Exquisite Goods

Category: Health & Fitness Resources

  • More Than a Headache – A Warrior’s Poem

    More Than a Headache – A Warrior’s Poem

    It started with a headache,
    But it didn’t go away.
    Soon I would find out
    That it was here to stay.

    They all say, ‘the sun’s out,
    go out and get some air!’
    But my wobbly legs ache,
    not to mention every strand of my hair.

    Every Doctor says, ‘You look just fine!
    It must be stress. Just get some rest.
    Here’s more meds to try to help,
    And we’ll run a bunch of tests.’

    As time went on and
    the headaches got worse,
    No meds would work
    This felt like a curse.

    I couldn’t work.
    I couldn’t clean.
    I couldn’t cook.
    Still not knowing what this means.

    I wouldn’t give up
    Until I knew what was wrong.
    It’s a Chiari Malformation,
    So you must stay strong.

    So, I have a malformation
    In the back of my head.
    There isn’t a cure
    So I plead and I plead.

    Please take this away
    And I promise I’ll be the best.
    I want to live my life
    Please just run some more tests.

    “Brain surgery may help you
    But it’s not a guarantee.
    We will remove part of your skull
    And you should be headache free.”

    As I walked into surgery
    I felt a sense of peace.
    I just knew I would be better
    And it put my mind at ease.

    Two surgeries later
    And my symptoms are still here.
    There’s no more options or treatments
    And my pain won’t disappear.

    My new life is different
    And not what I had planned.
    I still don’t know my purpose
    And I don’t know where I stand.

    One day at a time.
    That’s all I can endure.
    So I’ll keep raising awareness
    Until Chiari Malformation has a cure.

  • A Mother’s Story

    A Mother’s Story

    Today is 11th April, 2019. Spring is in the air, yet I struggle to appreciate its presence. My daughters are at school, my son is at home in bed yet again. Like so many other days he is unable to get up. My son is 19 years old and looks just like any other 19 year old. You would never guess that this 19 year old is fighting a tremendously unfair battle every single day and has done so for several years.

    Let me rewind.

    My son was around 9 years old when he first complained of a lack of feeling on his right side and regular headaches. Doctors in Ireland, where we were living at the time, told him to drink more fluids after his daily soccer practice and put the numbness down to a trapped nerve. When he was 14 years old and living in Canada, he was told exactly the same by doctors there. However, when I finally insisted on him being referred to a neurologist, this very neurologist laughed at my son for wasting his time. He was told that it was all in his head. I vividly remember telling him off myself in the carpark on our way home.

    I also remember being disappointed about his worsening school reports, blaming the onset of teenage years for his inability to concentrate and retain information. Blurred vision was also dismissed when his eye test came back just fine. Doctors didn’t grow concerned until he was 16 years old and living in France when a routine soccer medical check-up showed a sudden scoliosis deterioration from 8 degrees to 40 degrees. Subsequent MRIs showed Chiari Malformation (CM) with extensive Syringomyelia.

    Neurosurgeons were quick to reassure him that all should be fine after a decompression surgery. Nevertheless, I spent hours researching these unknown rare conditions and found two experienced neurosurgeons, one in England and one in Belgium, for second opinions. Whereas surgeons in France took a more traditional approach and talked about inserting a shunt, both these surgeons warned strongly against this and so we made the decision to go to Belgium for the surgery. We felt well informed and were full of hope when my son embarked on his healing process 3 years ago.

    Let me tell you where we are now.

    Doctors in Europe tell us that my son is one of the unlucky few as his health has drastically deteriorated. Scar tissue has attached itself to his brain tonsils but that only explains part of his deteriorated health. So I embarked on a mission to get to the bottom of these problems. Surely there was hope to be found in the health system in France, one of the best in the world! After countless appointments with multiple health professionals, we were dumbfounded by the complete lack of understanding, knowledge and pure arrogance in relation to CM and its associated conditions, which resulted in my son’s mental health being questioned yet again.

    I started carrying out my own research, which clarified the distinct link between brain disorders and compromised immune/digestive systems. Whereas his doctors are reluctant to make that link, the evidence is clear. 18 months after surgery, my son got struck down by glandular fever. Again, we were hopeful that this would only be a temporary setback. Today however, my son suffers from chronic fatigue syndrome as well as dysautonomia.

    At our wits end last summer, we turned to a hospital in the United States that specialized in Chiari Malformation. Our first consultation with its Managing Director turned out to be an eye opener. This neurosurgeon could literally finish our sentences. My son was finally understood. It turns out that doctors in Europe had failed to diagnose another condition, Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS), which caused craniocervical instability. This in itself can be a debilitating condition but the combination of craniocervical instability with brain decompression surgery can be a death sentence. He further explained that such patients are deemed to benefit from Occipitocervical Fixation (OC) Fusion surgery. However, this surgery has not yet received the green light for these conditions from Health Services in Europe.

    Armed with a diagnosis of Complex Chiari, we faithfully returned to my son’s French doctors, only to be met, yet again, by a lack of understanding. My request for an upright flexion/extension MRI was seen as outlandish and peculiar. Turns out, an upright MRI is not yet available in France. Instead they still rely on flexion/extension X-ray images which fail to adequately detect craniocervical instability.

    In recent discussions, our son’s Belgian neurosurgeon cautiously recognizes the link between CM and EDS. However, as these studies are in their infancy in Europe, doctors still carry out decompression surgeries without checking for EDS. He also questions the durability of an OC Fusion but agrees that much more extensive research needs to be carried out in Europe and that my son is extremely unfortunate this hasn’t happened yet.

