It has been exactly one year since I last wrote a story on our blog. The gap is because it has been the most intense year of my life with no time for any “extracurricular activities” like writing, but this day is a very important one. On February 28th, the world recognizes Rare Disease Day, in honor of the 1 in 10 Americans living with a rare disease. Curren is among the rarest of the rare, he was the 4th out of 48 currently known patients who have been diagnosed with HIVEP2 disorder. This genetic disorder that impacts brain growth and development has manifested in Curren through many other ways: autism, epilepsy, ataxia, severe apraxia, growth hormone disorder, hypopituitarism, mitochondrial disfunction, and anxiety to name a few. It has not been an easy road, but it has brought many rewards and a unique perspective not able to be experienced by most.
So what has a year of rare looked like for my family? Celebration, joy, resiliency, determination, fatigue, panic, fear, adaptation, frustration, gratefulness, humility. It is no different than any other family. The emotions are the same, just the experiences are a bit different. My older son says that while we may look different on the outside, we are all the same on the inside. We all have struggles, and while the circumstances may be unique, the desire is the same – to feel supported and loved and needed and important. That you can impact your world, make your mark, and that the world can be different because of you.
For rare disease day, my ask is that you please think of those who seem to be different than you. Do we not all deserve an equal and inclusive right to a good life? At the core, are there even many differences at all?
Do not be dismayed by the brokenness of the world.
It has been over 2 years now since my 4 year old son was diagnosed with a rare disease. The first year was spent getting our bearings and trying to process what we had learned. This past year really has become more about learning how to manage our new reality. I’d like to share the top 5 things I’ve learned over the past year about living with a rare disease.
1. Community Unity
Community can mean so many different things. What first comes to mind is the power that the unified rare disease community has. Many rare disease communities are so small, and their reach can feel very limited. But if 30 million Americans came together, their voice would be too loud to ignore! It was so moving for me to attend Rare Disease Week on Capital Hill and the Global Genes Rare Patient Advocacy Summit last year and be surrounded by so many that were motivated to make great changes for the community.
Local community is also a vital part of maintaining/improving quality of life. Managing a rare disease can be very draining financially, and our family has been very fortunate to have several local organizations step in and help us get adaptive equipment that wasn’t covered by insurance. Our local community has been a huge support for Curren and has helped us greatly maintain his quality of life.
2. Cure vs Care
Another big change in how my family approaches living with a rare disease is a shift from focusing on cures to focusing on quality care. When we first found out the genetic cause for Curren’s rare disease, I jumped head first into learning everything I could about the gene, it’s biology, it’s interactions with other genes, and treatments being developed for similar conditions. I spoke to researchers and had a strong desire to raise money to fund research for a cure. I soon realized that the most meaningful use of my time and resources was to focus on the pieces that I can change for the better – like providing quality therapies, integrating a robust alternative communication system into everyday life, finding doctors that genuinely care, and planning for the best educational opportunities.
3. Find your People
It was hard to realize that not everyone understands our situation, and that is ok. When our family’s trajectory took a different path, it’s was challenging to diverge from our planned journey, and from some of those on that journey. It can be very isolating to feel as though you are moving further away from everything familiar, but by surrounding ourselves with those who are supportive and accepting, we have found our village. Our journey no longer looks like the one we expected, but it is just as beautiful. We are grateful for those who help us through the additional challenges we face as a rare disease family.
4. Embrace Empathy
Perhaps what supporting someone with a rare disease has taught me most is to be empathetic. With a non-verbal son, we find ourselves very often trying to imagine the world from his perspective to better understand his feelings and emotions. More importantly, as our focus has shifted from “fixing” him to “supporting” him, it has become very clear that those with differences are not broken, but the lens in which we view them should adjust. The doctors, therapists, and teachers who have been most instrumental in providing excellent care have been truly empathetic, and we become our best selves when we try to experience other's realities. The human experience is a shared experience, and empathy is about connecting.
5. Be Person Centered
The approach that has helped me best understand how to support my son with a rare disease is person centered planning, which shifts focus to how a person wants to live their life and what is required to make that possible. When planning focuses on the person instead of the rare disease/disability/service in question, discussions start to shift in a good way. All people have the right to live, love, work, play, and pursue their life aspirations in their community. Focusing on person-centered planning instead of systems-centered planning creates a compelling image of a desirable future.
This year for Rare Disease Day, my wish is that we all can become more understanding of our differences. Strength lies in difference, not in similarities.
