for the future.

Our lives are constantly forced to adapt so that ALD can fit. Whether it’s adding a solid hour to the morning routine or the need for an extra suitcase (for the pee mats and diapers) when we travel – YES – we travel (we’re NOT going to let ALD win completely). We plan every outing taking into account where bathrooms are private and things aren’t too crowded. Jack likes to touch pretty things, including fresh flowers and teenage girls. We always need to be prepared for wandering hands and awkward explanations. Even our future plans have been altered. Discussions about an empty nest have been replaced by talks of single story living and full-time help.

ALD has not been a welcomed guest, but there has been some good that has come out of our unexpected visitor. ALD makes us constantly jump out of our comfort zone and tackle things that we never would have imagined. Jack has adapted remarkably well and lives a life that, despite its complicated challenges, is broad and quite wonderful. Anna is studying science with the goal of stem cell research. I’m not sure that such a thing would have entered her mind without witnessing the power of nature and the power of science. Dan has learned how to juggle a successful career, while being a supportive lacrosse dad and a hands on hiker with his hopping boy. I’ve learned that I’m stronger than I ever realized and have the ability to manage a family under unbelievable circumstances. And, that I am not scared to share the ins and outs of our family’s experiences – not something I would have guessed I would do.

Generally, I’m impressed at how well our family is doing – proud even.

An old friend wrote me a note last week saying, “ . . . it’s crazy how the thing you think is the worst thing in your life, could turn out to be one of the best. The challenge of a lifetime has made you appreciate your family all the more.”

Sweet words, but I’m often quick to fight these kinds of remarks. I want people to understand that this is not the life I would have chosen for our family. That I don’t believe that it’s a gift. I don’t want to confuse the universe into thinking that we are content with all this – WE ARE STILL LOOKING FOR THAT MIRACLE.

But, as time marches on, I do agree that there are things that we need to embrace. Things we’ve learned. Things that have made us stronger, maybe stronger than we ever could have been without ALD. Still, I wonder what our family would have looked like if that little mutation hadn’t set up shop. The problem is that I’m starting to lose my ability to imagine life without our uninvited guest. It seems that ALD has become a permanent part of the family.

Love, Jess

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May 2007

Never easy.

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Jack turned 17 this summer. 17 is the magic age in New Jersey when you’re granted the ultimate symbol of independence – a driver’s license. His birthday had come and gone without much thought of what he was missing, but lately I find myself driving down the streets of Maplewood, horrified as I see familiar faces behind the wheel of large SUVs. Faces of children who’s diapers I changed.

Not only does it seem dangerous to trust these kids with cars, but it’s another reminder that Jack is no longer moving at the same pace as his “typical” peers. He will never drive. He can’t even sit in the front seat of our car (that’s not a safely thing – it’s that he changes the radio station and loves playing with the heat warmers).

So, I’ve been feeling a little melancholy with this added reminder of Jack’s lack of independence, and then on Friday I got hit with the other side of things.

Further proof that I live between two worlds — Anna has just completed Driver’s Ed. She walked in from school on Friday and announced that she “passed the test”. I tried my darndest to sound happy for her, and I am. I’m looking forward to a day not filled with pick-ups and drop-offs. I’m also excited for her to gain the freedom that a license can provide. But, when I think about handing the keys of our car to our perfect little girl. I start to panic.

Life is never easy. I’m both sad for my son NOT to get his license and I’m freaking out that my daughter WILL.

Luckily, we still have some time before Anna can get her license. Even after passing the test, she can’t even get her permit until June – thank goodness we live in New Jersey. I need a little time to prepare for this next stage of worry for this mama raising kids in two separate worlds.

Love, Jess

Love That Max

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Love That Max is a blog I’ve followed for years, and I am not alone. The blog is currently the #1 disability blog by traffic ranking and a Babble Top 100 Mom Blog. It has been featured on CNN.com, Today.com, Yahoo, The New York Times’ blog The Motherlode, AOL, MSN.com, MTV.com and The Daily Mail, as well as in Redbook, Real Simple, Parents, Good Housekeeping, Woman’s Day, Family Circle and All You magazines.

Ellen Seidman is an incredible writer and an inspirational mother to her three children. I’m honored and excited that she shared my piece, When my son communicates, will he share our secrets?.

Please take a peek and cross your fingers that Jack doesn’t have any secrets about you;-)

Love, Jess

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