Serendipitous Girl

April 19, 2022 It's all a part of the journey, her journey. Compliments of Brett's family, this time tomorrow, Jayde and Brett will be in Chicago. For the first time, Jayde will be flying while accessed. Mama Bear is excited for her yet terrified. It was a rough morning. She has her gummies to help with the pain, nausea, and anxiety while flying. Here is hoping her experience with the TSA is better than when we flew to California, and they do not grope her port again. April 20, 2022 Thank you, everyone, for the comments on my prior post and texts from my dear friend checking in on me last night and this morning. This is Jayde-Rhiannon's first significant trip and flight without us. This morning, Brett's mom, Nicole, drove them to the airport. Then, TSA Cares ensured they made it through security without incident. No groping was involved. Jayed and Brett arrived in Chicago before 1:20 our time. For the next five days, Jackson and I are empty nesters. Have a blast, my ...

  Superior Mesenteric Artery Syndrome, to the majority of the world these are merely four random words put together, having no significant meaning. To our family, these words are anything but random or meaningless. These words have taken us on a journey of discovery, fear, anxiety, relief, and sadness. Today is SMAS Awareness Day. It is the day where I wish I did not need to explain the purpose of wearing purple. It is the day when I wish the same wish as the other 364 days of the year - that no one else needlessly suffers from this disease and the ignorance that surrounds it.                                                Though no two journeys are the same, I would like to share with you the necessity of SMAS awareness day. This is a glimpse into Jayde's journey. Since her diagnosis almost three years ago, Jayde-Rhiannon and I have cried a river of tears togethe...

  I am beyond grateful to have my sister, mom, aunt, and mother-in-law's constant contact and their help behind the scenes, being my pillars, supporting me so that I can better support Jayde. It truly does take a village, and these women are my tribe. I know my post from last night was not easy to read. It was challenging to write and share. Yesterday was mentally and emotionally messy. Sometimes, you need to create more chaos to clean up the original mess. Jayde is still struggling to process everything happening inside her body right now, but she is mentally doing somewhat better. Witnessing lifeline helicopters flying in and out at all hours of the day and night helps keep her current circumstances in perspective. Regardless, we know she is where she needs to be to receive the best possible care. To help everyone following Jayde-Rhiannon's journey better understand how we arrived here, she has lost twenty-four pounds in the last several months. In hindsight, it probably st...

  *Update from the 10th floor* From the windows of the 10 th  floor, I watch from above as the world continues to turn. People are living their lives, and I continue wishing that, against all odds, my daughter was one of those people. How do you help someone who is losing the desire to help themselves? How do you force someone to continue to fight when they have fought so hard, for so long, that the fight is all they can now remember. In healthcare, there can be no shortcuts. It is a long, exhausting road. Today, this is where we are. A hospital is the last place any parent wants to be with their child. I want to see my daughter dressed like a princess, going off to her senior prom. I want to see her driving off, feeling butterflies, because she is finally driving. I want to watch her walk across a stage and be handed her diploma. Covid did not postpone these events in her life. POTS, EDS, and SMAS have stolen these milestones from her past and her present and...

Another Update from the 10th floor Covid has eerily slowed the pace, yet the smells, sights, sounds, and walls are all too familiar. The body remembers what the mind attempts to bury. The memories prompt an unnerving yet comforting feeling. I believe Jayde will receive the best possible care in this building, though, after years of fighting an apathetic medical system, my guard is impenetrable. Early in the day on Saturday, Chris, Jayde-Rhiannon, and I were having an emotional conversation. Jayde has not been doing well since last Fall. Every bit of weight she gained after her SMAS surgery, and then some, is gone. Her heart rate, which was once stabilized by her medication, bounces from 55 to 185. The pain she encounters every day has become unmanageable, even with medication. Now weighing 88 pounds and feeling relatively weak, she relays she feels guilty that I still need to take care of her. I responded, "I am your mom. This is what I do. You have NOTHING to feel guilty abou...

 Yesterday was Jayde's first in-home IV therapy. Arriving to this day was not without its share of roadblocks, frustration, and chaos. I think what infuriated me the most was that our insurance covers 100% of everything. We have very minimal copays and exceptional prescription coverage. Yes, I know how fortunate we are. Since Jayde became ill, I am grateful every single day for Chris taking a job that we were not sure he should take. Yet, with 100% coverage, I still had to spar with several individuals, including the president of the Wellspan VNA. Our medical supplies person told me yesterday, "You are one badass lady." I laughed and replied, "I make no apologies for being a Momma Bear." What he said next left me saddened, "Yeah, but most parents would have just given up." My following response will clarify the sadness, "I can't give up because that would mean giving up on her, and that is not an option." A few days ago, I discussed healt...

  When Jayde was a baby, Chris thought pink was too basic a color for her. His favorite color to dress her in was a beautiful shade of lilac. Who knew then that the color purple would become so symbolic? It has been a challenging year in the SMAS community. We've seen too many warriors succumb to this disease. Each death is a stark reminder of the anguish this illness can inflict on its patients and their families. A few days ago, I was candidly discussing the severity of Jayde’s health with my mother. I explained my latest concerns over the two types of SMAS – acute and chronic. The long-term prognosis for acute SMAS is far better than that of the chronic type, which Jayde has. Acute SMAS is a sudden onset from a dramatic weight loss due to illness, surgery, or injury. This type generally responds better to conservative therapies or surgery and, in time, heals. Chronic SMAS is a long-term form, usually diagnosed once the symptoms are too severe to be ignored by doctors and sad...

