I Would Still Run

If I found out tomorrow that my son was misdiagnosed--that there was another explanation-- I would still run. I know because of the people I have met. I see the look in the eyes of mothers whose children suffer from NF, and I think, "I must look like that to other people." Until there is an answer to all the questions. I will run.

For my daughter, Shannon...

For my daughter Shannon, who was diagnosed with NF2 in 2002.

I remember leaving home the day you were born. I thought, things will never be the same, and they weren’t.

What love, hope, inspiration and happiness you have brought into my life. I would walk into your nursery and you were always happy, smiling and reaching up to grab life with all the joys it can bring. That love of life and your ability to see good in all things around you has helped you and especially me deal with NF2.

Even in the face of adversity and illness you move forward with courage. You always find the positive side to the ravages NF2 causes to your body.  You have taught me so much and give me the strength to face what lies ahead. 

When NF2 took your hearing and you could no longer sing, you didn’t give up. You used your eyes to photograph all of the beauty you used to sing about.

When NF2 took your sight, you didn’t think of it as an ending but a beginning to teaching and helping others by showing them that no matter what their differences, or handicaps they are to be valued and can be productive members of society. 

Neither of us knows what lies ahead but together we can get through anything NF2 throws our way.  We will always move forward, always look up and embrace what NF2 can never take from us: OUR LOVE.

If I could take your pain away and have the NF2 instead of you I would.  I am always here for you. You are my hero.

My daughter, my hero

Our baby girl was perfect, simply perfect.

The first clues of NF2 were subtle. She was a little late to talk inteligibly and required some speech therapy, but it was no big deal. When she started taking ballet with her friends at three, motivated mainly by the pink tutu, the first task was to hop on one foot. When she couldn’t do that, she practiced alone in her room for a week until she came out gleefully hopping on one foot for laps around the house. Looking back, I realize there was an NF2 tumor already working on her.

Me and my daughter, my hero
Me looking on as Destin guards Anne - '87
After her 4th marathon- NYC '10

            When she entered first grade we had a parent conference about the termination of speech therapy as she no longer needed it. The counselor said something about her having done fine on a hearing screening test. My mind went back to the times I would call home from business trips. Sometimes when I talked with her we had a good daddy-daughter conversation, but sometimes it was like cross questions and crooked answers, as if she didn’t hear m
e. I said, “just a minute, let’s talk about that.” To follow up we scheduled a hearing test with an audiologist who at long last determined she was faking out the test, giving appropriate responses for the “bad” ear when she felt a vibration through the bone. This led to an MRI.

            In the early nineties, I carried a pager rather than a cell phone. I remember where I was when I got the page, and the pay phone I used to call my wife, and the window I was looking out when we got the news that our perfect child had “neurofibromatosis type 2,” something I had never heard of.

            Over the next week, I did what I do. I researched. Somehow I found Dr. MacCollin at Harvard and talked with her by phone. She told me there is wisdom in “watchful waiting,” and to always seek second and third opinions before any surgery. She said that the worst outcomes she saw were when doctors who knew litte about NF  saw a tumor and felt that had to immediately cut it out right away. So we watched and waited.

            It was nearly two years later, on a Saturday morning in the middle of the Atlanta Olympics. We had tickets for some of the events, though none of the really “hot tickets.” My little girl, a Brownie looking forward to third grade, came down to Saturday our family pancake breakfast with one side of her face distorted. At first I thought she was just goofing around. After a few minutes we realized that the tumor the doctors had been watching was affecting a facial motor nerve. On Monday morning I was on the phone to Dr. MacCollin at Harvard. She gave me a short list of surgeons who had enough familiarity with NF2 to consider, and I started calling. Someone from South America cancelled a scheduled surgery at House Ear Institute and within two weeks we were on a plane to see Dr. Brackman in Los Angeles.

            In scheduling surgery I had a long talk with a nurse at House Ear. I asked her what to expect. She told me as kindly as she could of the sad outcomes they too often saw with NF2 patients. I recall laying across the bed, a hardened middle aged man, crying my heart out for my little girl, then pulling it together to put up a cheerful front for her. She later admitted that she was afraid she was going to die. So was her little brother who went to stay with cousins.  

            In LA, the doctors told us that they expected it would be necessary to sever her facial motor nerve, and that she would never smile again on that side of her face. Maybe in a few years she could hold her mouth straight. That night before surgery we prayed. I got on the phone with cousins across the country and we prayed together. In the morning, before surgery, I got a container of salad oil from the cafeteria and followed the directions in James 5. All through the day I prayed.

            When she woke up in ICU, she was grinning from ear to ear and asking for a hot dog. The other ICU patients had unbearable nausea and couldn’t bear the thought of hot dogs.

