Showing posts with label von Hippel Lindau. Show all posts
Showing posts with label von Hippel Lindau. Show all posts

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Shop for a Cause!

I've been neglecting my fundraising duties...and I feel horrible about that!

We didn't plan a pancake breakfast this past May because we thought Steven would be having brain surgery...good reason...but still I felt a bit very bad. I thought we could do a breakfast in December, when he is home, but now I've decided, in light of my recent health issues, to skip that also. Again...good reason...but I feel a bit very bad that we aren't helping fund the cure.


Imagine my pure delight when I realized that we can still work together to find a cure for my sweet son.

This coming Saturday (August 27) you can "Shop for a Cure" at Macy's! All that you need to do is contact me, or the VHLFA, for a "saving/shopping pass" (purchased for a mere $5), and then you shop!

And save 25% all day long!
On regular, sale and clearance items!
Oh the joy!

The best part...100% of your $5 saving/shopping pass will benefit our mission!


Thursday, August 04, 2011

News from Building 10

The Good News

The cyst is the same as it was last May with Dr. V.

It's just a small blimp at the bottom edge of the brainstem tumor.

The Bad News

We didn't get to see the famous Dr. L. In fact, even when things are moving and shaking and looking surgery-bound in my sweet boys brain, we've never seen Dr. L.

We also didn't get to see the fellow until 12:05. (I understand waiting patiently...but we are also on a shuttle/plane schedule!)

I did quickly ask, as the fellow quickly assessed my sweet son's neuro function, if this has ever been seen before with VHL brain cysts, and it hasn't. I was also able to quickly ask if the fellow had an explanation for the disappearing cyst, and he said, "The cyst might have ruptured."

And then we left!

If I hear "we don't know" even one more time...
I'll explode.

Tuesday, August 02, 2011

We Leave Tomorrow Morning

We're NIH bound in the morning, via the Baltimore airport and the lovely NIH shuttle service.

Steven's itinerary for tomorrow includes phlebotomy, a nice dinner of his choice, and a very late MRI.

Thursday morning we'll see the brilliant doctors in neurosurgery and try to reach some conclusions about this missing cyst. I plan on seeing the most scans and seeking answers.

We'll be home late Thursday evening.

Saturday, May 14, 2011

Nothing

...but a missing cyst and clandestine plans...




Missing Cysts

Last December, during a routine scan here at home, a cyst was seen in my sweet son's brain, attached to a tumor and snuggled against the brain stem.

In late December Steven started an oral prescription medication for hair loss.

In February the cyst and accompanying hiccups were noted by the brilliant doctors at the NIH. These doctors, who study VHL more intensely than anyone else, suggested immediate surgery. My sweet son, because he was in the middle of the last semester of college and didn't want to ruin his plans for an August start at law school, asked if the surgery to remove this tumor could wait until May.

After a long and convoluted conversation about symptoms, dangers, and outcomes, all agreed that Steven would wait until May, return to the NIH, have this nasty tumor removed, and start law school without any hiccups or VHL worries.

On the way home I began talking to my sweet son about the importance of keeping his local neurosurgeon advised of these plans. So Steven made an appointment with this Dr in mid-March, and I accompanied him.

Dr. V saw the cyst, commented on symptoms, and asked why the drs at the NIH would recommend surgery when the only symptom is hiccups. We explained what the good drs at the NIH told us. To the best of our muddled understanding, the drs at the NIH are finding that brain stem tumors almost always need to be removed, that beginning symptoms are a precursor to horrible side-effects of the tumor, and that they feel now that it's better to remove these tumors before the horrible side effects occur, as swallowing problems, numbness in limbs, and constant nausea don't always cease after surgery.

Dr. V listened intently, nodded his head a few times, and told Steven to re-scan in May and come back to see him.

Which bring us to the most recent scan of my sweet son's battled brain.

The cyst has all but disappeared.

No miracles, folks, as a miracle would mean that the cyst had completely disappeared. A miracle to us would be a brain free of disease or a gene that corrected itself. A miracle would be a drug that prevented further surgeries.

This is just a cyst that has followed a path not seen in VHL and diminished to a size that is barely visible.