  This photo was taken yesterday afternoon before Jayde's doctor's appointment.  As always, we have been trying to steal every happy moment possible, even though they have become few and far between. I mark my calendar with each new episode, wishing I could erase that particular day. Last night was Jayde's fifth SMAS episode in thirty-six days. Denying the obvious is no longer an option for any of us. The short-lived reprieve from her illness was a blessing and a curse. She is angry, frustrated, afraid, sad, and on the verge of giving up as she exclaims, "I don't want to live like this. This is not living!" She is right. She has experienced a brief taste of what her life should be like and desperately wants it back. I hold onto her as I hold back my tears, "It is understandable for you to feel hopeless, but know I will never give up on you. I will never give up hope." Next Friday, Jayde will have multiple scans performed to see what has changed. Th...

There is no rhyme or reason. It is 4 A.M, and I sit on the floor beside her, rubbing her back. Except for just being here, I am helpless to make any real difference at the moment. I am the best friend who holds back her hair, except this is not from some stupid self-inflicted debauchery. This is her life. She has chosen to make her bed on the floor. I contemplate doing the same to be closer to her. The regular companions snuggle in around her. They are familiar with what the sounds mean. She is finally asleep in her bed. I check on her one last time. I pull the blankets up to my chin. It is now 7:20. Jayde's bathroom and trash can are once again clean—hopefully, for the final time. The laundry from the night's episode lies in the hallway. It can wait until later. Chris is peacefully asleep. I envy my sweet husband's ability to sleep/snore through anything. The episodes are becoming more frequent. The respite we enjoyed for a year seems like a distant memory. She has started...

 As I observe my little sister, a combination of adoration and envy washes over me. After an evening of floating in our pool, my nephew is peacefully sleeping in her arms. You can sense his pleasant contentment without worry or concern. I glance at Jayde, fondly remembering those days. Recalling the moments when her only care in the world was driving her Barbie car around our back yard.  When our children are young, we hold onto them simply because we can. Letting go is a gradual process. I remember the ritual with Brady. Now, Jayde is on the verge of eighteen, I find it difficult to believe this is where we are in our journey with her. I realize baby steps are necessary at this juncture. Not just for me but also for her. Last weekend, she slept over at a friend's house. A milestone in many ways. Around 11:30, I received a text, "I miss you." When she arrived home Sunday afternoon, I received a hug, and an "I missed you" whispered in my ear. It felt good to be m...

 Age brings wisdom, and with this wisdom, I have learned, "The pen is mightier than the sword." It is also much more cathartic. Unless the day falls on a holiday or special event, we have made Thursday Jayde's therapy day. It has been the one weapon in her arsenal of treatment that helps her survive week to week. Two weeks ago, we endured a rather unpleasant experience during Jayde's IV therapy session. The three of us departed the hospital feeling angry, frustrated, and with an overwhelming sense of concern. These are never good emotions when receiving healthcare. I decided to send the following letter to the hospital's care team. Upon returning last week, Jayde was treated like the princess Chris and I consider her to be. I can only hope this will continue in the future. "In the world of chronic illnesses, especially the invisible type, you become conditioned to doctors not listening or rather not hearing you. We are years past the random testing and misdia...

Today is port surgery day, and right on schedule, our nerves are on edge. Still, laughter rings through the air between the three of us. We depart on schedule. Unfortunately, traffic is a disaster in our sleepy little town. An accident on the interstate means someone will not be arriving home today, putting everything in perspective. We arrived at Hopkins a few minutes late. Chris realizes he forgot his wallet, which means he has no driver's license for his ID badge. Thankfully, we have been here. We have done this routine before, and they still have his credentials. The three of us sit in the family surgical room. Since our last visit here nine months ago, the only thing that has changed is the faces of the strangers surrounding us. We get settled into the pre-op area. Vitals are needed, and labs are completed. My signature, allowing everyone to treat our Baby Girl, has been signed several times. Jayde's nurses quickly discover why her surgery is necessary, as they have diffic...

She is graciously composed. Inside, dying to scream at someone. Anyone. The entire world. Her misty eyes speak a thousand words. Words only I can hear. Though she is hesitant, she is learning to speak out, allowing her voice to empower her. When she cannot, I am her voice. I am her advocate. There is nothing I would not do to remove her pain and the torture of the many tiny needles. The nurses fully adopt the mantra, if at first you don't succeed try, try again. It's time to bring in the backup nurses. This is where I pointedly remind my seventeen-year-old, in front of the frustrated crew assembled before her, "This is YOUR body. Only you get to decide when you've had enough." Today, it only took three nurses to progress. This is why an IV team is necessary. It will not be long before clouds of blue and purple reach the surface of her translucent skin, another blunt reminder of her body's inadequacy. She stares out into nothing as the music plays on. For today...