            The next decade was often an ordeal. She returned to her elementary school bloated by steroids with hair combed over the shaved side of her head. Mean kids ostracized her and friends didn’t know how to come to her aid. We kept seeking the best advice and moved her from one school to another seeking the best fit. By 7^th and 8^th grades she was at a very small school for kids with learning differences, where she began to thrive. However, she insisted on going to a “regular high school.” She chose a visual arts magnet program at a high school a few miles from home. At freshman orientation our chubby little girl asked what were the no-cut sports, and signed up for cross country, swim team and track. After driving her to the first morning of cross country practice at 6:30 AM, I sat in the car and watched as she struggled to run half a lap. Little did I suspect that she would become a marathoner and triathlete.

            The summer before her senior year, her doctor said the tumors on her spinal cord and in her “good” ear had grown. It was time to get something done about them. He thought she could get past her senior season in cross country first. During the fall it appeared that her gait was thrown off by the spinal cord tumors. She ran several meets with stress fractures in both tibias and both fibulas before she finally had to stop. (At the end of the season she received a special award for courage.) In October we flew to Boston where Dr. MacCollin told her that someday she would become deaf though probably not right away. My little girls said, “yeah, maybe when I’m 80,” but had trouble hearing us talking to her at the art museum afterward. She wept silently on the flight home. Her hearing grew fuzzier over the next few weeks.

            The day we flew back to Boston for surgery on her spinal cord tumors, her hearing blinked out. We were reduced, for the first time, to communicating by writing on a whiteboard. While Dr. Coumans was skillfully removing spinal cord tumors we were on the phone to House Ear Institute scheduling surgery to decompress the tumor pressing on the auditory nerve of what had been her “good” ear. As soon as she  was released to travel we flew directly to LA. At that point she had 4% speech recognition. Decompression surgery was attempted right before Christmas. We would have Christmas in the hospital, so we flew her brother in from Atlanta and I bought a tacky metal Christmas tree for her hospital room. She got a staph infection in her back that scared us and the doctors to death.  We remained in LA until after New Year’s Day and for the first time sought out theaters with captioned movies.

            My daughter returned for her last semester of high school using a captionist in the one remaining academic course required for graduation and began taking ASL at a community college in the afternoons. She insisted on running before it was permitted, rebelled at restrictions on driving until we could get her checked out by a hospital program that clears people to drive after medical situations, and within a few weeks drove herself to a meeting of the Association of Late Deafened Adults. Her college choice quickly narrowed to Maryville in Tennessee, which has a deaf studies program and a spot for her on the cross country team. She began networking with other young folks with NF2 through the new technology of Facebook, and never slowed down.

            The following fall, she had to be at Maryville for a cross country team meeting at the end of the day of my mom’s 80^th birthday luncheon. I had just gotten up to talk to the assembled family and friends when my little deafened girl came up, gave me a hug and a kiss, and walked out to drive away to college. That was the second time I cried.

            Through her freshman year of college, communication with doctors did not stop. We were advised that she could not wait til summer for surgery to remove the tumor in what had been her “good” ear and install an ABI, as there was severe risk of facial paralysis if she waited. During her spring break we visited RIT / NTID in Rochester, then she ran her first full marathon in Atlanta with a crew of girls from her dorm at Maryville turning up to cheer her on. Then we all flew to LA again for yet another operation, taking along our high school senior son and his then-girlfriend to spend their spring break exploring LA together. Little did we know that he would wind up spending several years in the LA area.

            Some people who lose hearing at 18 crawl into a hole, but she never slowed down. As soon as her ABI was turned on, she went to DC for the summer for a crash course in ASL at Gallaudet, going for long runs all over the nation’s capital, and then transferred to RIT/NTID at Rochester. She never really moved back home after that. The next summer she worked at Blue Ridge YMCA Assembly in NC, the following summer at YMCA of the Rockies in Colorado, then at a camp in Pennsylvania, followed by a summer in school at Rochester. She never slowed down in her running, completing several marathons. On a Campus Crusade for Christ spring break trip, she connected with a great guy who was supposed to interpret for the deaf girl. He said she didn’t need help but they had fun. He proposed at the finish line of her first triathlon this summer, and a couple of months later they completed a Half Ironman Triathlon together. (How can anyone ride 56 miles on a bike with no balance nerves?) Drilling daily on speech recognition with her ABI, she now has over 90% speech recognition without seeing the speaker using the ABI alone, and we can have telephone conversations again.

            My little girl who taught herself to hop on one foot despite lack of balance when she was three, and who drove herself to the Association of Late Deafened Adults when she was a newly deaf high school senior, has no “quit” in her.

She is my hero.