Imagine what it must be like to have beautiful, unique, and important thoughts, but no way to share those thoughts with the world around you. Image if the people in your life had no way of understanding the depth of your ideas because you had no way to express yourself. Imagine if your competence was not presumed because you had no voice to prove otherwise. Imagine if you were constantly quizzed to prove that you understood the world around you, before you were given a chance to prove you have the ability to communicate, When that opportunity came, imagine if you were only given two options to choose from at a time, that someone else selected for you, and if you didn't like either choice, it was assumed that you didn't understand the question.
This is the unfortunate reality for many non-verbal children and adults. Many approach the task of communication for those with complex communication needs by starting with a handful of picture symbols and adding a few more at a time as the child demonstrates they can communicate appropriately. This is not what we do with neuro-typical children - we do not decide that we are only going to say 6 specific words and only those words around a baby. We know they don't understand everything we say, but still we immerse our babies in language, and that is how they learn language. Why would it seem appropriate to do anything different with non-verbal children?
Earlier this year, I was blessed to be introduced to the concept of robust communication, and our lives has changed since that moment. I am disappointed in myself and how I limited my son prior to providing him with robust communication book. My heart aches for the unspoken doubt I had in him and his capabilities. It is overwhelming to think of all the other children and adults in the world that have not been given this chance and how hopeless they must feel, living in this world without a voice.
We have embraced a robust communication system called PODD (pragmatic organizational dynamic display) that allows Curren to say whatever he wants, whenever he wants, to whoever he wants. We started out this summer by just modeling what was going on in his life in the form of aided language input - by narrating life and pointing to the symbols in his book that represented these thoughts. Soon after we introduced the communication book, Curren started pointing for the first time in his life. And he started pointing to symbol in his book. He has shared wonderful things with us - he loves asking to play ball, to make cars crash, to swing, for it to be quiet, and to brush his teeth. He can tell us that something's wrong, and ask for a sensory activity when he's overstimulated. He can tell us that his brother is silly, or that he wants to visit gammy, or that he's ready to go to bed. I recently began videoing our interactions and logging all the communicative functions Curren is able to initiate with his PODD book. In 30 minutes, Curren pointed to 91 symbols, that were all appropriate to the situation. This would not happen if we only allow him access to 6 symbols until he mastered those, only to add a few more at a time. In fact, it would take decades for him to have access to enough language to have spontaneous and genuine conversations if we took that approach.
I bring these points up because October is AAC awareness month, and I have personally experienced and heard many stories from others about the world not being accepting of these ideas. Not having speech is not the same as not understanding. All people have a basic right to affect, through communication, the condition of their existence. My son just wants to be doing what the others are doing.
I am humbled and honored to have the opportunity to speak and attend my first Global Genes RARE Patient Advocacy Summit in Huntington Beach this week! I have narrowed the breakout sessions I want to attend to about 18 (yikes!) Global Genes is a phenomenal rare disease advocacy group, and I'm so incredibly grateful that they extended this opportunity to be immersed in teaming, activism, drug development, and scientific innovation to me, Last year, almost 600 attendees representing over 170 rare diseases came together, and there will be even more this year!
The 2017 RARE Patient Advocacy Summit brings rare advocates from across the globe together to Connect, Collaborate, and Activate. This educational conference creates a space for members of the rare disease community to share best practices, create important introductions, and help catalyze powerful collaborations. Attendees share their experience, knowledge, and expertise as conference presenters and or participants
I will be presenting in a workshop on the topic of working with Physical and Occupational Therapists. We have had such an incredible team since Curren was 9 months old to draw knowledge from, and in just over 3 years we have had therapy in the home, clinical, and school settings. We have also navigated coverage of services through Early Intervention, Medicaid/CHIP, the Public School District, and Private Insurance. It has been a journey, and the commitment from Curren and our team is changing his life. I can't wait to share what we have learned on this path so far, and will share my summit experience when I return!
I often think back to the moment Curren was born, a 9 lb pink and cooing healthy baby. I remember the rush of relief when I saw his 10 fingers and 10 toes, his plump and beautiful face, and his perfectly round head. “Congratulations, he is healthy and normal” they said! I think back to the first few months of his life and how blissful and perfect it all felt. Curren was a happy, laid back baby who slept great and loved to snuggle; life was fantastic. My mind often went to dreams of the future. I saw visions of Curren chasing Weston in the backyard, of them darting out of their beds on Christmas morning to see their presents, of boogie boarding together at the beach, of the boys coming to our house at the holidays with their children/my grandchildren. It is heavy and devastating to give up on those picturesque visions. My grief is not in the mourning of a death, but sorrow for the devastation that has shattered my dreams. I am grieving the child that I lost, but that I still have.