    So where does this leave my son? In the land of limbo. Knowing that Europe is trailing some 10 years behind the States in this field. France, with its inherent reluctance to change, probably closer to 15 years. School is no longer an option for my son as his brain fog and memory loss have become more and more of a problem, his fatigue too debilitating and his headaches too frequent.

    We are tired of fighting the system, tired from having to spell out the name of his conditions to health professionals, tired of being misunderstood. There are days I avoid going out as I don’t want to answer people’s well-meant questions. There are days I am ashamed of the anger that wells up inside me when friends air their worries about their children’s school results. There are days I feel like I am being punched in the stomach when I see his friends play a soccer match. People tell me I am strong. I don’t agree. I wish I had been strong all those years ago and believed my son over his doctors.

    My son is my hero. My son is a fighter. My son has generally done what health professionals told him to do, taken every medication health professionals told him to take, followed the advice health professionals told him to take, yet the system continues to let him down. When I look into my son’s eyes, I still see this steadfast determination but I now also see pain and disillusionment. My son believed me when I told him we would overcome this together. My son believed me when I told him the worst would be over soon. My son doesn’t believe me anymore. I feel that I have failed him.

    Complex Chiari diagnosed so late is a life sentence. It has brought pain, sadness and isolation, not only to my son but to my entire family. My husband and I are learning to compartmentalize, enjoy moments. We live in hope that our son’s better periods will begin to lengthen and pick ourselves up every time these come to an abrupt end. We have to. We owe it, not only to our son but to our daughters too.

    We continue our journey through the unknown, thankful for the sources of information coming from the United States, usually met with skepticism and resistance by French health professionals. However, one thing I have learned from our journey so far is that we cannot fight these conditions and health services alone. Surely there must be more people out there in Europe. Surely, as a group we can start making a difference. Let’s unite! Let’s educate! Let’s raise awareness! Our children deserve so much better! Our children deserve to be heard, supported, and at the very least, understood!

  • Walnut-Crusted Chicken Salad with Blueberry Balsamic Vinaigrette – “Anti-Inflammatory”

    Walnut-Crusted Chicken Salad with Blueberry Balsamic Vinaigrette – “Anti-Inflammatory”

     

    INGREDIENTS:

    Blueberry Balsamic Vinaigrette:

      • ½ cup fresh blueberries
      • ¼ cup aged balsamic vinegar
      • 2 teaspoons honey
      • ¼ cup avocado oil or light olive oil
      • ¼ tsp sea salt
      • ¼ tsp ground black pepper
      • ¼ teaspoon onion powder
      • ½ tablespoon whole grain Dijon mustard

    Walnut-Crusted Chicken:

      • 2 cups walnuts
      • ½ tsp onion powder
      • ½ tsp garlic powder
      • ½ tsp sea salt
      • ½ tsp ground black pepper
      • 2 eggs, whisked with 1 T water
      • 2 large boneless, skinless chicken breasts
      • 2 TBSP olive, coconut or avocado oil

    Salad:

      • 2 cups kale, washed, ribs removed, and roughly chopped
      • 4 cups 50/50 Spinach/Spring Mix salad greens
      • 8 radishes, thinly sliced
      • ½ cucumber, sliced into half moons
      • ¼ red onion, thinly sliced
      • ½ cup fresh blueberries
      • 1 medium carrot, shaved with a vegetable peeler or grated with a cheese grater
      • 1 medium avocado, sliced

    DIRECTIONS:

    In a blender, combine all dressing ingredients. Blend on high speed about 20 seconds, or until dressing is smooth and emulsified. Taste dressing and add more honey if it is too tart. The sweetness may vary depending upon the ripeness of your blueberries and the quality of your balsamic vinegar. Set aside at room temperature.

    Place walnuts in a food processor and pulse until walnuts are ground, resembling course breadcrumbs. Avoid the temptation to leave the food processor on high, as this can result in a nut butter. Mix ground walnuts, onion and garlic powders, salt and pepper in a medium bowl or pie plate. In a separate medium bowl or pie plate, whisk together eggs and water.

    Cut each chicken breast in half by thickness by laying the breast on a cutting board and pressing down on it with the palm of one hand. Using a chef’s knife in your other hand, hold the blade parallel to the cutting board and slice through the thickness of the breast, using a sawing motion. Repeat with the other chicken breast. You should now have four fairly thin chicken cutlets. Pat them dry with a paper towel.

    Heat your chosen cooking oil on medium heat in a large, nonstick skillet. If your skillet is not large enough to accommodate all four cutlets, use half the oil at a time and work in two batches. Dip each cutlet in the egg wash, then the walnut mixture, pressing the walnuts onto the chicken. Place chicken in heated pan and cook approximately 3-4 minutes on each side, until walnut coating is deep golden brown and chicken is cooked through. Remove to a CLEAN cutting board to rest. Allow to rest and cool for five minutes, then cut into ½-inch slices.

    While chicken is resting, assemble your salad, by combining all the ingredients except avocado in a large bowl. Divide the salad into four bowls and top each bowl with a sliced walnut-crusted chicken cutlet and ¼ of the sliced avocado. Drizzle prepared vinaigrette over chicken and salad and serve immediately. Leftover dressing can be stored in the refrigerator, but will be best if you let it return to room temperature before serving.

  • When A Chiari Woman Passes Away

    When A Chiari Woman Passes Away

    When a Chiari woman passes away it changes so much for so many.