           

A Tribute to the Parents of NF

It all began with “coffee” marks on my precious new baby’s otherwise perfect skin.
When the doctor said Neurofibromatosis, we entered a new world.
We didn’t ask to go to this new place. We didn’t buy plane tickets or get a triptik.
But we got there nonetheless.
...In this new world there were things we’d never heard before.
There were bone abnormalities called dysplasias, bowing, pseudoarthrosis, scoliosis…
There were tumors called plexiforms, neurofibromas, gliomas, astrocytomas…
Learning disabilities and developmental delays opened us up to things we knew existed, but never thought we’d experience.
Things like special ed, speech therapy, occupational therapy, physical therapy, social skills groups, CSE, IEP...
And there were tests.
Many kinds of tests: MRI, EKG, EEG, Neuropsychological, CT scans, x-rays, and the dreaded pathology reports.
Our lives hung on the news from those tests every three to six months, if we were lucky, every year.
It was a scary new world because you never could know what to expect.
The doctors all said, “Wait and see”.
It was all they could say. They didn’t know what the future would hold.
We learned to study statistics and pin all of our hopes on them.
Numbers and percentage signs, such powerful things in this world.
Prognosis was not a word in the vocabulary of NF doctors.
The doctors…
They were scarce and we had to search them out.
They weren’t always in our neighborhoods.
Often we traveled distances to find them.
They were specialists who we revered and respected.
There were Neurologists, Orthopods, Neuro Opthamologists, Radiologists, Anesthesiologists, Neuropsychologists, Oncologists, Cardiologists…
We hung on their every word in hopes that this time it would be good news.
We set up websites to share this news because telling the stories again and again became exhausting.
In this world we learned so many lessons.
We learned to look at our children in a different light.
We learned to cherish every moment even the impossible ones.
We learned to hug them and kiss them until they couldn’t stand it anymore.
We learned that they wouldn’t always be given the opportunities we used to take for granted.
We learned not to take anything for granted.
We learned how powerful a child’s smile could be.
And some of us learned how to say goodbye long before we were ready to.
Others learned how to console and many of us learned the power of prayer.
We learned to have faith because we couldn’t cope without God, an almighty power capable of such enormous things.
We learned to advocate, educate ourselves and others, raise money and awareness.
Our lives were changed forever.
But that wasn’t what we couldn’t handle.
Our children’s lives were altered to a degree of which we could not be certain.
Not knowing.
That was the part of this new world that consumed us with fear, got us on our knees to pray and that clung to every fiber of our being from the day we entered the world of NF to they day we leave it.
And when the cure is found, we can rest.
By Jesse's Mom

ELLIE RANEY

I am not a poet nor am I an author which will be evident when you read this. However my love for my adopted daughter is intense. Our coming to grips with her NF have tested my faith and my sanity. The NF friends I have made have a very special spot in my heart and a special place in my prayers. I must mention Mira here- my almost 19 year old, she picks up the pieces of me and keeps me together.

ELLIE RANEY

She is too young to run a marathon

She is too fragile to ride a bike

Her friendship is free to all

There is no one she doesn't like

Only two hundred and ninty miles

Most of it in the fast lane

Leaving home before the sun is up

Never does she complain

The St. Louis Arch to many

Is beautiful, awesome and bright

Unless you are a little girl that knows

It means the end is in sight

Her waist is 18 inches

Her first scar is over half of that

She sweetly thanked her Doctors

When they stopped by to chat

Ellie came as a foster child

When she was little more than two

I am humbled God chose me to watch her

And I know he will see us through

We adopted her when she was five

She has won many hearts in town

Every shot, stick, poke she gets

Nothing brings this little girl down.

Little Brother

Here are the lyrics to the song "Little Brother" written by Ben, for his brother Drew. Drew has
schwannomatosis, the rarest form of NF. It speaks to the unrelenting pain Drew and others with schwannomatosis cope with every day.

Verse 1:
Little brother don't be afraid
this pain will be gone one day
little brother I'm by your side
I'll help you to endure this fight
you are so strong and yet you are so weak
you'll overcome determined to succeed

Chorus:
the birds still sing
the sky's still blue
you've got Somebody watching you
watching you

hold your head up
march right on
we'll be right here 'til the war's done
(the war's...)

Verse 2:
Little brother don't shed a tear
you've got the strength to persevere
little brother I pray for peace
and ask a cure for this disease
now lead them on the world is in your hands
they'll follow you now give them your commands

Chorus:
the birds still sing
the sky's still blue
you've got Somebody watching you
watching you

Hold your head up
march right on
we'll be right here 'til the war's done
(the war's...)

NF never sleeps......

NF Endurance - Atlanta 13.1 - 2011

NF never sleeps.......


NF never sleeps so when 3:00am came along on our 12th wedding anniversary it was time to hit the pavement. We went out to Atlanta 13.1 to set up our hydration station to go spread some NF awareness.

So if NF never sleeps......... neither will we.

CURE NF2! Contributed with permission by: Kim G.

This is Devon, the son of a friend of mine, Kim. Devon has NF2, like myself, and he is a first generation spontaneous mutation (That means no parent or grandparent had it.) and required surgery for large meningioma at age 5. 

