Another Amazing Experience.

We have been extremely blessed in our lives in so very many ways, but at the moment, the most poignant to us is that we have the love and support of family and friends which has allowed us to accomplish some amazing things for our daughter.

When we were first given Nicola’s diagnosis, I felt that my world had been shattered… I couldn’t even talk about her without dissolving into tears and if anyone asked me about her diagnosis, I just couldn’t handle it. It was too much.

Then we made the decision to go to our first conference, which was an incredible 10 weeks after we got given her diagnosis. After two weeks of procrastinating and crying and deliberating, we came to the conclusion that if we were to accept our daughter’s diagnosis and her future (what little we knew of it), then we would have to go to the conference, we would have to do everything that we could to get our daughter there to the people that knew best.

With 8 weeks to go, we turned our appeal public, starting with friends and family and ending up in the local media… and we succeeded. In 8 weeks we raised enough funds to cover two adults and one child to fly to San Francisco, spend a week at the conference, pay for our accommodation and meals and everything, and then come home.

The trip, although incredibly stressful, was extremely successful. The experience was absolutely amazing, and one that I firmly believe not only helped us on our path of discovery for her daughter, but in fact saved her life.

We learned several things during that conference, one of which was that Nicola actually had a clinical diagnosis of a Chiari Malformation which, apart from causing her constant and chronic pain, it was also affecting her breathing and her feeding and pretty much every other aspect of her life.

The sessions that we attended with the conference and the connections that we made gave us the power to return home and fight for better healthcare for our daughter.

But beyond that, it gave us a chance at social inclusion… to stand with people who understood and shared our journey.

We were lucky enough again this year, through the help of some amazing friends who helped us fundraise, and the Grace of my Father in Law who got us over the line at the 11^th hour, to be able to attend the first annual conference in the UK and the launch of the new international Rasopathies support group.

While again it was only a few days, it was a few days that have once more changed our lives. From a medical perspective, we had access to specialists and doctors that we had never met before who have had many years of dealing with Costello Syndrome in the UK, who were more than happy to sit down with us, one on one, and discuss Nicola and her health and her options. We learned about drug trials that will most likely be beneficial to stabilising some aspects of her health, and improving others. We learned a whole bunch more scary statistics and facts about our daughter’s future, some stuff that we didn’t necessarily want to know just yet, and some other stuff that is great to know, just to keep in mind when things happen and we need it, stuff like muscle contractures, tight heel cords, cardiac problems, neurological problems, skeletal issues, growth hormones, etc.

We got to spend ages talking to a mobility specialist and found out what kind of wheelchair we need to get for Nicola, so now all we need to do is to find the funding to buy one for her!

We also got to spend a few more days with the families who are walking this path with us… some of whom we had met last year in San Francisco, and some of whom we knew only over email. It was great to be able to put faces to names and meet some more wonderful children… it was also great to meet some of the other Rasopathies families (Rasopathies are other syndromes that are related to Costello Syndrome and come under the same neuro-cardio-facio-cutaneous syndrome banner. Many of the symptoms and treatments overlap. By grouping them together under one Rasopathies banner it increases the numbers and makes them more viable to researchers and for funding etc).

Nicola (and us) were invited to a lovely high tea at the House of Lords overlooking the River Thames which signified the launch of the new support group and we talked about the future, and we even managed to fit in a few hours of sight seeing in London!

All in all, it was another amazing experience, and one we are truly very lucky to have received, and one we are very, very grateful for. These experiences give us the strength and knowledge to fight for our daughter’s medical needs, as well as the social interaction to abate the loneliness and isolation that comes with dealing with such a rare and daunting medical condition.

We wouldn’t be able to do this without your support… so thank you.

From the bottom of our hearts, thank you for the opportunities you have helped to give to our daughter.

Today is your Birthday...

My beautiful daughter…

Today is your birthday…

For two short years you have graced this earth with your presence... for two short years you have filled our hearts with a love that we never knew was possible… for two short years you have brought us light in the darkest of moments and hope in the ravages of despair.