    It leaves a hole in the hearts of the Chiari community because, even as dysfunctional as we are sometimes, we know we’re all in this together!

    • We know what it’s like to have conditions that so few understand, including our doctors.
    • We know how humiliating it is to watch our bodies change and our muscles deteriorate as we fight just to hold up our heads, even for just a few hours a day.
    • We know what it’s like to have our symptoms and pain consistently dismissed as psychosomatic.
    • We know what it’s like for doctors to say how easy the surgery will be only to find out that they had no clue of what they were talking about.
    • We know the heartbreak we feel when those we love the most choose to believe our doctors instead of us.
    • We know what it’s like to be told that the surgery cured us, while everything in our heads and necks seemingly rebel in disagreement.
    • We know what it’s like to have to fight for every aspect of our treatment, from imaging to specialist, and still have help denied to us.
    • We know what it’s like to have to find strength through the pain each day and still try and carry on the best that we can for those that we love so much. We long more than anything to get back to who and what we once were. To run and jump and enjoy life with those we love most, but the pain is too overwhelming. The truth is that those times that we did try left us in even more pain; so, we are forced to learn to choose what we do wisely.
    • We know the genetic nature of what we have, even if our doctors don’t, and we all long to figure it all out and fix this very broken medical system that relies on information that is centuries old, before our children and their children are forced to face what we face.
    • We know what it’s like to live in fear of leaving all those we love, as they are our reason for living.

    It leaves a hole in the hearts of her family that should be respected.

    To them she is so much more than a Chiari Woman, she is my wife, my mother, my daughter, my grandma, my sister, my aunt, and the love of my life.

    Chiari didn’t just rob their loved one, it’s robbed the entire family for years.

    They too have longed for what was and often cried behind closed doors for all that likely would never again be.

    Her husband has had days where he was so petrified at the thought of losing her. Sometimes that fear manifested as anger and frustration, but it wasn’t her that he was really mad at; He was mad at the Chiari that was taking his wife from him. He regretted those words from the very minute that he gazed upon her eyes as she heard them. He couldn’t make her forget those words, they pierced her soul too deeply, so he internally committed to just try and show her why he loves her. Despite his frustrations with the situation, he admired this amazingly strong woman who was facing more pain than he could ever understand. He’s cried out to God privately for this soul mate that he committed to so many years ago. He feared losing her and he did not know how he could ever hold everything together like she did, but he had to try because there was so much was on his shoulders. He never talked much about the weight he carried in it all, because he knew what she was facing was already more than she could handle. So, he learned to grieve as silently as he could – to understand what he could, to empathize as he could, to remain as strong for her and the family as best as he could.

    Her children have learned to grieve in silence as well. They learned to face life and all the obstacles they faced without making waves at home. How could they? They saw the pain that flared when things had stressed her in the past. They didn’t want to cause that again. They longed having the mom that they used to have, the mom with the strength to climb every mountain with them, the mom that made every challenge in life seem conquerable. They admired her strength and never understood how they could admire so much in her yet hate the fact that she wasn’t always there for them anymore. Even when she so desperately tried to be there the brain fog often dominated and took over the conversation entirely, this conversation that she probably wouldn’t remember for long. They resented her for it but knew that it wasn’t her fault. Like everyone else that loved her the most, they said so many things that they regretted. They knew that they often came across like they hated her, but the real truth was there was no one in the world that they longed for more. They’ve always hated seeing her in pain, yet her pain served as a constant reminder of the future that they feared in their future. They remember when she told them about the hereditary nature of the genes passed on to them, with tears in her eyes. Would they have what she had? Would they become as symptomatic? Would they have the courage to fight it as valiantly as she did? Should they have children one day? The reasons for concern were endless.

    Depending on when she became symptomatic, her parents have likely spent endless days and nights in hospitals and emergency rooms. They’ve spent years learning all they could and even learned to recite her diagnoses with detailed explanations because they’d became so accustomed to these conditions that so few doctors could pronounce, much less treat. For years they made sure to always have her complete medical chart in hand with official documentation, in case they were challenged by a medical professional or anyone dared to call their daughter “a drug seeker” or “psychosomatic.” They spent countless hours trying to dull the tortuous pain they saw her go through, and spent many more hours researching creative home remedies to give her a sense of relief, even if it was only momentary. There were times they prayed for God to just go ahead and take her, so she wouldn’t be in anymore pain; and then felt guilty for even thinking it. Then one day the screaming stopped, the pain was gone, but with it so went their daughter.

    As Chiarians, we all deal with thoughts of death more than “normal” people and “normal” families. We go from surgery to surgery knowing that this might be the surgery that ends our fight altogether, yet we hold on to hope that it will be the surgery that helps us to be all that we’ve yearned to be once again. Our community has found strength in our unity. As we remember those we’ve lost and face our fears about our morbidity, let us continue to unite to change this for us and our future generations that we love so much.

    *This article is dedicated to all the Chiari Angels and their families, as well as those that are still fighting the fight. Hold your families close; forgive quickly and as often as necessary. We never know how much time we have and we usually never really know how much we’re truly loved until it’s too late.

    **Note: This article was not to leave out all of our valiant Chiari brothers fighting the fight, it was just easier to write from one point of view.

  • My Husband, My Caretaker, My Hero

    My Husband, My Caretaker, My Hero

    Like any marriage, we’ve had our rocky moments. We’ve both showed our ugly sides more than we like to admit. I’m not sure when he changed, but somehow along the way in our 27 years of marriage, my husband morphed into this amazing man who is EXACTLY what I need in every way!