What does my grief look like? It is the embarrassment after bystanders wanted to call 911 on my child who was having a sensory meltdown at the crowded reading of The Polar Express at Barnes and Noble. It is the shame felt watching someone ask Curren to clap or crawl for them like he is a dog being asked to perform on command. It is the pain left after a stranger questioned what was wrong with his legs on the first day out in his wheelchair. It is the desperation I feel after working a full time job and knowing I am coming home to another full time job of carrying, wiping, hand feeding, soothing, holding, teaching, loving, case managing, applying, appealing, and researching – all which may be necessary for decades longer or until my body can no longer do it. It is the anger burning inside in knowing that my son has important things to say, but that we have not yet found a way to make it so we understand him. It is the stinging sadness I swallow when parents complain about how they wished their child wouldn’t talk so much or how exhausted they are chasing after their baby who can now walk. But mostly, it is the guilt following the acknowledgement of embarrassment, shame, pain, desperation, anger or sadness.
Don’t mistake my grief for negativity. In fact, I feel more optimistic that ever about the future. My intense love and pride for my child is not in question, but the disability that has shattered my dreams is always stinging. The grieving never ends – there are no stages or moving on. I am, however, blessed to accept and embrace grief. Ironically, grief and hope seem to have a direct relationship for me. My grief inspires our journey, and it is the reason we do the things we do.
How do I stay hopeful and optimistic? I honestly don’t stray too far from the present. Life is precious, and what we have today, we may not tomorrow – and even if it’s not what we first dreamed of, it is still a tremendous gift. Curren is not able to chase Weston, but that doesn’t mean they don’t play in other beautiful ways. The excitement of Santa’s presents still happens, we’re just not barreling down the hallway on our own to see what is in the living room. We go the beach and have a blast (although it is exhausting). We work hard on the things that keep this grief burning, and will one day walk and communicate important things. My dreams are still here, they are just a variation of my first vision. The common theme to it all was laughter, happiness, and joy – and we definitely have that. Life is unexpected, unplanned, and beautiful.
We have been blessed to have the same incredible team of therapists working with Curren since he was 9 months old. This was first covered through Florida's Early Intervention program, Early Steps, which offers services to eligible infants and toddlers (birth to thirty-six months) with significant delays or a condition likely to result in a developmental delay. When Curren turned 3, we were able to get medical coverage through Florida’s Children’s Medical Services (CMS Title 21), a Children's Health Insurance Program (CHIP) plan for children with special health care needs, which continued to cover Curren's 9 hours of weekly PT, OT, and ST. Curren's CMS coverage was critical to maintaining his therapy services at Ability Plus, since our private insurance through Cigna will not cover his services there. We are devastated to share that this is Curren's last week at Ability Plus due to loss of coverage, and despite intense efforts to appeal, Curren will not be able to continue seeing the therapists that have worked with him for almost 3 years now. There is no program in the state of Florida to provide the medical and therapeutic services that medically complex kids need (and private insurance will not provide) once they turn 3 if their families are found financially ineligible. These programs are not only necessary for assisting families with financial need, but also imperative for allowing access to services needed during a critical time of development when left otherwise without access.
To our caring and loving speech therapist - you were the first friendly face we saw when we walked through the door at Ability Plus with our 9 month old squishy baby. You taught Curren how to eat, and before your help, he could not swallow without gagging, choking, and crying. He was struggling with failure to thrive, and you helped him succeed during a time when his GI doctor was recommending a feeding tube. I remember worrying about Curren having a cake to smash at his 1st birthday, in fear that he would choke and cry and scare everyone. But he learned to chew and swallow, and Curren's first birthday party was magical. You have taught Curren how to express himself in his own way, and he is so much happier in life because of that. You have taught me not settle on expectations, and that we should be shooting for the stars. Curren is much more capable than he is often given credit for. Thank you for your commitment and investment in my son.
To our incredibly talented occupational therapist - you have such a unique ability to push Curren to work hard, but still all the while making everything fun. When Curren was little, he loved getting big squeeze hugs from you. You taught him so much, and opened our eyes to the world of spio suits, listening therapy, therapeutic brushing, and joint compressions. You cared so much that you even attended hours of Curren's first IEP meeting, to advocate for his services in the public school district. He lights up at home when we say your name, and almost always claps or blows kisses. He certainly has a special place for you in his heart. You have taught Curren how to play, how to feed himself, how to drink from a cup, and how to point - all things easily taken for granted, but are incredible gains that took years of patience and dedication. Thank you for your passion and determination to open difficult doors for Curren.
