I have another daughter

I love the book Wonder. It's about a boy named August, who has a gene mutation that caused physical abnormalities in his face, and the various relationship dynamics in his life. There is a line from the viewpoint of Via, the sister, where she says, "August is the Sun. Me and Mom and Dad are planets orbiting the Sun. The rest of our family and friends are asteroids and comets floating around the planets orbiting the Sun." This quote strikes me to the core because I wish so hard it wasn't true. But so much of our life and my work and even this blog revolve around this stupid disease.

Growing up, I knew a girl named Sarah. We ice skated together and went to the same middle and high school. We weren't friends but we knew each other. She was in the popular crowd. She wasn't the prima popular, but the wing woman and side kick. I had known of her for probably 11 years before I knew anything about her family. As a senior, I worked at a videographer's studio and was putting together a photo montage that Sarah's family had ordered for her graduation. Her younger sister has down syndrome. And I never knew it. I probably hadn't paid attention to who was part of her family at school events and she didn't tout it openly.

It makes me think of Via in Wonder when she starts high school and doesn't talk about her brother and even tells her new friend that she's a only child. It makes me think of my other daughter, Morgan. She's an incredibly bright seven year old. Morgan was probably four years old the first time we explained that all the doctors visits were because Kylie's heart is special and it doesn't quite pump the way everyone else's does. When she was a little older, we added that there are arteries in her body that carry blood and the medication Kylie takes keeps those arteries open so her heart doesn't get too tired. And that medication is different than vitamins.

I still remember the day Morgan asked if Kylie was going to die. She and I had been talking and I had to explain to Morgan that Kylie isn't going to get better (unless researchers find a cure in the future). And it was so painful to see that veil of innocence taken away from her. It doesn't help that so much of my Facebook feed has pictures of kids in hospital beds. We were watching a video today of a machine based CPR and her question was, "Will Kylie need CPR?"

I worry too much sometimes at the toll it takes on her. She's often so aware of my exhaustion and I can tell she goes out of her way sometimes to avoid needing things from me. And it's not fair. She didn't choose this; none of us did. But I can't take it away either. I read in a two separate books that during childhood, we develop coping mechanisms for pain, disappointment and trauma and they often become some of our most natural and powerful strengths. I feel like I see glimpses of that when Morgan becomes so self reliant and resourceful. She almost has a innate reaction of not wanting to be instructed on how something should be done. She has melded these traits into another natural talent she possesses.

She has an imagination that is beyond my comprehension. She can create realms and stories and just disappears into a world of her choosing. Even when she was little, she was the kid that would take pieces from each play set and put them together into a new story (which drove my organizational mind crazy) and I'm so glad I let her. And she's an incredible artist. She also reads three grade levels above her. I can't keep up; I just hand her the bag at the library now and say, "Enjoy shopping."

She is generous and kind. She always wants to buy things for people or give her money to her brother or help us pay the bills (we don't let her pay our bills). I want to, and need to, push against the natural gravitational forces that this chronic illness bears downs on me. I want to carve more time out to spend with this amazing girl because as she grows up, she's going to be unstoppable in whatever world she creates.

So cool and over my head

One thing I love about the PHA conference is that they open it to medical professionals and patients and caregivers. It's this giant melting pot of super-knowledge, interaction, and feedback. In one of the dinner sessions, the speaker was talking about something so cool, I barely understand it. So I thought I'd share the microscopic amount I understood in the 30 minute presentation :)

Researchers are studying certain gene mutations on something called bmpr2 (bone morphogenetic protein receptor type II) and it's 33 relations that are located on chromosome 2. They seem to have a big impact on the development of pulmonary hypertension. It took years to find these receptors but now a research team is running four different trials to learn more about the role these receptors play in PH. This could lead to a better, faster, and less invasive way of diagnosing PH as well as a new avenue to explore cures to this awful disease.

Science is so cool! I should have paid more attention in biology....sorry Ms. Myers. 