    My husband doesn’t have the same responsibilities that most husbands have. He works full-time to provide for his family and does more than his fair share of household chores. But my husband has a wife with several chronic conditions. He has a wife that has been in some level of pain almost every day for over 18 years! He’s seen me through ten surgeries since we’ve been married, eight of them being in a five-year period. That is enough to exhaust the strongest of men, but exhausted or not he has stood by my side through all of it.

    I first became symptomatic following a car accident. We were both 29 with three young kids (ages 2, 5 and 8). I was initially diagnosed with double whiplash, but when that failed to get better, I was left with no reason for why I couldn’t hold up my head. It felt like my neck lacked the strength to hold up my head for more than an hour at a time and on some days, not even that. To add insult to injury, I went without a diagnosis for over a decade. It couldn’t have been easy to stay by my side when all the doctors were saying that they couldn’t find anything wrong with me.

    Over our decade without answers, I continued to decline. I started having severe cognitive decline and memory loss. I’d have periods of time where I lost my ability to walk and use fine motor skills (so I couldn’t write or pick up small things). He helped me walk to my classes and even helped me do my homework when I couldn’t write. He didn’t have the answers, but he knew that I desperately needed them, and he was determined to stay by my side even though by doing so it was putting an unfair burden on him. He didn’t have the help-meet that he needed in life. He just had this sick, scared wife, with no means to any end to her suffering.

    When I was finally diagnosed, the choice for decompression was an easy one. It was 2010 and I was now 39 years old. I had lost 10 years and the possibility of getting my life back and engaging as a wife and mother again was something that I couldn’t pass up. We never expected this “easy surgery” to take the turn that it did. We knew that there was a chance that it would be unsuccessful at relieving all of my symptoms, but never in a million years did we think that decompression would open Pandora’s Box on my need for surgeries. From 2012-2015 I needed seven additional surgeries. Each surgery had its own recovery and complications. And with each additional surgery, I became increasingly dependent on my husband for help, but not once did he complain. This was affecting his life too, but not once did he concentrate on that. Not once did he think of it as being unfair to him to have to care for me, even though it really was. I’m now covered with scars on my left side from my neck to my groin, one night he raised my pajama shirt and gazed intensely upon them. He started kissing them. When he got to the scars covering my stomach, I pushed him away and with tears in my eyes, I told him that I wasn’t comfortable with him touching me there. He looked me in the eyes and told me that he didn’t see me the way that I see myself. He said that when he sees my scars, he’s reminded of all that I’ve had to fight through and what a strong woman he’s married to. “I wish that you could see yourself the way that I see you,” he exclaimed. All my insecurities just melted with his words of affirmation.

    This man who vowed to love me for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness or in health, really meant it, and those vows were continually put to the test every day of his life. And he wasn’t seeing the polished-up version of me that others tend to see. He saw the frustrated me, the defeated me, the hopeless me. The me that went from one pair of pajamas to another. The me that gained over a hundred pounds on nerve meds that ultimately made me worse. The me that started to stutter and slur and hated myself for it. The me that drooled in front of people and whose nose ran uncontrollably when I sat down to eat. The me that lost control of both her bladder and bowels and that had to wear a diaper for years. The me that no longer could wipe herself or shower without his help. The me that took so much of my pain and frustrations out on him, when he’d take all of it upon himself in an instant if he could save me from it. Not only does he not complain or criticize, but he became my biggest cheerleader in life!

    He listened to me as I read studies to increase my knowledge on what I’m facing. He lets me yell to him about the incompetency of doctors. He’d make small jokes to help me make light of the seriousness at hand. When he forgot things, he’d say that he was having a “Chiari moment.” I’d remind him that he wasn’t the one with Chiari and he insisted that it was sympathy pains. When he developed a herniated cervical disc and we looked at his MRIs together, the first words that came out of his mouth were, “well, I don’t have a Chiari Malformation,” as he pointed at the cerebellar tonsils. I often feel so unworthy of his love, yet if you talked to him, he’d tell you how unworthy he is of my love.

    There’s no denying his real role in my life; he’s my hero!

    *This article is dedicated to my husband, Johnny (my hero and the love of my life) and to all the other couples trying to hold a marriage together through this crazy fight we face.  

  • This Disease Called A Blessing

    This Disease Called A Blessing

    They keep telling me I’m a blessing.

    That I’m lucky to be alive.

    That although I’m sick I’m blessed to be here every day.

    I’m blessed to spend time with my kids.

    And although people tell me this everyday like it is some sort of affirmation, I don’t feel blessed.

    I don’t feel blessed when I walk to my car and my heart beats so hard and so fast that I feel like I’m the star of the movie Blow.

    But I am always reminded at least my heart beats… a blessing.

    I don’t feel blessed when my five-year-old rubs my back every day as I throw up every speck of food I ingest.

    But at least I have food…. blessed.

    I don’t feel blessed that I can no longer provide for myself financially because even getting dressed is a chore.

    But at least I have people whose lives I can greatly burden with my illness…. blessing?

    I don’t feel blessed when I hear my beautiful kids playing and I can’t drag my body out of bed to play with them.

    But at least I have my hearing so I can listen…. blessing?

    I’m often frustrated that I have to take 9-15 pills a day, as I throw up the sour taste of the meds.

    I don’t feel blessed, but I’m told I am because I have access to health care.

    I’m supposed to feel blessed when my angels fall asleep in the car, but I don’t because I’m 99% sure carrying them in the house will kill me.