If I could take away your pain and make it my own, I would. If I could fill the world with happiness, I would do it for you. I would walk to the ends of the earth and back again to make even an iota of difference in your life.

In the past two years, you have taught me more than most people learn in a life time. You have taught me, hope and faith… you have taught me compassion and understanding… you have taught me strength and humility… and you have taught me love.

Today is your birthday.

The anniversary to celebrate the day in which we received one of the most precious gifts we could ever have been given…

The gift of you in our lives.

Oh how I wish I had known…

Two years ago today I was told that I was going to be having my baby in 24 hours. I was 34 weeks and 6 days pregnant. The radiographer and the obstetrician both assured me that the baby would be fine… after all, she was almost 11 pounds.

What could possibly go wrong?

Oh how I wish I had known…

I wish I had known that minutes after my daughter was born she would have a seizure and stop breathing. I wish I had known that the next 8 months of our lives would be utter chaos and turmoil as we flitted from one specialty to another, one admission to another, one complication to another, before everything culminated in a diagnosis that rocked the foundations of our world.

I wish I had known then how drastically our lives were about to change… that I would never again feel like a competent and able parent when it came to my daughter… that I would sacrifice everything for a better chance at life for her… that my older daughters would miss out on a normal childhood… that I would become an expert in medical conditions that I never knew existed, and had no desire to know about…

Oh how I wish I had known…

While in hindsight I probably wouldn’t have changed anything, perhaps it would have made me a bit more prepared… for the constant battle to gain access to a health system that seems to constantly shut us out… for the heartbreak I would come to feel as I cradled my daughter as she screamed from a pain I could not ease… for the loneliness I would feel as I walked this path, virtually alone… and for the fear I would come to feel every night as I fell asleep wondering if my child would wake the next morning.

Yes… two years ago today, I was told my life was going to change. I just had no idea how much.

Now… on the eve of Nicola’s second birthday and I look back over the past two years, and I can’t help but marvel at how far she has come. She has survived odds that have seemed insurmountable. She has lived with complaints that drive grown adults to tears, yet she does so with a brave face and a smile, because in her little life she has never known any different.

I watch her interact with her sisters, laugh with them, touch them, play tea parties and ponies with them, and I can’t help but smile. I watch her signing ‘hello Daddy’ or ‘hello Mummy’ and it fills my heart with happiness that I never knew was possible.

It is so confronting, seeing other children her age, or even seeing her sisters, and knowing that Nicola will never really be like that… but Nicola is… well… she’s Nicola. Nicola is different, and that’s ok… because that makes her who she is.

And who she is... is perfection incarnate.

<3

Communication

Being the parent of a child who is both medically fragile and has special needs, it is sometimes really hard to see the silver lining in life. While some days things are great and you can smile and laugh and almost feel like a normal person, other days you just fall into a well of confused self deprecation where it seems there is no end in sight to the monotony and drudgery that has become your life.

It makes it all the harder when you are constantly seeing reminders of the life that you're missing out on... family and friends with their 'normal' children who are running and babbling and playing... and it really drives into your heart that your child is just not the same as other children.

Last Friday for instance... I found myself babysitting my niece and my two nephews. To put this in perspective, my niece is 8 months older than my oldest child. My oldest nephew is 4 months older than my middle daughter, and my youngest nephew is 4 months older than Nicola.

Given their close proximity in age it's only natural that the children are all friends and play well together... that is, all except Nicola.

Where my nephew is off running and playing with cousins and siblings, babbling away, eating everything in sight and generally just being a totally typical terrorising toddler, Nicola is completely immobile. She doesn't even sit unaided. She doesn't talk, she doesn't walk, she doesn't run... and the limit to her interaction is, or at least it was, crying at anyone that so much as breathes in the same hemisphere as her.

Seeing him, and every other toddler around us, meet their milestones, take their first steps, say their first words etc, while we struggle to achieve even the tiniest of tiptoes forward is, to say the very least, heartbreaking.

Don't get me wrong, I don't begrudge their happiness with their healthy children. Not at all! And while I wouldn't give Nicola up for anything in the world or change anything about her, I wouldn't wish this kind of life on anyone, least of all on the days that the silver lining has gone an ugly shade of black.