After looking at the recent scans, that were sent overnight to the NIH, a resident dr working in neurosurgery at the NIH phoned my sweet son. This dr mentioned that the difference in the cyst doesn't appear to simply be a different cut of the MRI machine. This dr asked Steven if he has had radiation to that tumor, in an attempt to explain this finding. Steven, of course, replied "no", but he did mention this medication for hair loss that he's been taking since late December. The resident told my sweet son that his scans would be reviewed the next day by the lead drs in VHL studies at the NIH. The next day, in a flurry of missed calls and email correspondences, Steven was told that VHL brain cysts don't simply disappear or diminish significantly in size. He was also told that these drs won't answer any questions about what could make this cyst diminish so brilliantly until his next appointment in August, because cysts attached to tumors in the brain of a VHL patient simply don't diminish significantly. These doctors also deferred to Dr. V in regards to surgery plans. Dr. V, of course, doesn't see surgery as an option now. He would prefer to watch this tumor closely and be informed of the next MRI from the NIH. This MRI will happen in August.

August is also when my sweet son starts law school.

My son, to say the least, is frustrated. He's frustrated because his plans for this summer, including a meaningful internship that he had to pass up and exciting travels that couldn't happen, were cancelled, based on a brain surgery that was all but written in the books. He's abundantly frustrated that even the most brilliant drs in this field don't have answers for him. He is most frustrated that he's now expected to start law school with what we consider a very unstable tumor.

And we, by association, are frustrated.

Clandestine Plans

I teased a bit back in late December, amid the tears and disbelief that accompany a bad scan, that this prescribed medication that my sweet son was taking to treat hair loss might be the answer to prayers for thousands of VHL patients.

I was simply teasing.

After seeing the latest scan, however, I began thinking about the timeline of the changes in the cyst and the medication, the fact that this medication inhibits the formation of certain male hormones, the common but unproven belief that VHL tumors respond negatively to hormones, and the response from the NIH doctors that VHL brain tumor related cysts don't simply go away on their own.

And I brilliantly decided that the decrease size in the brain stem cyst was directly correlated to the taking of this medication.

And I suggested to my sweet son that we now work on proving causation between the medication and the cyst in the little lab that we like to call "the upper left shelf of the corner kitchen cabinet".

I hope this is the miracle pill.






Monday, May 02, 2011

The Week in Preview

Monday: Go to work, pick up my girl at school, stop by the grocery store, cook dinner, wash dishes, do a load of laundry.

Tuesday: Go to work, run home and warm the left-overs, wash dishes, attend a school affair, do a load of laundry.

Wednesday: Go to work, pick up my girl from school, run to the university and see my son for a few minutes, pick up dinner, eat dinner, wash dishes, do a load of laundry.

Thursday:
Attend the graduation ceremonies of my oldest son,
celebrate,
savor the memories,
acknowledge his accomplishments,
appreciate the sweetness of this semester,
shed a few tears and use a few tissues.

Friday
: Go to work, bask in the beauty of grace, pick up my girl from school, shed a few happy tears, stop by the grocery store, bask again, cook dinner, shed a few more tears, wash dishes, do a load of laundry, bask in the beauty of grace one more time, watch a movie, fall asleep at peace.

Thursday, February 03, 2011

Preliminary Report

It looks as if
my sweet son
will not be
running with the bulls
this summer.

Wednesday, February 02, 2011

Against All Odds

Against all odds
my sweet son and I
flew on two different airlines,
into two different states,
at very different times of day,
and we both arrived on time!

Against all odds,
the DC airports seem to be covered
with a small pocket of tepid air
that is surrounded
by a maelstrom of ice, snow and sleet!

Steven has an early MRI in the morning,
followed by a visit the next day
with the brilliant neurosurgeons,
who will help us make plans
to allow Steven
to
dream his dreams,
and
live his life
against
all
odds.

Thursday, December 23, 2010

Yearly MRI

Steven had his brain MRI and follow-up visit with Dr. V. last Tuesday. At his preference, I sat in the waiting room.

Dr. V. reported that the tumors in Steven's brain are stable, with some slight growth in a few tumors in the cerebellum.

I peeked at the MRI disc after we returned home.

I see a much dreaded cyst attached to the brainstem tumor. This is a new, and bad, development.

He's headed back to NIH in early February. We'll know more then.

Saturday, October 23, 2010

Scary

...brought to you by the month of October...

My sweet boy wants to be Paul Bunyan for our Halloween jaunt through the neighborhood.