    All these blessings but everyday feels like hell.

    I’m alive. I’m breathing. But I can’t touch any of the things that make me happy.

    All these blessings and all I can think is that I’d trade all these blessings in for one last day.

    Give them all up, just for one last day that I can feel normal.

    That I wake up and I don’t want to scoop out my eye balls and pull out my brain just for a little relief.

    That I wake up and feel energized. That I can cook my kids’ breakfast and smile and laugh.

    That I live just one more day without this sickness.

    I’ll trade all my blessings just for one day of no disease.

    One day for my children to remember me laughing and hugging. Not vomiting. Not crying. Not laying on the floor asking them to quietly play around me because my head will explode.

    I don’t want my blessings anymore.

    They’re supposed to be some beautiful gift from God.

    I can still see and hear all the things and people I love. But I cannot participate.

    And somehow that’s a gift.

    And I cannot be appreciative of them while they rob me of who I am.

    I’m sick of this disease called a blessing.

     

    [wpedon id=”4396″ align=”center”]

  • Breaking The Cycle

    Breaking The Cycle

    I’m in an abusive relationship. It’s not a romantic one at least, not in the traditional sense of the word.

    When I fell in love with her, she reminded me of a goddess. She was beautiful and kind. She never took no for an answer. She was unstoppable. She was an inspiration. To me and to everyone around her. She made me feel the highest high.

    As time went on, I watched my goddess like creature slowly turn to stone. She suddenly became cold. She wanted me to stop caring about everything: my friends, my family, my hobbies, my career. She just wanted me to stay inside with her and listen to her. She wanted all my attention.

    It started with bashing other people. Telling me why they didn’t deserve my time. She blanketed her insecurities by saying I was better than dealing with other people’s problems and to put myself first which really meant her and her illnesses.

    Once I isolated myself from the people that I once would have laid my life down for, she turned it on me. There was no more self-love. Instead she instilled self-doubt. I wasn’t good enough to have friends and family, and love and happiness. I deserved her miserable and toxic company. All this emptiness was my fault and now I must live with it and her forever.

    After she attacked my mind she started on my body. I had bruises everywhere. She’d trip me and push me into the walls. I was so sore and tired. I couldn’t eat. I lost so much weight.

    All the confidence she once gave me was gone. I didn’t care anymore what I looked like. I didn’t do my makeup or change my clothes for days. Why should I? She is the only one who loved me and now she’s turned on me. I’ll stay in my sweat stained shirt forever. Maybe it will keep her away from me so I can be in peace.

    It didn’t. Clothed or unclothed, it didn’t matter where I was, what time it was, or who I was with. She was always in my ear whispering about how much I’ve changed and how ashamed of me she was. Her presence made me vomit. She gave me headaches that lasted for days. I wanted to kill her.

    I started to hate her. I hated her for making me hate myself. And every time I would get close to telling her to stay away from me forever, I would get flashbacks of that goddess. The girl who laughed in the face of fear. The girl who made me feel the best I’ve ever felt. I know she’s still there. I can’t give up on her.

    When did she get so callous? Maybe if I can track down what triggered her abrupt change, I can help her get back to herself. What made her so abusive?

    I need her to get back to who she really is. Who is she anyways? She is me. I am her. She is the reflection in the mirror that I refuse to look in the eye. She is my body before and after this disease. She is my greatest love and my mortal enemy. But can I live without her? How can I end this cycle? I can’t. I can’t walk away. I must continue to be destroyed and only hope that goddess will reappear. That her glow will radiate into my soul and warm me. That I can look at her and see love and not despair; that I can love this broken diseased soul that makes me who I am.

     

  • DEAR FAMILY (***Revised: Clean Version***)

    DEAR FAMILY (***Revised: Clean Version***)


    FOR ALL MY NON-CHIARI FAMILY MEMBERS AND FRIENDS… I really NEED you to listen to this and just try to understand! 


    I know there’s absolutely NOTHING I can say to help you understand the pain that I go through; what it feels like to have pain all the time, in places that I didn’t even know that I could have pain in. To feel like someone is grabbing the back of your skull at your neck and literally trying to pull your skull right off of your head. I know there’s NOTHING I can say or do, to tell you how discouraging it is to have doctors tell you that they have “no idea why you’re hurting so bad,” and suggest that you should see a therapist, because obviously, if they don’t see it, it must be just psychological. And while I know your intentions are good and I know that you love me, I CANNOT think of anything to say to help you understand how incredibly hurtful it is to have those that are supposed to love you the most, those shoulders that are supposed to be there for you to lean on, tell you that you’re having a pity party, or  how they “wish you wouldn’t talk about it all the time” (and sometimes it’s not said that nicely either). And for MY KIDS and HUSBAND to have to carry so much on their shoulders and to feel like they have nobody to talk to about it, because everyone’s “tired of hearing about it.” And worse, since it’s genetic, for them to see how you treat me in my pain, and fear that if they’re diagnosed, that you will treat them the same.


    You don’t understand, but my brothers and sisters with Chiari do. They understand it all, because they’re living it too. I know you don’t understand the bond that we have, but even though we’ve never met face-to-face, we’ve cried so many tears, and prayed through so many surgeries together; we’ve lost friends together while doctors still try and claim that Chiari can’t kill you (even with death certificates that say Chiari in hand). We’ve lost friends that just couldn’t take the pain anymore, and we cry together because we know that those thoughts have been our own and we struggle to find a way to keep pressing on, together! I know you don’t understand the bond, but it’s real.