The conference I attended was through the Pulmonary Hypertension Association (PHA)

The best group of people you never wanted to meet

Community is essential when you are a parent of a child with chronic illness. I was so fortunate when my friend Sophia introduced me to my first PHriend, Monica. Monica encouraged me, hugged me and said "Welcome to the family."

At conference we had a time to get together in support groups. There was a group specifically for Parents of children with Pulmonary Hypertension. My friend Sarah said to the group, "This is the best group of people you never wanted to meet." And it is so true because being a part of that group means that you share with us a huge pain and suffering in your life. But I've also never experienced such a true belonging with a group of strangers than those parents. We live 100s and 1000s of miles apart. An online support group keeps us connected day to day. And conference gives us time together to celebrate, support, and grieve.

In another session, a parent said to use the online group to vent your feelings and get support. Take your emotions there. There is no need to spout that off into your children. It was such a profound yet simple statement. My PH child and other children have no idea the stress and pain I feel so frequently. And they have no business at this age to have to carry a burden like that. They know her heart is special. And that she takes medication to help it work like theirs. And that's why we go to the doctor so much. That's all they need right now. I have a community to help carry of the load of I-can't-keep-it-together-right-now! And for that I am extremely grateful.


The conference I attended was through the Pulmonary Hypertension Association (PHA)

Join us to empower with hope (Kylie’s PH Conference)

Hello friends! In our mission to continually be educated as best we can about Kylie's 1 in a million disease (Pulmonary Hypertension) and surround ourselves with community who has shared experiences, insights, and advice, we are sending Suzanne to the PH Association's Conference at the end of June. Kylie may soon be switching medications and we'd love to learn more about them from the best in the medical field and talk with parents of children who have used them.
To alleviate some of the financial burden, we are only sending Suzanne (since the kids would be put into a conference day care all day) and her parents will be coming down to watch the kids so Ethan can continue to work. We have already received some donations so we only need $800. That's only $50 from 16 people! If you would like to donate and be a part of Kylie's and our continuing story, we would be so incredibly grateful. To avoid charges from crowd funding sites, we are just using personal transactions.

Feel free to share and forward to anyone who may be interested

New Hope

At the end of January, we went to visit a pediatric pulmonary hypertension specialist at the Lucile Packard Children's Hospital at Stanford. The visit was the result of 7 months of asking, pushing, paperwork and phone calls. And it was worth it all. We were in Palo Alto for about 24 hours. Our visit lasted over 5 hours but not once did we feel rushed, ignored, or uncared for.

We gained so much while we were there. The team confirmed the thoughts and recommendations of Kylie's cardiologist here in LA. It's comforting to know your doctor is knowledgeable. Kylie is now part of two research databases. It doesn't give her any immediate leg up right now, but the seeds are being planted along with over 1000 other children that hopefully we'll soon be able to see trends and links for kids with PH. I got emergency numbers if something would happen, and they're in our phones now.

The best take away is that we've expanded Kylie's team of care. There are now 6 more people who have met our little miracle and are going to walk alongside us on this journey. Their knowledge is expansive, their experience, immense. We left with our questions answered and a solid to-do list.

I asked Ethan on the way home what it felt like to him. He described it as being in a battle and then you're joined by a group of others that relieve the weight of fighting the enemy alone. Or grappling and then having someone come along and tag you out while they take over. You never realize how exhausting going it alone is until you're surrounded with support.

For me I felt like the girl who comes home and falls into the overstuffed arm chair and can't stop gushing about the new boy she just met. I was flying on uber-hope. The catharsis of emotion was so much I couldn't help but let the tears of release fall as our friend drove us back to the airport.

When we got home, there was work to be done. And from all that work, more work.

Never be lazy, but work hard and serve the Lord enthusiastically. 

Rejoice in our confident hope. Be patient in trouble, and keep on praying.

Romans 12:11-12

We met with Kylie's cardiologist and started the paperwork for Kylie's new medication. It is a specialty drug called Tracleer. It falls in a class of drugs called "ERA's" which stand for endothelin receptor antagonists.