And while the thought of Steven dressing like a mythological lumberjack who befriends a blue ox doesn't pariticularly frighten me, the beard that he had to grow to complete the look is totally!
Freaking!
Me!
Out!

...brought to you by the world of VHL...

The small VHL tumor that was discovered on Steven's retina this past summer is now showing signs of growth and needs to be treated. My sweet son will have laser sugery, though we really are hesitant to refer to this incisionless and stitches-free treatment as surgery, on his eye this coming Monday.

While we're confident that this treatment will stop the tumor growth and prevent the loss of vision that so often happens in VHL warriors, we feel so much for our sweet son it hurts.



Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Words Heard

in the world of VHL

"I'm not sure if I'm a

maniac mother

or just my child's advocate."



This mother understands my insanity.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

File this Under ...

...tough.

This summer has been tough for my sweet son. In ways that I expected but perhaps he has never digested, the disease continues to work it's way through his body as he ages.

While my sweet son handled the news of the epididymal cystadenomas with his usual grace, the realization that his retinas are no longer disease free hit him with a punch.

File this under...

...lessons.

As we absorbed the news over brunch, Steven broached the subject of this blog and my lack of recent writing. I reminded him that I'm often uncomfortable writing about his life as he finds his wings, and that I prefer to err on the side of being cautious.

But that difficult mornign he asked me to write.

A book.

About this journey.

I told him that I wouldn't be able to tether my stories to decency and carefulness if the memories were to be true.

He agreed.

I told Steven that I would have to write about often wishing he had been diagnosed with a different disease.

He agreed.

I told Steven that I wouldn't be able to tell this story without describing how now I'm not afraid of anything because I'm fearful of everything.

He agreed.

I told Steven that I would probably lose some friends when I described that comparing Steven's illness to sinus infections sends me over the edge.

He agreed.

I reminded Steven that this story would have to be honest and true.

He agreed.

And I my sweet son that he has so many lessons to share with the world.

He agreed.

Monday, March 29, 2010

The Facts, and More!

The Facts


We're planning our third pancake breakfast fundraiser to cure von Hippel Lindau disease.

Saturday, May 22nd, 2010.



Cure Steven
Cure VHL
Cure Kidney Cancer


More!

I always hesitate with fundraising for the cure for this disease. As passionate as I feel about this,
various and sundry thoughts keep me from committing until the last moment.

But it needs to be done...that's a fact.



More Facts

In six months, a year or maybe two, this rocky economic time will be at the back of everyone's mind as a very bad period of their financial lives.

In six months, a year and definitely two, my sweet boy will still have a life-threatening disease that causes cancer and more.

And at that period of time when everyone has recovered their funds and all are looking toward a brighter future, we will still need a cure for von Hippel Lindau disease.


Please join us for pancakes
Please celebrate a cure with us.

More info to come!

Monday, March 01, 2010

The Lustrum

Five years is a long time,

The passing of 1825 days, however, hasn't diminished my memories. Sights, sounds, even odors familiar from Steven's first hospital stay can still cause my stomach to turn, my eyes to tear, my heart to break.

and so much has changed.

Steven was a high school sophomore when he had his first brain surgery. He's now a college junior, of legal age, making plans for graduate studies.

My Mary was just in second grade when Steven was first diagnosed with this disease. She's now a teenaged, clothes loving, mall walking, boy watching, texting fiend.

I've aged.

We've had the opportunity to attend two VHLFA conferences and learn more about VGEF, HIF, genes and cells, processes and proteins. We've also been blessed by meeting many kindred spirits fighting the same fight.

I've had the chance to become more involved in the family alliance, at a local level, and now lunch with several VHL warriors monthly.

We raised funds and raised awareness for the first time ever.

But because some things haven't changed,

This disease carries on in its own insidious way in my sweet boy. His two small benign brain tumors have turned into eight tumors in the cerebellum/brain stem area and four in the spine. His pancreas is now muddled with cysts of varying sizes, and his kidneys now also show signs of the disease.

One small and crafty gene continues a path of destruction.

And my sweet son remains unbowed
with his grace,
and his determination,
and his sweet, sweet spirit.

we need to remember the past

That first night home, after settling Steven in bed and checking both the incision at the back of his head and the small sutured spot on his upper leg, I sat at the computer and researched hemangioblastomas. I read statistics that not only clinically diagnosed my son with von Hippel Lindau disease but also wanted to cut his life in half.