I immediately loved this picture when I saw it and sent a message to ask if I can use it for this project blog and she said that would be fine. :-)

"Devon also runs, he just qualified for his schools cross country team and is only 9 with some disabilities from his NF2, we are very proud of him!" - Devon's mom, Kim.

Devon, age 9- has NF2

"Making a Difference... for NF." - Contributed with permission by Julia S.

Originally posted as a "note" on Facebook.com by Julia, on March 21, 2010

Julia- I glanced through your pictures, and there were plenty of great ones of you wearing neon yellow and running for NF, but I liked this one of you, for it's unique adventure and daring look!  :)

Posted from perspective of Julia, and the part after intro by her husband, Ralph. (also mentions their daughter, Jessica- college age, I think.)

Ralph was asked to write something about me....for a friend.... not sure what this friend is up to, but here is what he wrote.

Although many are not mentioned in this note I've put you here because you were all on that initial journey, helping me out on those long runs, or the short ones.... and I thank you.....

And I apologize if I have left anyone out... heading out the door so I haven't had time to check...

How can I make a difference. What can I do that will bring about a change to the way I live with this disorder, for those suffering with this disorder and ultimately solve the genetic puzzle that is NF (and for the uninitiated that NeuroFibromatosis).

This is the short story of Julia, my wife (I guess Dave would substitute my friend) and her continuing journey of life with NF.

NF was for many years just something she and I lived with. The ticking time bomb that might never go off but frequently "fizzed" with some alarming conditions. Being genetic there is a 50/50 chance that our children would have NF. We have one child - Jessica - she also has NF. As they say in Vegas - you roll a 7 and you crap out. For us it was 1 and done. That was 1986 and very little if anything was known about NF, especially in Australia.

In 1990, we moved to the United States of America. Julia quickly found out that NF was much better understood in the USA and had very active organizations supporting those with NF and especially for funding research into a cure for NF. Throughout the 90s it was not much more than just the annual checkup for Julia & Jessica - simple stuff like head & spine MRIs to check for tumors which if detected there tend to be shall we say "life changing"

The internet comes of age in the late 90s - and Julia finds many sites dedicated to NF - but the message tended to be the same "woe is me, NF has ruined my life". Not to downplay the seriousness of the problems the disorder can cause (such as learning difficulties, fine motor skills & coordination (try catching a ball or riding a bike without them), blindness, deafness and a host of others) but for Julia it seemed that nothing was being done and she wanted to "do something".

Do something translated to running.

There's a scene in the movie Forrest Gump where Forrest says "... My momma always said you can tell a lot about a person by their shoes, where they're going, where they've been. I've worn lots of shoes, I bet if I think about it real hard I can remember my first pair of shoes..."

Well I'm here to say that Julia has worn (out) a lot of running shoes. And I mean a lot of running shoes! It was the year 2000 and Julia began training to run the Dallas White Rock marathon late in the year. Having proved to herself that she had "the stuff" to run a full marathon her next objective was to run her first marathon for NF at San Deigo in 2001. In the USA, events such as city marathons, tend to big fundraisers. This was Julia's first fundraising effort for NF and raised over $5,000. We passed the hat around to friends and their generosity was outstanding. It was in San Deigo that Julia met Steve Kendra and Bob Scold and NF marathon racing team bloomed.

San Deigo 2001 was followed by NF marathons in Chicago 2001, Alaska 2002, Vancouver 2003, Virigina Beach 2004, Nashville 2005, Las Vegas 2005, Alaska (again) 2006 & Phoenix 2007. Roughly speaking her efforts were supported by generous donations totalling in excess of $40,000 to the cause of the Childrens Tumor Foundation, dedicated to research to "Solving the NF Puzzle".

In between those marathon efforts, we were also dealt some "life challenges"

2001 - surgery for Julia for an unpronouceable tumor that needed to removed from her adrenal glands (which if not removed properly would ensure death if she were to have a general anesthetic).

2003 - Julia has a spinal tumor - major surgey on spine T2-T4

2003 - Jessica (aged 16) diagnosed with a brain stem tumor!!! That will ruin your day. Thank God for Dallas Childrens hospital

2004 - Julia pre-cancerous esophageal cancer ... another day ruiner...

As one souvenir from Julia's marathons succintly says "Can't run from NF,... can run for NF!" And run she has!

And here we are back in Australia and after a 2 year hiatus, Julia has successfully staged her first "Coastal Run for NF" raising over $2,800 for the Neurofibromatosis Association of Australia (NFAA) Inc.

Her plans are to launch this event as the "Neuro-Enduro Challenge" raising the awareness of NF in the community and supprtoing the NFAA through the generous contributions of individuals and businesses.

What can you do to make a difference. Lots of things. This has been one of them