Birthday Bears

We've celebrated two birthdays in a week. Ryan turned 19 on November 29th and Colin turned 10 on Saturday. Chris figured out we've celebrated 128 birthdays in the last 24 years.

Last year's birthdays were something to "survive." We tried to "get through" the day, trying our best to minimize the kids' inevitable disappointment. We were on the run, de-toxing, and unable to offer much more than a present and maybe a dinner out.

These two birthdays felt almost normal. Well, normal in light of our "new normal." We decorated and baked. Played hide and seek. Laughed. Shannon and I took Ryan to Best Buy to look at movies. Chris took Colin and a few of the kids to Build-a-Bear. Even Erin came home with a bear.

I think we'll title this picture "Re-Build a Life" Bears.

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Happy Birthday, Meg

It's Megan's 22nd birthday today. It seems just yesterday she was gurgling and cooing in my arms.

She'll have another quiet day in the desert and hopefully go out to dinner. If she's up to it.

Megan developed severe eczema early on. Knowing what I know now, I would ask the question, "Why?" I would look for evidence of mold and consult a specialist in the alternative health arena. I would make significant dietary changes immediately.

Instead we treated her with topical steroids and continued to watch her struggle with other health issues. She was vulnerable the moment we moved into our home in Colorado. She was two months shy of her 13th birthday.

Her health declined over the next few years. She graduated high school at 16 and eagerly anticipated a college career in Nova Scotia. College proved difficult. Not for academic reasons. Mycotoxins in the body affect every aspect of a person's well-being. She came home. After careful thought, she decided to go to Africa. She was a willing and hopeful soul determined to find her place and purpose in a world that had offered more sorrow than joy.

The mission agency agreed to let Megan go alone to a small remote village to live with a pastor, his wife, and nine children. It seemed like a perfect fit. It might have been, if an internal cesspool of microorganisms weren't threatening her health.

She left Colorado in early November of 2005. By New Year's Eve she was diagnosed with malaria. The high fever and abdominal pain were unmistakable. Two weeks later the malaria was back with a vengeance. This time with a higher fever and hallucinations. And she was far away from home. In Africa. In a village where the closest medical facility was a motorcycle ride through the brush. The youngest in the family, Barnabus, fell in a pot of boiling water. He and Megan were rushed to the "facility," where both lay on cots in a tent fighting for their lives. It was clear that Barnabus needed hospitalization. Megan needed to get back to the city. With Barnabus whimpering next to her, and his mom trying to calm him, they took the 5-hour car ride to the city.

Barnabus survived. Megan came home to Colorado.

She stayed a few months before trying college again. She studied Greek and Latin in Boulder. That's Megan. Always willing to try. By that time our lives were crumbling. We had a mold remediation going on and the kids were getting sick. She knew she couldn't continue in college so she returned home, unknowingly to a room filled with toxic mold.

As she watched Reagan's vertigo and vomiting and him digging his nails into my arms because of the dizziness, her eyes were filled with compassion. She, too, had suffered.

Last December I told her I was taking the four youngest to Arizona to begin a treatment protocol. She dropped everything, drove all night, and joined our quest. Deep down she knew none of this was her fault. She knew her health had never been right. It was time to get answers and help.

She started the diet and detox on December 27th. Within 24 hours her eyes were swollen shut. The fungi that had been multiplying began to starve and die off.

We've found other issues along the way. Evidences of parasites, parvo virus, and bartonella, to name a few.

We have found her shaking in her bed from chills and fever. When you understand the nature of neurotoxins, you understand that the detox process is often much worse than the onset of the illness.

And all she did was live in a house.

Megan, I admire you. Not only for your giftedness as an artist, your beauty, and your caring heart. I admire you because you have an indomitable spirit that has weathered far too many storms. You don't give up. And you've chosen to embrace a journey far more treacherous than any mountain expedition. This poem, by Tolkien, makes me think of you.

All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.

Queen in your case, Meg. Happy Birthday.

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Tribute

We celebrated my mother's 80th birthday Saturday. Not as we planned. I'm starting to understand that about life.

Barbara Dell was born May 30, 1929 in Cleveland, Ohio. It was a tough time in history and her childhood was equally hard. Alcoholism brings little stability to a child's life. In her teens, her refuge became Dana Hall boarding school for girls in Wellesley, Massachusetts. She went on to Hartford Junior College. While in Hartford she met a future insurance executive named George Kessel. They met on a blind date. He was tall. She was tall. He had earned a purple heart in World War II several years earlier. They fell in love.

After graduating from Goucher College she relocated to Milwaukee, Wisconsin to be near the tall guy who had captured her heart. She worked in administration at a local radio station.

They married in November of 1953. She faced her own opportunity for heroism in the fall of 1975 when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. As my brother said in his tribute on Saturday:

"She beat cancer before cancer had much to worry about. She was a woman of extraordinary courage. She had willpower that would challenge Lance Armstrong."