"ERAs work by reducing the amount of a substance called endothelin in the blood. Endothelin is made in the layer of cells that line the heart and blood vessels. It causes the blood vessels to constrict (become narrower). In people with PH the body produces too much endothelin. This causes the blood vessels in the lungs to become narrow, increasing the blood pressure in the pulmonary arteries. ERAs reduce the amount of endothelin in the blood, therefore limiting the harm an excess of endothelin can cause."

There are some risks to the drugs. Kylie could sustain liver damage, so she has to get a blood draw every month to test her liver health. She also needs another blood test quarterly to test her blood count numbers. If Kylie had passed puberty, she would need a pregnancy test every month because ERA's can cause severe birth defects.

Six weeks after our trip to Stanford and four weeks after the paperwork was submitted, Kylie finally got her new med. Thankfully, it's another oral medication which doesn't complicate her ability to run, play, and swim. She's not a big fan yet, as it's a pill dissolved in water so it has a chalky consistency to it.

Kylie will take this new drug in addition to the Sildenaphil she's already taking. She can take multiple meds because they each attack the problem from a different angle. Sildenaphil is a phosphodiesterase 5 inhibitors.

"PDE 5 inhibitors stop a particular enzyme (phosphodiesterase type 5 [PDE5]), found in blood vessel walls, from working properly. PDE5 helps control blood flow to the pulmonary arteries. By stopping PDE5 from working, PDE 5 inhibitors (ie sildenafil and tadalafil) cause the blood vessels to relax. This increases blood flow to the lungs and lowers blood pressure."

The doctors also recommended Kylie get 21 other blood tests done to fill out the whole picture of her health. Since that would be too much to take all at once we're divided them up with the monthly draws she has to do anyway. It's so hard to watch.

But God is always giving us good gifts. A friend a our church, Mosaic, encouraged me to see if Kaiser has a child life specialist. Their job is to provide comfort and distraction. They also help children and families cope with the difficulties and challenges of hospital stays, illnesses and disabilities. Kaiser does have one and we met her and she's delightful! They have a play room that Kylie gets to play in before and after her visits. She also comes with us to the blood draw and last time brought bubbles and a doll. After the initial poke, Kylie was super calm while they drew out 8 vials of blood.

Kylie will also be getting a sleep study done at the end of the month to see if her PH is affecting her ability to get oxygen while she sleeps. We discovered on our trip that she snores (I guess the one plus side of having to share a bed with her). And she is still waking up during the night which is frustrating 2 1/2 years later.

And I'm learning and growing through all of this. Advocating takes time, determination, and patience. It took over 1/2 a year to get to Stanford and another month and a half to start the new treatment. There were days where I felt like I lived on the phone. But there is movement. As long as each day didn't end in a dead end, it was easier to begin the next one.

We go back in a few weeks to see how the medication is doing. Meanwhile, I'm letting my brain take a breather and bask in the warmer weather. I'm going to relish the million books my kiddos want me to read and soak in the swim season with them.

Hi, how are you?

I get up at 6. Kylie woke up twice last night. so instead of turning on my computer to work at keeping up on emails and paperwork like usual, I'm make my cup of tea and grab two magazines from my unread stack, hoping I can pitch both of them by the time my hour is over. The first is Pathlight, a magazine dedicated to Pulmonary Hypertension for patients and caregivers. I skim through some of the articles. I come across a pictorial timeline of the 14 drugs that have been approved to treat PH since 1995. I think, "I need to take a picture of that for reference." It gives me a hopeful feeling this early in the morning. And I'm grateful for Monica who connected me with the PH association who makes this magazine.