I'll never forget those printed words...how they looked, how they sounded, how they felt.

Those few simple words were a catalyst.

while we reach for the future.

Words of pain can also promote great change, change beyond our wildest imaginations. We now know truths that only the privileged know. We understand that another breath is a miracle, and we know that life is made of moments.

And we know and believe that
with a bit more research
and lots of faith,
a cure will be found.
Our sweet son
must have the privilege
of living this good life
filled with hope
.



Thursday, December 17, 2009

Superhero


Sweetly handsome college kid by day...



disease bearing tumor fighter by night
.

Actually this sweetly handsome college kid fights disease during the day too...all day long, every day. He spent the better part of four hours in the MRI tube this morning, checking the many tumors in his brain the the few in his spine. My guess is that all tumors are stable, judging by the lack of new symptoms, but we'll wait until next Tuesday for the final word from the good Dr. V.

Sunday, December 06, 2009

Sometimes

Sometimes
I see friends' children who are 16 years old,
and I realize what a fearful, gut-wrenching year that was in my sweet son's life.

Sometimes
it just hits me,
and it takes my breath away.

Sometimes
I meet a child who is a sophomore in high school,
and I realize that was the year my sweet son's life changed forever.

And sometimes
it just hits me,
and it takes my breath away.

Sometimes
this is tough.

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Thankful

Enough

Give thanks in all circumstances.
1 Thessalonians 5:18

Give thanks always?
And in every situation?

Even when
You are settling in a new land?
And you are scared?
And the winter winds blow through the cracks?
And famine is unrelenting?
And disease is destroying your dreams?

Give thanks in all circumstances.

Give thanks always?
And in every situation?

Even when
The CT scan is ominous?
And the MRI is worse?
And surgery is unsuccessul?
And the diagnosis shattering?
And there is no cure?

Give thanks in all circumstances.

For thankfulness leads to
Joy.
And joy leads to
Hope.

Hope is all we need.

Hope is
Enough.



Thoughts from November 2006,
still true today.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Today

Today...

...I poked and prodded my little girl out of her sleepy dreams.

...I laundered many pieces of clothing.

...I shopped for various goods still needed for our feast.


Today...

...I waited patiently in a waiting room.

...I received a great biopsy report.

...I bought numerous bottles of sunscreen.

Today...

...I lunched with friends, new and old.

...I had the opportunity to talk "VHL" for over two hours!

...I dried many tears on my drive home.

Today
was special
.

Friday, August 14, 2009

Status Quo

Steven was given another nice reprieve at the clinic Thursday morning. The good doctor declared all tumors stable. While he did mention some possible small growth again in the the brain stem tumor, Dr. G was also reassuring in telling Steven that his brain basically looks the same as it did in February.

Building 10, NIH

While thrilled to be living the status quo, this clinic visit was a bit odd. Steven's MRI was late into the evening, and Building 10 was eerily quiet. The MRI and clinic days aren't on the standard TH/F anymore! The clinic itself had moved several floors. And we didn't see any familiar "vhl" faces in the waiting room this time!

It's funny how the smallest changes can throw us off!

Waiting for my sweet boy...

The protocol nurse was able to explain away most of our restless thoughts, as the clinic had simply changed days and needed to change floors to accommodate this new time. When we laughed about being worried that Steven was being phased out of the study, this wonderful nurse did remind Steven that this study will not be forever, and that it has nearly run it's course.

The expected time frame, for now, is another year of biannual visits followed by several years of yearly visits.

Then the study concerning the natural progression of VHL tumors in the central nervous system will be complete, and my sweet boy will again be at a crossroads in the care of his diseased body.

He may decide that it is time to look for a study that treats VHL with chemical agents.

He may simply get lucky if this present study can again be extended.

He most likely will have to rely on a team of local doctors.

He will, without a doubt, need to hope and pray that this country starts finding the status quo unacceptable.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

World Travelers

We're headed back tomorrow

to the house of healing,

Bulletin board at the Chilren's Inn, NIH

and though we haven't truly

traveled the world this summer,

it starting to feel that way.