But every now and then, through the darkest, cloudiest and most miserable days, children like Nicola have this way of surprising us... just when we need it most.

About a month ago we had a massive breakthrough in her communication... she looked at me and she said "Mum. Mum, Mum, Mum." Of course, to say I was ecstatic was the understatement of the century... until we told her speech therapist who heard a similar sound and told us that it was just a random convergance of sounds made as she chewed on her fingers... and it wasn't really a word at all.

One step forward, two steps back.

Sigh.

But then, last week, something amazing happened. It was clear, it was concise and it was almost precise. She picked up her hand and she waved.

Ok, so she's almost two. I get that... waving for a two year old isn't a big deal...

But for MY two year old, it's a mammoth step! It's phenomenal! It's more of an achievement than man's first steps on the moon or the discovery of the theory of relativity.

MY two year old daughter waved! She picked up her hand and waved! She communicated with me!

Between the tears I waved back, delighting in the furious little movements of her hand pummelling up and down and the gorgeous smile on her face, the pride in her own achievements mirroring the pride I had for her.

Thinking quick I whipped out my phone and started the video recorder, getting a gorgeous clip of her waving and smiling at me. Then, just was I was about to stop, she did something else.

She responded to my waving to her by signing 'good waving' to me in Makaton.

She used her finger instead of her thumb, and it wasn't entirely as precise as it could have been, by the message was so clear even my father knew what she was saying. "Good waving Mum. I'm proud of you!"

In Loving Memory...

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

God looked around his garden and he found an empty place,
He then looked down upon this earth and saw your tired face.
He put his arms around you and lifted you to rest.
God's Garden must be beautiful, He always takes the best.
He knew that you were suffering, He knew that you were in pain.
He knew that you would never get well on earth again.
He saw that the road was getting rough and the hills were hard to climb,
So he closed your weary eyelids and whispered
"PEACE BE THINE".
It broke our hearts to lose you, but you didn't go alone,
For parts of us went with you the day God called you home.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

In Loving Memory of Willa Clementine Hunt

An incredibly brave little Costello Princess who grew her Angel wings at the age of 2.

09-07-2010

Rest In Peace Princess
xxooxx

Take This Moment...

Ok, so, again, I am just soooo not good at keeping on top of a blog. I think I have to accept the fact that I will never be one of those people who write something here every day. We have had so much happening of late... the last month or so has just been utterly chaotic.. but I will talk more about that later... maybe.

Right now, I want to talk about a friend.

This friend probably isn't what a lot of people would consider a friend. I have never stood in the same room as her, nor have I heard the sound of her voice. I have never held her hand or hugged her, I don't know what sports she follows or what music she listens to, but we share a common ground that is so deeply entrenched in our hearts and souls that none of that seems to be very important.

We both have daughters that are HRAS positive.

Our precious daughters are almost the same age, they even share some of the same traits... the same gorgeous smile, the same big eyes and the same sunny outlook on life... but that's about where the similarities in our lives end.

Tonight, as I watch my daughter sleeping in her bed and reflect on how far we have come and how far we have to go, my friend is watching her daughter sleeping and reflecting on the fact that her life is nearing an end.

You see, my friend's beautiful, precious little girl has cancer that cannot be treated and they have made the heart wrenching decision to let nature take it's course.

I cannot even begin to fathom the immensity of this decision, or the emotions that they struggle with on a daily, or even hourly basis, yet she does it with poise and grace. I read her emails and I cannot help but cry because even now, in her deepest hour of need, she is not only a friend, but a teacher, using her own pain to help guide others on this journey.

And with such a good and gracious person as a teacher, how can I not be a student?

Indeed, from her words, I have learned a great many things, some of which I already knew that have been reinforced in my heart, and some which are new words of wisdom that I am holding fast to.

I have been reminded that every moment is precious. We never know that is just around the corner. It is time now to hug my children, play with them, make them smile, make them laugh. Revel in the joyousness that is the foundation of new life, spend time with my partner and just delight in the little things that make us both smile.