To our phenomenal physical therapist - you have changed the game for Curren. When we started coming to Ability Plus for OT and ST, I saw the impressive PT gym, and knew this was where Curren needed to be. When he first started seeing you, he was incredibly static, but through your guidance has now gained the strength and confidence to roll, push, creep, pull, step, and move to get from here to there. You always went above and beyond to get Curren everything that could help him - from hand making his own thera-tog suit (since insurance wouldn't cover it), to personal aqua therapy sessions in our pool. You were tough, yet encouraging, and pulled every ounce of energy Curren had into training his body to move, and most recently, helped him to really "find his feet". Thank you for giving the gift of mobility to Curren. He will only be going onward and upward from here.
To our intensive physical therapists - thank you for your rigor and determination. Spending 3 hours a day every day for 3 weeks with Curren has really changed the way he senses and uses his body. These programs were gigantic jumpstarts to take Curren to the next level. We will be walking sooner thanks to you!
We wouldn't have been able to start on this path without the support from our amazing case manager at Early Steps. You listened to me, and helped me to get all the services Curren needed. We are blessed to have been under your care, and you made a bumpy and unsure road feel much less daunting. Thank you for making Curren's early years filled with the best possible opportunities for him to learn and grow.
This team has been on this journey with us from the very beginning, and has provided so much love and support to Curren, from the office staff to the therapists. It is incredibly difficult to think about saying goodbye. Thank you all for making a difference in Curren's life.
We have had two specialist appointments this week, and both have come back with abnormal findings. Yesterday, we saw a pediatric opthamologist, who discovered that Curren was mildly far-sighted with astigmatism. He was also diagnosed with esophoria, a condition where his eyes tend to move inward, especially if one eye is covered. This most likely results from his generalized low muscle tone, and it is not severe enough to require glasses (I can only image how unsucessful attempting to wear glasses would be at this time in life!). Today, Curren visited a cardiologist for the first time. His EKG resulted in "boderline" abnormal findings. They found that he has a polarization abnormality in the electrical charge just before his heart beats. He had a echocardiogram following these results, which made the cardiologist feel pretty certain there were no concerns at this time, which is fantastic news.
I am grateful that we so often receive "mildly" abnormal results, but it is a bit nerve racking to always have abnormal findings. EEGs, swallow studies, MRIs, growth parameters, metabolic testing - all of these things have come back abnormal, but not severely enough to warrant any action. It is now clear that abnormal has become the new normal. This is my son, he is not like any other, and I love every inch of his "unique" self.
We also had the amazing opportunity to be seen by genetics and neurology at Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston last week. Our experience was incredible, and we left with lots of optimism about Curren's potential, We also provided skin biopsies, for the potenial hope of doing stem cell research and creating patient derived cell lines for further study of HIVEP2 disorder. Another perk on the trip included the chance to meet one of our newest HIVEP2 families from Boston and the author of the first HIVEP2 paper for dinner. Our tiny universe is expanding, and I am so excited for what the near future holds.
The opportunity to experience Rare Disease Week in our nation's capital was more than I can describe in words. I was surrounded by families and patients walking the same walk and fighting many of the same battles. Some are still advocating even after the loss of a child, and many were patients themselves, dealing with life limiting/robbing condititions.
The week started at the NIH, where researchers, policymakers, and advocates shared recent developments that are further advancing rare disease treatments. In 2016 alone, the NIH Clinical Center involved over 15,300 rare disease patients in a clinical trial or natural history protocol. The NIH's focus on rare disease research is intentional - it is often very easy to asemble a cohort of patients with rare diseases. But even more promising, rare diseases often provide a window to common diseases. Shared during the NIH Rare Disease Day was this quote from William Harvey in 1657:
Nature is nowhere accustomed more openly to display her secret mysteries than in cases where she shows traces of her workings apart from the beaten path; nor is there any better way to advance the proper practice of medicine than to give our minds to the discovery of the usual law of nature, by careful investigation of cases of rarer forms of disease.
The stage was set Tuesday for our legislative meetings though our Rare Disease Legislative Conference, sponsored by Rare Disease Legislative Advocates, and culminated in Presendent Trump's address to congress, where he honored a student with a rare disease and promised a nation of "miracles" by slashing restraints at the FDA and across the government. And I was thrilled to see my representative Congressman Bill Posey wearing the blue demin rare disease ribbon that we gave him the week prior.