I keep reading and come across an article written by a woman in the Philippines and her words enrage me and break me. She only has across to one medication. A month's prescription costs her ten times her monthly salary. "This is not okay!" my stomach reels. We have the resources and capacity to heal the world, and we choose not to! Breathe. She describes that people in her country sometimes lie to get other medications through customs, calling them vitamins. She goes on for several paragraphs to list the names of other PH friends she's found over the years. Every paragraph ends with their death. Her hope was beautiful, though. She's working to create an PH Association in the Philippines and bring all the PHighters together, not only to help cultivate support, but to give them a voice in government to help create funding for their medication. And reading it wrecks me. It creates in me a hook to hang my pity on for our own situation. I have nothing to complain about.Yes, I have a child with a terminal, incurable disease...in a first world country. It humbles me to think when I dabble-dream about going overseas on a missions trip, I have not yet had to be nearly as brave or strong as the mothers there. Anything I feel I would have to say feels like a discarded balled up paper only good for shooting wastebasket shots. I'll have to work on rewriting that dabble-dream.

Then it's 7 and Ethan comes in and I get to vomit a bit of my emotional episode so that I can get on with my "Cinderella chores," as I like to call them. Dishes, laundry. I hear on the baby monitor, "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy." The two older kids find their way downstairs in the dark for breakfast. Morgan inquires on behalf of her little sister, "Will you go get Kylie?" I walk upstairs and pick up my little Kylie-boo. Our first stop as always is my bed, where I've learned from 600 repetitions to untie her snowboard boot in the dark (she was born with a club foot). Then downstairs to deal with the diaper.

A few of the lifestyle choices our family has made always makes this part of our morning one of our down and dirty tasks. We chose, back with our first child, to cloth diaper. So if it's dirty, you have to clean it. We also have gone mostly grain free, so there isn't a lot of rough bulk down there anyway. But Kylie's medication has this great ability to liquefy it. We always apologize and thank caretakers in advance when we know it's probably coming on their watch. (The extent to which I love my MOPS and Mosaic childcare workers is astronomical.)

Breakfast is served. I draw up Kylie's morning meds into a syringe. I give a quick prayer thanking God for my friend Heather, who is a pharmacist and saw a need a never new I had -- liquid medication adapters. They plug the opening of a bottle of liquid meds and have just a small opening, like a salad dressing bottle, that fits the syringe so I can tip the bottle upside down without spilling or wasting any of it. It's beautiful.

Ethan makes my breakfast, as always, so that I can eat one meal while it's still hot. Well, if I'm not already busying myself as most of us mothers do. Our children's training seems to be paying off as they all clean up their own breakfast dishes and run off to explore the wonder of the day.

Morgan and Ethan leave for school and work. And it's now just the three of us. I look and see we still have remnants of last year piled around the house: superhero cutouts on the wall from Sean's birthday (that was in July), paint and canvases from Morgan's birthday party (November--not as bad), and a Christmas decoration or two still needing to be packed away. The holidays and vacation have left my prayer wall and to-do list extremely out of date. I should update those....I give myself some minutes to tidy a few things, though I hold to my promise that toys are not "my things" to put away, so they stay. And now I consciously choose to be present with my kiddos: marbles are the activity of choice this morning. I whip out my degree in engineering (I don't have a degree in engineering) and we (well, I) build an impressive marble run course. Their fascination is endless.

I sit down to waste a few minutes on social media. Mixed in with a bunch of beautiful updated profile pictures and nearly envy-inducing vacation posts are pictures of my little PHriends in hospital gowns and posts about whether the IV site on their child looks "normal" when it's all red or yellow; you know, when normal is having a hole in your arm. Or your back. Some others post about still grieving yet another loss in the PH community. Some moms still have their profile picture as Alyana's angel wings (our PH periwinkle awareness ribbon with her name and angel wings). She had a stroke and got the flu and didn't recover. They aren't sure which happened first, but it doesn't really matter. She was nine.

The spot where I pause the longest is to read an update from Billie Jo, a mom of an 18 year old PHighter. We met them both at the PHA Conference last June. Brooke has been coughing up blood and they are still trying to figure out why. I'm hopeful in reading that her PH team in New York is working with the team at Mayo in Minnesota. Not always in agreement, but communicating none the less. It fills me with excitement as we are meeting our specialist team at Stanford next week.