I have learned to appreciate therapy and medications and doctors visits and all of the other stuff that comes with this life that I have had thrust upon me, for even though I may curse these things for being the bane of my existance on a day to day basis, but each time I curse these things I am also reminded that I have her in my life. I may despise therapy, but every day we do it is another day that I still have my daughter.

I have learned that even in the face of adversity that may seem impossible to overcome, I will find a way to get through. I have the strength and courage of a family with wisdom that spans half a century and encompasses the face of the globe, all of whom will be standing with me when I need them.

Nicola and her medical complexity may have turned my life inside out and upside down, and it may have challenged everything I ever thought I knew in my life, but it has also brought me friends and family who have become an important part of my life.

I may not see them every day, or even every other month. I am lucky if I see some of them every other year. I may not know their faces or hear their voices, but they are still in my thoughts every day. I laugh with them in their moments of happiness and I cry with them in their moments of pain, but most of all, I am just thankful that I have them as friends.

Now... with that, I have three sleeping children, medication has been given and feeds are up to date... so I am going to go and enjoy a few moments of precious sanity, savour a nice warm shower in this faux winter and then curl up in bed with a good movie and enjoy some nice spacious sprawl time before all of my off spring end up in my bed, which will be in about two hours and thirty seven minutes, give or take a few seconds.

But I leave you with this...

Take this moment and own it. Cuddle your children, kiss your partner, eat that piece of chocolate, and revel in the small things... don't take a single moment forgranted, because you never know what tomorrow will bring.

<3

The Emotional Roller Coaster

When you have a child with special needs, there are a lot of emotions you feel. You feel grief at the child that you have 'lost' and you feel anger at the powers that be for this predicament in your life. You feel resentment toward those with 'normal' children, even if you have said 'normal' children yourself... you feel sadness, happiness, isolated, lonely, afraid, confused...

I guess the same can be said for having any child, whether they have special needs or not... but the big difference is that when you have a child with special needs, you usually feel all of these emotions at once... and they conflict and battle within, trapping you in a hair raising, spine tingling emotional roller coaster as each emotion battles for ultimate supremacy.

When you have a child with a rare condition that is considered life threatening, it feels like each one of those emotions is intensified a thousand times over.

We become hardened and battle weary, at least to the outside observer. We hide our scars along with our tears behind a false facade of determination, yet behind every smile and laugh, there is always that little bit of doubt, that little fear... that little voice whispering in the deepest, darkest recesses of your mind where only your worst nightmares dwell.

I remember when Nicola was 3 weeks old. We had done our journey in NeoNatal Intensive Care Unit and Special Care Nursery and we were being discharged to "Parentcraft" for 24 hours of observation. This strange ritual was allegedly to make sure we were capable of parenting a baby before being discharged, something I found somewhat ludicrous considering that I already had two other babies at home waiting for me.

We were sitting in Special Care Nursery and they were doing her discharge assessment and then Dr Az turned around and told me that he thought she had a heart murmur.

Well, that was it. I broke down and I just sobbed. My baby had a heart murmur, she had a defective heart... after 3 weeks of all tests coming back 'normal' or with nothing found that to be told there was actually something wrong just shattered me, and really, in the grand scheme of things, it wasn't even something overly serious!

Oh how we change...

Since then we have endured countless more diagnosis', not to mention surgeries, and procedures. I have held my daugher as she battled at the brink of death, I have fought doctors who didn't believe in her, and I have seen her defy odds and create miracles that no one can explain to me...

I have experienced a level of intensity of my own emotions that I never knew to be possible... an intensity so totally overwhelming that it is actually terrifying.

I have laughed when I wanted to cry, I have cried when I wanted to scream, I have held fast to hopes that seemed impossible... and I have lived with the mantra, "There but for the grace of God go I!"

If I could take everything I have learned in the past 18 months and turn it into one statement to give to any one who is about to embark on this journey, it would be simply 'do not be afraid of the darkness'.

No matter how dark moments of my life may be, they are only moments, and those moments shall pass. There is always a light to look toward...

"I will love the light for it shows me the way.

Yet I will endure the darkness for it shows me the stars..."

With Love...