    I’m not saying all this to make you feel bad, God forbid you feel bad, I’m saying this because I STILL NEED YOU. You weren’t put in my life by mistake and what I’m going through physically and mentally is frightening and heart-breaking and I need you here by my side. You think you don’t have time to see me through all these surgeries and diagnoses, I don’t either. There’s so much more that I wanted to do with my life and now I just want to hold my head up without pain. I NEED you to change your heart towards me and all that I’m going through. I need you to call me, and just love on me. I need you to remind me of all that I am, despite my pain – that I’m stronger than I often feel like I am. I need you to remind me that there is still value to me still being here on earth. Because in those dark moments, when I look at all I’ve lost and everything that my family has lost through this fight, I need to hear it in someone’s voice besides my own. I need you to remind me how important it is that I fight this vigilantly, so that if God forbid one of my kids have to fight this fight, I will be the best possible advocate I can be for them. They’ve missed out on so much with me being sick. And should my fight on earth come to an end, I need you to stick to them like glue, and help them know how fantastic they are and that they’re not alone. Remind them that their stronger than they think, just like their warrior mom! Remind them that they have a purpose and a destiny to fulfill on earth, and to not to let anything stand in the way of that. If they get knocked down, pull them up again, every single time! Don’t worry, I’m not planning on going anywhere, this isn’t a suicide note or anything. I still have every intention of changing this fight of mine and winning it. But it’s hard sometimes and I really need you to fully understand how much I NEED YOU! Help me win this!


    ***Michelle originally wrote this on Facebook in 2016, with tears streaming down her face. The response from the Chiari community was astounding. What was astounding was not that so many liked it, but that so many Chiarians resonated with the heartbreak of it. It has been slightly edited for publishing. It was originally written with explicit language, that we at Chiari Bridges felt was a “most accurate” representation of the raw emotions that so many of us feel when we encounter these types of struggles in our family dynamics. However, this “clean” version is being created, for those to that are not comfortable sharing content with “strong language,” but still relate to the article and wish to share it.

    The original (explicit version) of this article.

  • DEAR FAMILY (***Strong Language***)

    DEAR FAMILY (***Strong Language***)


    FOR ALL MY NON-CHIARI FAMILY MEMBERS AND FRIENDS… I’m going to cuss, but I really NEED you to listen to this and just try to understand:


    I know there’s absolutely NOTHING I can say to help you understand the pain that I go through; what it feels like to have pain all the time, in places that I didn’t even know that I could have pain in. To feel like someone is grabbing the back of your skull at your neck and literally trying to pull your skull right off of your head. I know there’s NOTHING I can say or do, to tell you how discouraging it is to have doctors tell you that they have “no idea why you’re hurting so bad,” and suggest that you should see a therapist, because obviously, if they don’t see it, it must be just psychological. And while I know your intentions are good and I know that you love me, I CANNOT think of anything to say to help you understand how fucking incredibly hurtful it is to have those that are supposed to love you the most, those shoulders that are supposed to be there for you to lean on, tell you that you’re having a pity party, or  how they “wish you wouldn’t talk about it all the time” (and sometimes it’s not said that nicely either). And for MY KIDS and HUSBAND to have to carry so much on their shoulders and to feel like they have nobody to talk to about it, because everyone’s “tired of hearing about it.” And worse, since it’s genetic, for them to see how you treat me in my pain, and fear that if they’re diagnosed, that you will treat them the same.


    You don’t understand, but my brothers and sisters with Chiari do. They understand it all, because they’re living it too. I know you don’t understand the bond that we have, but even though we’ve never met face-to-face, we’ve cried so many tears, and prayed through so many surgeries together; we’ve lost friends together while doctors still try and claim that Chiari can’t kill you (even with death certificates that say Chiari in hand). We’ve lost friends that just couldn’t take the pain anymore, and we cry together because we know that those thoughts have been our own and we struggle to find a way to keep pressing on, together! I know you don’t understand the bond, but it’s real.


    I’m not saying all this to make you feel bad, God forbid you feel bad, I’m saying this because I STILL NEED YOU. You weren’t put in my life by mistake and what I’m going through physically and mentally is frightening and heart-breaking and I need you here by my side. You think you don’t have time to see me through all these surgeries and diagnoses, I don’t either. There’s so much more that I wanted to do with my life and now I just want to hold my head up without pain. I NEED you to change your heart towards me and all that I’m going through. I need you to call me, and just love on me. I need you to remind me of all that I am, despite my pain – that I’m stronger than I often feel like I am. I need you to remind me that there is still value to me still being here on earth. Because in those dark moments, when I look at all I’ve lost and everything that my family has lost through this fight, I need to hear it in someone’s voice besides my own. I need you to remind me how important it is that I fight this vigilantly, so that if God forbid one of my kids have to fight this fight, I will be the best possible advocate I can be for them. They’ve missed out on so much with me being sick. And should my fight on earth come to an end, I need you to stick to them like glue, and help them know how fantastic they are and that they’re not alone. Remind them that their stronger than they think, just like their badass mom! Remind them that they have a purpose and a destiny to fulfill on earth, and to not to let anything stand in the way of that. If they get knocked down, pull them up again, every single time! Don’t worry, I’m not planning on going anywhere, this isn’t a suicide note or anything. I still have every intention of changing this fight of mine and winning it. But it’s hard sometimes and I really need you to fully understand how much I NEED YOU! Help me win this!