I had the delightful pleasure of my friend Shauna coming over for lunch. Oh, the lovely life of my young motherhood. She and I sit trying to have a conversation while my four year old son, Sean, works to impress her with his new Christmas toys: a foam rocket launcher and his first Nerf gun. We take a pause because my phone alarm goes off at 1 o'clock: time for Kylie's meds, which she sucks down like a champ. We spend the remainder of our interrupted conversation with the game Headbandz adorned on our heads because Sean thinks we should play; although he always insists on looking at his card first so he knows what it is. I cherish that I have friends who will just go with our crazy, silly, fun life. Kylie during all of this has decided to climb in our toy box, diaperless, because she's killing the day-time potty training (thank you Brenda for the kick in the pants), and is hanging out among toy swords, baseball bats, and rollerskates. My thanksgiving prayer at the end is, "Oh thank you Jesus she didn't pee in there."

Now we pack up to go get Morgan from school. She has art class today, so we are picking her up from parks and rec, which is great because I don't have to get out of the car! This is such a blessing because we have surrendered the fact we have a toddler that doesn't nap. I'm sure this is her natural bent in life, but there are also 33% of children who have insomnia as a side effect from her medication. So I'm sure between the two, I'm destined to be tired for a very long time. But when she's strapped into the carseat, she seems to doze off. She's asleep when we pull up to the school yard, and Sean embraces his responsibility of sister-retriever.

Traffic to art class is AMAZING because it's been raining. People don't leave their house if they don't have to when it's raining in LA. So we get to art class and now I have two sleeping children! I thank God for the metered space that's right out front (and is usually always full). I pull out our handicap parking placard so we don't have to feed the meter. (It's one of the few "perks" of having a child with a disability). This is one of the rare moments where Morgan and I can talk uninterrupted. It's kind of nice. Her love language is quality time which I know I will never be able to give her enough of even if she were an only child. It's been nice to accept that.

She goes in to class and it's nice to close my own eyes for a few brief second. We normally go on "adventures" while she's in class. We've walked to a kids consignment shop where Sean is obsessed with the train table they have. We've gone to the library, walked and watched a car wash, gone to the grocery store with the "moving stairs" (escalator). But with the rain, we're just hanging out in the car. I even brought the game phones which we normally only bring when we go to the doctor (which is actually a lot).

At the end we get to go in and see what she's done. Today, she's finished a marker drawing of Hello Kitty. Kylie's in love with the picture. Hello Kitty's one of Kylie's favorite things. The others are "Lella" (Cinderella) and the Mickey Mouse characters. I love when they finally latch on to something at a young age!

We drive home and now it's dinner prep. While the kids play with cars, they also turn on a story that Amma introduced them to called Patch the Pirate; think radio theater for kids. It's louder than I'd like, but I don't say anything. Then Morgan asks to watch a video, debating that Sean watched it this morning. "When you're halfway done with your school project." is my reply. Then toy cars start to get driven off the table, crashing to our unforgiving stone floor. They receive the death glare because "I've told them before not to" and it's late and I'm hangry. Now Morgan wants to watch the video because she's met my requirement (which I didn't think she'd hit before dinner, but I need to follow through because that's what good parents do, right?). So I'm trying to find this video, which I can't in .2 seconds and I'm stressed about burning dinner, and the music is still loud, and Kylie crashes another car onto the floor. That's it! My sensory limit has been exceeded and my tolerance snaps like a rubber band. "YOU'RE DONE!" I belt as I wildly grab Kylie from the chair who immediately begins to cry. And instantaneously, I know I'm wrong and have terrified her and while she's still being swung through the air I start to sing, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, you know that Mommy loves you," no longer caring about anything else but her tears. I thank God for Ashley who told me she sings to her kids when she's going to lose it.