On Wednesday, 328 rare disease advocates participated in 270 Lobby Day meetings with US Senators, Congressmen, and staff. Advoates shared their personal stories, and asked that policymakers help the rare disease community (over 20 million Americans) with key issues. We asked for robust funding for the NIH and FDA, and to implement approapriations from the 21st Century Cures, which passes last year by 392-26 in the House and 94-5 in the Senate. We asked Congressman and Senators to support the OPEN ACT, which was pulled from 21st Century Cures at the last minute. The OPEN ACT would repurpose approved drugs for rare disease uses, and is estimated to double the number of drugs available to rare disease patients. This would have a significant imact on our community, as 95% of rare diseases have no FDA-approved treatment. And finally, we asked to ensure that rare diease patients don't lose access to affordable, life-saving heath insurance coverage in the upcoming policy changes.
I thank our Florida Congressmen, Senators, and staff for taking the time to meet with us and hear from the rare disease community. Thank you to Congressman Posey for honoring Rare Disease Day with your ribbon and for participating in the Rare Disease Congressional Caucus. And we are especially grateful to Congressman Darren Soto for commiting to co-sponsor the OPEN ACT after meeting with our group.
On Thursday, we visited the FDA White Oak campus to see Curren's Beyond the Diagnosis portrait, which has been on display along with 14 other paintings in honor of Rare Disease Day. We met with a wonderful woman from the office of Orphan Products Development and she shared the gallery with us. It was very overwhelming to see Curren's painting in person, and to experience the exhibit and the beautiful art created to honor these special children.
After the FDA trip, we headed back to D.C. for the Rare Disease Congressional Caucus briefing on the topic of advancing rare disease treatments in the era of cures and health care reform. This was a wonderful recap of all the critical issues we focused on throughout the week, and it's wonderful to see that over 100 Senators and Congressmen are members.
I left Washington D.C. feeling on top of the world, but in recent weeks I see that there is so much work to be done in the Rare Disease advocacy space. If you follow me on facebook, you may know that Curren has just lost his Children's Health Insurance Program (CHIP) coverage for medically complex children (CMS Title 21). If Medicaid is decentralized, block-granted, and/or per capita capped, it would be tragic for children with complex medical needs and developmental disabilities, as it covers nearly half of all children with special healthcare needs. There is not a private insurance plan currently available to me at this time that covers the therapy and equipment that my son needs. Additionally, it is very troubling to hear of the proposed cut of $6 billion dollars from NIH funding (almost 20% of the current budget). I hope that we are able to fund innovation to create a nation of "miracles" as referenced in the Joint Session on Rare Disease Day, and that we don't overlook our most vulnerable population of disabled and sick children in our years to come.
As I prepare for an incredible week in our nation's capitol - I can't help but get butterflies knowing that I am about to experience phenomenal opportunties to advocate for rare diseases at the National Institutes of Health, Capitol Hill, and the FDA. I am humbled to be able to meet with researchers, doctors, legislators, and scientists and share Curren's story along with other advocates from all over the country. While there are currently only 15 children known to have HIVEP2 disorder, one in 10 Americans battle a rare rare disease. We will be coming together as a community to share our voice on the critical issues our children face.
I would like to share some words from the Rare Disease Day website on this year's theme - research:
Imagine going to see your doctor only to be told that they don’t know what is happening to your body, that they don’t know what your disease is. Imagine that they can diagnose your disease but tell you that there is no cure or even treatment available. Or that the treatment available is not fully effective but just the best possible option. You don’t know how you or your loved one will manage life from one day to the next, nor how the disease will affect your work or school life.
Imagine what it would be like to live without answers to your most basic questions.
This is the reality for many rare disease patients. Research can lead to the identification of previously unknown diseases and can increase understanding of diseases. It can enable doctors to give a correct diagnosis and provides information to patients about their disease. It can lead to the development of new innovative treatments and in some cases a cure.
Research is key. It brings hope to the millions of people living with a rare disease across the world and their families.
Rare disease research is crucial to providing patients with the answers and solutions they need, whether it’s a treatment, cure or improved care.
On 28 February 2017, the tenth edition of Rare Disease Day will see thousands of people from all over the world come together to advocate for more research on rare diseases. Over the last few decades, funds dedicated to rare disease research have increased. But it can’t stop there.
Rare Disease Day 2017 is therefore an opportunity to call upon researchers, universities, students, companies, policy makers and clinicians to do more research and to make them aware of the importance of research for the rare disease community.