    ***Michelle originally wrote this on Facebook in 2016, with tears streaming down her face. The response from the Chiari community was astounding. What was astounding was not that so many liked it, but that so many Chiarians resonated with the heartbreak of it. It has been slightly edited for publishing. What was astounding was not that so many liked it, but that so many Chiarians resonated with the heartbreak of it. It has been slightly edited for publishing. It was written with explicit language that we at Chiari Bridges felt was a “most accurate” representation of the raw emotions that so many of us feel when we encounter these types of struggles in our family dynamics, and therefore the decision was made to publish it in its raw form.

    We have published a “clean version” of this article.

    [wpedon id=”4396″ align=”center”]

  • The Eric Michael Nault Story – A Chiari Angel’s Fight

    The Eric Michael Nault Story – A Chiari Angel’s Fight

    During my pregnancy I remember being very unwell, writing in my journal, “there is something wrong with pregnancy, I know something is wrong with my baby”, at only 10 weeks gestation; proving that a mother always knows. At around 30 weeks gestation my unborn baby started to get chronic hiccups followed by trembling, lasting several minutes and several times per day. I begged doctors to run further testing, pleading something was wrong but it all fell on deaf ears. Baby Eric’s heart rate was strong and steady, my fundus was measuring right on time with gestation, so my concerns were dismissed. At 36 weeks gestation, I started having consistent and lasting contractions. After several hours I proceeded to the ER department, concerned I was in preterm labor. Stress tests were run, and the nurses dismissed me, asking me to come back the next day for a follow up. While running a stress test the following day after food, juice and changing positions, the doctor was called as Eric didn’t have enough variables in his heart rate. I can still hear the Doctor yelling at the nurses asking why I had been sent home the night before demanding them to get on the phone with the hospital in the next community and to make sure a neonatal team was on standby, because they would be expecting a new Mom tonight. I was terrified, as all my worst fears were coming true. I was transported immediately, where I was met by a huge medical team. Everything was moving so quickly, myself and my partner were in shock and terrified not knowing what would come next. After an emergency ultrasound, Doctors explained that we had a very tiny baby with a great deal of amniotic fluid and something was seriously wrong with my baby; exclaiming that an emergency C-section would have to be performed. At this point we didn’t understand what this could mean, or why I had so much amniotic fluid. This was why my fundus was measuring well and everything went undetected. My partner and I were living every parent’s worst nightmare. Thinking back, I recall crying and holding my boyfriend’s hand as they carefully lifted a very tiny completely blue baby hand from my stomach. When we all saw my breathless baby like a flip of a switch the operating room became chaotic. Doctors were in a mad rush trying to resuscitate my baby, who had no vitals and wasn’t breathing. I was hysterical, so the doctors sedated me. My boyfriend was becoming increasingly agitated, so they demanded that he leave. I can still hear the nurses voice yelling at him, “you are taking up time we need to save your baby, you need to trust us and cooperate, OUT”, before the anesthesia flushed into my system.

    After several hours I regained consciousness, family and doctors surrounded me trying to explain what they knew about baby Eric. They explained Eric and I would have to be immediately flown out to a larger center where they could properly care for my baby. Eric couldn’t support his own airway, he couldn’t suck, swallow, or move due to hypertonic muscles. He was having several seizures, all pointed to brain damage. At this point they had no idea what was wrong and could not conclude whether my baby would live. I recall saying I wanted to go see my baby and trying to get up out of the hospital bed, but the nurses told me I couldn’t see him, because I had just gone through a major surgery and he was too sick; we both had to rest for transport. When the nurses told me that, I flipped, telling them that come hell or high water, I was going to see him. I got as far as swinging my legs over the bed before I vomited everywhere. The nurses finally clued in that I was going with or without their help, so they laid me back down and wheeled me to the NICU to see him. I couldn’t even see my baby for he was so small and leads encased his body where he layed. They had his chin strapped up as every time it fell backward it would close off his airway leading to oxygen desaturation. They didn’t have the resources to intubate a baby at this hospital, so they decided to fly us out to Vancouver Children’s Hospital.

    The nurses and doctors kept me sedated for the first 4 days of being in Vancouver as every time I came to, I would start screaming for my baby and they would find me wandering the halls trying to find my baby. On day 4, they finally let my partner wheel me down to the NICU to see him. It was the scariest place I had ever seen. Rows and rows of incubators filled with tiny preemies with all kinds of machines keeping them alive. The nurse told me Eric was the biggest baby they had at 4 lbs. 11 oz. This gave me false hope, believing if he was bigger than all the others, he must have a fighting chance to survive. After several days of Eric in the NICU covered in wires, leads, and intubation tubes we still had no answers as to why our baby was born so ill. Eric was having up to 35 or more seizures per day, he was poked and prodded many times a day and underwent several tests; spinal taps, MRI’s, CT Scans and had several neonatal experts tirelessly working to find the cause of his many issues. Any parent who has been through this knows and understands the emotional roller coaster that comes with this experience. One day they tell you that your baby is improving, and they say he will beat this battle, and the next you’re told he wouldn’t survive the next 24 hours telling you to say your goodbyes; waking up all hours of the night, if you sleep at all, to pump your milk for a baby that isn’t there. You are walking to the hospital in the middle of the night just to be next to him because you can’t bear to be away. You are begging, pleading to God for your child to be healed. After 3 weeks they finally let me have skin to skin cuddles and started teaching us how to care for him. This isn’t the way it’s supposed to go; you’re supposed to go to the hospital, have a baby and take them home, right? Instead you walk around numb, you don’t remember the last time you ate, or showered, you just feel like you’re having an out of body experience, as if you’re watching this happen to someone else. You’re scared to leave their side for even a minute because what if it’s that minute that he leaves this world and you’re not there?