I regain control of myself and focus on the things I need to be a good Mommy at the moment. Music down. Sorry Morgan, the video needs to wait but we'll find it. Kids, please clear the table for dinner. We eat without too much conversation because we can all see Mommy's tapped out. Then... Daddy gets home!! Yes, I love him and I'm glad that my husband has arrived back in my life. But usually the first thing that enters my mind is, "The reinforcements have arrived!!" Tonight they want to wrestle; that's Daddy's job. Even Kylie cries, "My chern! My chern!" It gives me a breather and I decide to sort through photos from the last year in our large camera dump folder on the computer, deleting what I don't want to keep. I love looking at them and relive those moments as I go through. I'm thankful for Tiffany, who told me she doesn't do dinner dishes until the morning. Blew my mind and it has changed my life.

Pajamas, teeth, and books in Mom and Dad's bed. Kylie's picked The Little Lost Penguin. Sean's in a Dr. Seuss phase and has chosen Horton Hears a Who and Morgan has a story from her Disney Fairies Collection. Dad is getting Kylie's diaper, meds and boot ready. Kylie interrupts the story with "No boo! No boo!" and begins to wail. She sees the end of her day coming. She still has to sleep in her snowboard boot until she's three. Eight more months, baby. We all take turns reciting our verse of scripture for the month. The kids like to stand on the bed when it's their turn. Morgan has moved into a new class this year, so they no longer share the same one. And they're a little harder. It's sometimes nice to see your child struggle a bit and be able to encourage her in it.

We go around and share what we're grateful for and ask if the kids want to pray for a friend tonight. Morgan chooses Kylie. "Dear Lord, please let Kylie's lungs feel better so that she can stop having to take the medication." It's beautiful and from her heart. We haven't yet explained to them the full extent of Kylie's disease. I almost cry for several reason. I love how compassionate my kids are. Morgan didn't choose to pray for Kylie not to scream for 45 minutes because she hates going to bed, which keeps the kids up. She chose to pray for the thing she can't see, only something she's been told. Kylie doesn't look sick and doesn't act sick. Currently, she doesn't display any of the symptoms of PH: fatigue, dizziness, fainting, or shortness of breath.

The other reason is that used to be my prayer too. And it may be yours too for her, but mine has changed. It would be amazing for her to be miraculously healed, and we could stop all this hospital business and medication. But if that happened, that's only good for our family; it doesn't help any of our PHriends. We would have gotten "lucky." No, my prayer has become for the person or team that will discover the cure for this beast. That God ignites a love of science and curiosity in them. That they have teachers that tell them just because it's never been done doesn't mean it's not possible. That they will possess qualities of tenacity, focus, and determination. That they will have champions who believe in them, support them, and finance their dreams. Because that will cause the greatest good.

Then it's hugs, kisses, high fives, and scruffles and off to bed. I fill their essential oil diffuser with Breathe tonight. I rotate between several different ones that help with respiratory health and immune health (Eucalyptus and peppermint, Melissa, Breathe, Lavender, On Guard). Balance is a new one I heard may help with Kylie's night terrors. Maybe in next month's order we'll have money for that one. I thank God for Lorrie and Cathy who have been so helpful in introducing me to oils and how they can help our little PHighter.

We turn off the light and Kylie's screaming begins. Tonight it's only about 40 minutes. It's date night tonight and Ethan has picked Couple Scategories. We've learned that in this season of life, going out at night is nearly impossible. Not just because of Kylie's screaming, but we're tired. Sleep is almost more important than socializing. Plus, it saves us the text messages from the sitter saying Kylie's still crying, should they do anything. And she's always been a screamer. I used to joke that it's hard to believe she has a lung problem with force like that. But it is on my list of growing questions for the specialist. I know some PH patients sleep with oxygen masks on at night.