It's true, though I didn't always recognize it. I went through a season where I struggled with her limitations. The same limitations my children must reconcile in me.

We made it through and our relationship grew. During our mold journey she did nothing but give me strength. Not an easy task when your daughter is calling from emergency rooms, hospitals, hotels, and rooms filled with air mattresses. It would have been easy for her to begin sentences with:

"Why don't you..."

"Have you tried..."

"Are you sure about..."

"Surely there's some alternative..."

"I don't understand why you don't..."


She never did that. Not once. The only words I ever heard were, "I admire your attitude. You're doing great. I think about you all the time."

I'm going to remember that next time I have a "suggestion" for one of my children.

Thanks for the legacy, Mom. I miss you so much.

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Golden Birthday

Reagan turned 13 yesterday. It's hard to believe it's been two years since he invited his fifth grade class to his party. We divided them into groups and they each made their own movie.

At the time he turned 11 he had been diagnosed with an unexplained hearing loss. A conductive hearing loss. I had just taken him for a skin biopsy on a rash that appeared on his elbow. He was showing heightened anxiety at school. Knowing all that I know now I would think about water damage and air testing. But I accepted the mystery and thought nothing more about it.

A month after his 11th birthday we uncovered the mold. And our nightmare began.

Reagan's journey is particularly difficult. It began with a phone call from school on September 11th. Four months after the exposure. "My ear is ringing," he said. Three weeks later he begged to come home from school because the ringing was severe. The ringing took over his life until November 1st. That was the day the vertigo took over. Within 3 days he was vomiting all night. Soon he lost his ability to walk. We agreed to several surgeries hoping to end the unrelenting vertigo.

By Christmas it was clear our strategy had failed. He was walking again but perpetually dizzy. Reagan's question went from "will I be better by Christmas?" to "will I ever get better?" An agonizing question for a mother when she doesn't know how to answer.

He played video games to get through. At 2:00 a.m. I would hold him in a certain way. Stroke his head in just the right spot. Enough for him to finally fall asleep. Gradually I learned to sleep a couple of hours before he needed me. I hated to leave him alone. Even for a minute. But other children were sick. And I needed the strength.

On the morning of February 29th (it was leap year last year) he woke me up at 2:00 a.m. Just like always. He told me he was thinking of writing himself a letter.

"What would it say?" I asked him.

He spoke quietly. I almost missed it.

"Dear Reagan,

This had to happen to somebody. And you're the best one for it."

Yesterday was his golden birthday. He's much taller than he was. His voice has changed.
And he is wise beyond his years.

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A Picture in the Dark

I took a picture of Colin last night. It was midnight and he was sleeping. If you were me you would have taken a picture too. Especially if it was your son. Colin was 6 months old when we moved to Colorado. Within a year he started sleeping with his mouth open. During an annual check-up the pediatrician mentioned that his adenoids were swollen. "If they're still swollen when he's 8 we'll get them removed," she said. I thought nothing more about it. Sounded fine to me. I never thought to ask why they were swollen.  In the blink of an eye Colin turned 8. It was last December. His birthday was 6 months after he was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. This momentous occasion came right in the middle of our horror story. His brother was in the hospital learning to walk again. His sister was complaining of  headaches and dizziness. Our lives were beginning to crumble. It took a few months to schedule his surgery as it was clear his adenoids remained swollen and breathing at night was labored. The day before surgery I cancelled. He was sick with diarrhea. I was relieved. His blood sugars had been erratic. His head was constantly throbbing and he was often doubled over with abdominal pain. Fast forward to November.  I scheduled the surgery again. This time with a little more intent and knowledge. Adenoids swell in response to a virus, bacteria, or fungus. There was no doubt about Colin's. The ENT dismissed me when I suggested the mold as the source but I gave her our timeline anyway. We scheduled his surgery for December 15th. I was looking for any relief for him of any kind and even though he was still quite sick I imagined him breathing at night through his nose. That picture kept me going. Two weeks before surgery I took Colin and Reagan to see Dr. Gray in Arizona. It was my first question. "He's scheduled for adenoid surgery. What do you think?", I asked. He paused for a moment. He had been checking his left ear. "Let's wait", he said. "If we don't see improvement in a few months we'll re-consider." Good enough for me. I was relieved. We came back to Monument for only a week and here we are 5 weeks later. We've been on the full treatment for a week now. I say full treatment because I had missed something important until 7 days ago. Guaifenesin. It's an expectorant. Colin's nose has been running constantly since I added it. I bought him his own box of tissues. "Don't sniff it back up," I kept repeating. I learned from our chiropractor how important it is to release the mucus when your body is de-toxing. This is the background for the picture. It was 11:30 last night. (I keep Colin close by me since his blood sugars often drop in the middle of the night.) Something sounded different. It was his breathing. I turned on a light and there it was. His mouth was closed. Just as I had imagined.

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