    We wouldn’t allow for anyone else to care for him, we did all his range of motion therapy, we did his bath time, and we did all his personal care alone because if a nurse or doctor touched him in a clinical manor he would be riddled with more seizures. After a month, the nurses started insisting we start taking better care of ourselves, so my boyfriend and I started alternating night shifts. My nights alone with him were my favorite, I would hold him all night and rock him. He would look up at me with his deep blue, soulful eyes and tell me all the secrets of the world. He had the oldest spirit I had ever saw, full of wisdom and love.

    After about a month we had a meeting, and it was then that the doctors told us we had a failure to thrive baby, his cells didn’t migrate to the right place at the right time, that his cerebellum and brainstem were severely underdeveloped. The statistics 19 years ago was that one out of one million babies were born like this and they had yet to find out what caused the illness. Our baby couldn’t regrow the parts of his brain that didn’t develop. He had gestational arrest at 32 weeks, he had scoliosis, spina bifida occulta, epilepsy and severe brain damage. Our child would never move on his own, suck or swallow or be able to interact and that he would most likely die of aspiration pneumonia. He would live his life in hospital more than out. I have worked with special needs adults with this type of quality of life, I could play the tape to the end, and I knew hanging on to him would only be for selfish reasons. I understood that my baby was in pain, I could see in his beautiful blue eyes, as I said before, a mother always knows. It was at this time Eric’s father and I decided to sign a” Do Not Resuscitate” order. It was without a doubt the single hardest thing I have ever done.

    We called our family to let them know of our decision and if they wanted an opportunity to say goodbye to Eric, they would have to travel down to do that as extubating was set for a week away. The doctors were certain he would pass away shortly thereafter. The family gathered, and we had our son baptized, pictures were taken, everyone had time alone to say what they needed to Eric, and he was extubated. Eric surprised us all; he just kept right on breathing, and he could support his airway after all. The hospital put us in a family room with our son, so we could spend as much time as we could with him in a less clinical environment before he passed.

    Within 2 weeks, it was clear this child was a strong fighter and wasn’t ready to give up quite yet. We had another meeting and it was decided we would take him home. We wanted his big sister to have time with him and show him what a home was like. We took a 2-week crash course on neonatal nursing. We had to learn how to do his lung physio, how to suction him, and how to work a feeding pump and so much more. Eric was brought home February 10,1999. We did his 24-hour care until March 9th when he took a turn for the worse. He was diagnosed with aspiration pneumonia. This left me in a panic; I wasn’t ready to let him go, and I wanted him sent back to Children’s Hospital and be treated. We had an amazing Doctor who came to the hospital and took me for a walk to discuss why we made the DNR code and why we made the right choice for our son. I took my son home that day knowing we were running on borrowed time. His breathing became very shallow, he turned blue from lack of oxygen and on March 11, 1999 at 3:15 am our darling boy went home to be with his creator. The year following is a fog, I remember very little. I was deeply depressed but I knew I had to keep moving forward for my daughter, she needed me. I know she was hurting too but I was so consumed with my own grief, that I couldn’t reach out to her, I couldn’t handle both her grief and mine. My daughter and I have had to take a lot of time since to heal together. With that being said, the pain of losing a child is not something that you can run away from or attempt to forget; I relive my sons small time on this earth every single day.

    Fast forward to 2005, I became very ill. It took 13 years for me to find out I had Chiari 1 Malformation and EDS and another 3 years too learn I too had Spina Bifida Occulta and Tethered Cord. I started to learn all I could on these conditions and joined many support groups. I was reading up on all the different types of Chiari when I came across Chiari Malformation type 4. It was described as one of the rarest types, when a baby is born with an underdeveloped hind brain or cerebellum. WHAT?! Did I just stumble across the reason as to why my son was born sick? Did I just stumble across the name of the disease that took my son from me? I printed out the info for Chiari 4 and Eric’s medical info and took it to my Doctor. The doctor and I had a long discussion and he agreed this was what my son had all those years ago, I just don’t think they called it Chiari 4 back in 1998. I was relieved to know, but angry. It took 18 years for me to find out what had happened to my darling baby and that was after all, genetic. They ran genetics on Eric but told us it was negative. Little did we know then that h-EDS was what I had and that they do not know the genes that cause it. I also learned many of us suffer from the MTHFR Gene where our bodies reject folic acid and B12, two vitamins I had always been deficient in and it can cause neural tube defects in babies.

    In closing, I would like to say, no parent should have to wait 18 years to find out what took their child from them. As a parent, no matter how your child passes, you will blame yourself. I had to work through some pretty hard moments and learn to forgive myself for this unknown genetic disease that not only took my son Eric, but now has also made my oldest daughter Tricia ill. This is unacceptable to me. This is why it’s so important that we raise awareness and educate our doctors, so no mother or father has to wait 18 years to understand their child’s conditions or death. This is way the work that WTF and Chiari Bridges does is so very important to me and why I am always asserting that we be tested for all comorbid conditions. Rarely is Chiari just Chiari, so please take the time to undergo all the proper testing for all the comorbid conditions.

     

    Eric Michael Nault November 28th, 1998 – March 11th, 1999.

    Thank you for taking the time to remember my dear Eric with me,
    Amy Schmalz