Friday, August 07, 2009

A Tough One

While struggling to write a newsletter article about Steven's diagnosis, I was forced to re-live those early, emotional days of Steven's illness. Those days were tough.

Writing about them was even harder.

But here it is.

Diary of a Diagnosis

Steven began complaining of dizziness in December, 2004. I tended to ignore his complaints, as he seemed to be a very healthy boy, and I assured Steven that he would feel better if he slept more and drank more water. However his father, Dale, decided that further investigation was needed, and he took Steven to the pediatrician in January of 2005. Through various tests done that day, it was discovered that Steven had a lesion in his cerebellum that was likely vascular in nature. MRIs were done and neurosurgeon appointments were scheduled.

With one office visit, Steven’s life was literally thrown into a world of unknowns.


Our first trip to the neurosurgeons office prompted more questions than answers. The doctor alluded several times to two genetic illnesses, neurofibromatosis and tuberous sclerosis, that could be responsible for the two small lesions seen in Steven’s brain. However neither MRI results, nor the findings on Steven’s physical exam, nor our answers to the many questions provided a clear path for diagnosis. The only firm answers that we received to our many questions that day were that Steven was neither to play soccer nor drive until the doctor had a better idea of what was causing these lesions.

The neurosurgeon kept the MRI films to confer with the radiologist at the children’s hospital. The recommendation from the radiologist was that Steven’s spine and kidneys should be scanned. The radiologist was looking for more tumors, indicating a different genetic disease, von Hippel Lindau syndrome, as a possible diagnosis. These further scans came back negative for tumors. At the follow-up visit, the neurosurgeon indicated Steven most likely did not have von Hippel Lindau disease. She also reaffirmed that she was 90% sure that these lesions were benign tumors. However without a biopsy she could not tell us the nature of these lesions and associated edema. We opted for a definitive answer, and a biopsy with possible tumor resection was scheduled for February, 2005.

The surgery proceeded without any complications. The results, however, were surprising. The neurosurgeon met us in the family waiting room with the news that while she saw tortuous and unusual vascular structures in Steven’s brain, there was no tumor to be found. Though I couldn’t believe the news, she felt that the lesions on Steven’s MRI films would be consistent with these odd, serpentine vessels. We met Steven in the PICU and had to share with him that this horrible surgery did not go as planned and tumors were not removed.

Our sweet boy was now living in a world of inconceivable.

At this point the radiologist who had originally looked into but discounted von Hippel Lindau disease as a possible diagnosis felt that a cerebral angiogram was an appropriate next step in solving the mystery of these lesions. This too was done at the children’s hospital, and while Steven was being tended to after the brief procedure, the radiologist discussed the findings with me. He described two areas of “blush stain” on the angiogram that indicated that the lesions were small tumors called hemangioblastomas.

That evening I immediately began researching hemangioblastomas. I learned that the unusual tortuous vessels that the neurosurgeon viewed in Steven’s brain were associated with hemangioblastomas. More upsetting, however, was the mention in an article that the presence of multiple hemangioblastomas was indicative of a clinical diagnosis of von Hippel Lindau disease. That evening I read of the devastation of VHL for the first time.

That night the struggles that Steven would face in this new life seemed insurmountable.

The next three months were spent filling our time with visits to the pediatrician, conferring with an ophthalmologist, submitting blood and urine samples, and scheduling a second opinion with a different neurosurgeon while we waited for the most important visit to the geneticist. The genetic counselor and the geneticist reiterated the information that I had read weeks earlier. The discussion revolved around tumors and genetics, surgeries and statistics. And while the doctors never mentioned life-expectancy, I knew from my son’s questions that day that he too had picked up a bit of information from the internet. Blood was drawn and sent away, and we left with still a bit of hope that the two hemangioblastomas could simply be a bit of bad luck, a chance occurrence.

The final answer was delivered on May 11, 2005 when the results from genetic testing showed a deletion of three bases from the VHL gene.

Our sweet, brave son’s life changed forever to incurable.

Sometime during those early days of diagnosis, I realized that Steven was in for a long and arduous battle for his life. I also knew that how he chose to fight this battle was nearly as important as the outcome itself. I did not want Steven to live an unknown, inconceivable, insurmountable life with an incurable disease. I wanted Steven to face the impossible with hope. I wanted Steven to live a beautiful life in the face of a monstrous disease.

That he has.

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