Rare disease patients and families, patient organisations, politicians, carers, medical professionals, researchers and industry will come together to raise awareness of rare diseases through thousands of events all over the world.
Rare Disease Day 2017 is also an opportunity to recognise the crucial role that patients play in research.
Patient involvement in research has resulted in more research, which is better targeted to the needs of patients. Patients no longer solely reap the benefits of research; they are empowered and valued partners from the beginning to the end of the research process.
Please join me in spreading the word for our HIVEP2 children and millions of others living with severe and lifelong conditions that have no treatments or cures. Alone we are rare, together we are strong!
My family is on a journey I didn't expect to take, and a foundation of hope has been my north star. Our journey can be inspiring but also many times daunting, and if we become hopeless we will lose our way. I would like to honor my son by sharing his brave journey.
Curren has been seen by 5 neurologists, 4 geneticists, a neurogeneticist, 2 developmental specialists, a GI specialist, an ENT specialist, 2 ophthalmologists, a orthopedist, 2 orthotists, a podiatrist, 2 psychologists, 2 pediatricians, 4 physical therapists, 2 occupational therapists, and 2 speech therapists - this has all been in the first 3 years of life. Beginning about 2 years ago, Curren ramped up therapy to 5 days a week, sometimes up to 4 hours in one day. He is a tough cookie, and he works very hard every day. Sometimes he forgets how to do the things he learns, but Curren never gives up.
Curren was born with a mutation in his HIVEP2 gene, but he was not diagnosed until he was 2 years old, after a long diagnostic journey. When reviewing his birth records, I noticed they recorded abnormal hypotonic behavior and muscular tone upon his first evaluation, but it was actually Curren's daycare that told me his muscle tone was not normal 4 months later. Between his low tone and difficulty with brain signaling, Curren has a very hard time controlling movement, especially in his legs. And although his muscles are strong enough to do it, Curren hasn't been able to crawl, pull up, or walk yet. He is, however, doing fantastic in his new wheelchair, and we are planning to get a mobile stander which supports Curren in a standing position but has wheels like a wheelchair so that he can move around and be at the level of his peers. Many people ask if Curren will ever walk, and it's a challenging question to answer. There is no way to know, but I have hope that he will.
We have been very blessed with good health over the past year, but that wasn't always the case. Curren was first sick when he was 4 weeks old, and was on antibiotics over 20 times during the first year and a half of life. He was diagnosed with reactive airway disorder at 4 months old, when he was in the hospital for respiratory distress. Curren also experienced a seizure and metabolic crisis event when he was two. Many of the other children with HIVEP2 disorder experience GI issues, but the only problem we have experienced is a failure to thrive diagnosis based on Curren's slow growth. We are also very fortunate so far to have good reports from the ophthalmologist, as eye problem are common for our community.
Perhaps one of the most challenging aspects of HIVEP2 disorder is the developmental disabilities. Like many others, Curren was diagnosed with autism, although he is actually very motivated by social experiences. The features of autism that Curren displays are regressions, language disorder, sensory integration disorder, and obsessive compulsive disorder. Curren is non-verbal, and it is so difficult for a child who has so much to say to not be able to say any of it. He understands what it going on around him, and he has intent for his legs, hands, and mouth to do certain things, but the message seems to get scrambled and the action doesn't happen the way it should. Lately, I ask Curren to touch his head (which is actually very challenging for him since he can't see it) and he starts clapping. I can tell from the look on his face that he is not thinking about clapping and is confused why his hands aren't touching his head, but the directions from his brain don't seem to be delivering the right message. I see this also in his speech. Once when we were in the hospital, and he was over it. He said clear as day "all done", but hasn't said it again in over a year. I can't imagine the frustration to have this disconnect between your brain and your body, but my son handles it incredibly.
On this journey, we have seen such kindness and compassion. It is so heartwarming to see Curren's fans, rooting for him to not give up. Curren has an exceptional team of professionals caring for him and looking for answers. We are eternally grateful to the doctors and therapists that are making a difference in Curren's life. It is not always an easy journey, but the people that support Curren do make hope feel more grounded. I am also so very proud of my son for the tremendous effort that he puts forth, and for his beautiful spirit that has not been subdued. I have hope for the future and what it holds!
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I am a mother, architect, wife, and a lover (not a fighter) - with a thirst for knowledge. My journey been recently refocused, as my family navigates through the world of medical and developmental uncertainty in hopes of providing every opportunity for my son to be his personal best in life.