Ethan and I laugh while we play and eat a large pile of dark chocolate he picked up. We tag team reassuring Kylie that we are still downstairs and that it's time to sleep. We finish and now it's our turn to sleep. Our prayers in this season are rather short; the morning comes early. Ethan's asleep in two minutes. I turn the flashlight on my phone and read through the next section in my book, The Whole-Brain Child which I heard about at MOPS. It's explaining so much of my own life, even though it's a book on how a child's brain develops and how we as parents can nurture that development and balance our expectations of our kids based on what they are actually capable of understanding. I'm thankful for all my MOPS moms who have been a lifeline these two years, supporting me when I'm about to lose myself and lifting me up to be the healthiest woman I can be.

My light goes out and I bury myself under the covers in my Eskimo-equivalent pajamas. I argue it's not 68 no matter what the thermostat says. Ten blankets or an electric blanket would be nicer, but I do this because it is the only way I will get myself out of bed when a child wakes up and I have to traipse through an uninsulated house when it's 38 degrees outside. And luckily tonight, I'm tired enough to actually fall asleep. Thank you, Jesus.

                                                            *****

The events in this post all happened last week, but I took the liberty of consolidating them into one day for the narrative. I wrote it for a few reasons. It reminds my that in every day there are good things that happen; I'm a good mom and I have great kids. It also reminds me that my life is difficult. Yes, I have a child with a rare and terminal disease; that's just life. Normal now operates on a slightly elevated level of hard.

Third, it was cathartic to write this. About a week and a half ago, our Pastor announced he has cancer, and immediately, my heart broke for his family because I believe it's sometimes harder to be the people who walk beside someone who is sick, because they have to make a conscious decision to stay checked in. And something he said resonated with me. He said, "Don't ask my family how they're doing. They're not ok." And that is often how I feel. So when I'm asked how I'm doing or how Kylie's doing, I literally have to block out half of our current life to say, "Good." So I ask that you be careful how you throw that question around. Yes, some days may be great for us, and I will readily tell you. But other days, even when Kylie is doing what every other two year old does, my mind is always loaded with information about PH and other families affected by it.

Both motherhood and PH have made me a more compassionate and grateful person. I'm more sensitive to people's pain and sadness, especially my kids. I'm eternally grateful for the women God has surrounded me with that speak wisdom, encouragement, helpful tips, and comfort into my life. And the things I find I appreciate the most are the small things.

Hugs: I need a lot of them. Because a hug when you mean it is like emotional oxygen.

Encouragement; motherhood is hard enough and we all need our tribe to champion us. But a mother who has a child with a chronic illness can never hear enough of, "You're doing great." "Your kids are wonderful" "Nothing your kids do will surprise me or make me think less of you." (Thanks Becky for that one!) "You give me so much hope." "You look great today."

Sitting with me in the chaos; the friends that will do life with me and my crazy crew are pure gold. I need you. I'm not superwoman. I possess no magical or supernatural powers. Yes, your hands will get dirty, but the joy and smiles you get in return can never be wiped away.

I love you all so dearly. Thank you for your prayers for our family and for a cure for our little Kylie-bear. To hope and the future!

We belong to a tribe called Mosaic that lives by faith, is known by love, and is a voice of hope.

The Pathlight magazine is published through the PH Association.

I attend MOPS which believes that Moms makes a better world.

November is Pulmonary Hypertension Awareness Month! + Fundraising Partnership with LuLaRoe clothing!

If you could meet her, she’s the smiliest, happiest child you’d ever meet. She’d wave hello and blow kisses goodbye. She is our smiley Kylie-bear. She doesn’t look sick, but inside her, she has a rare, horrible, and terminal disease called Pulmonary Hypertension (PH). As November is national PH awareness month, we’re honored to share Kylie’s story with you.

Her journey to diagnosis started very early with a miraculous and kind of rare find. When Suzanne was pregnant and in her third trimester, the doctor told us Kylie’s heart was pumping akin to a jellyfish instead of a strong in and out pulse. After that visit, we sent out an email to 300 people with a cry called #PlanA that she would be ok. Our prayers were answered: she came into this world full of joy.

But the pressures in her lungs were too high, and they weren’t lowering as they should. The doctors spent the next 8 months ruling out heart and lung disease, structural abnormalities, and genetic problems. After undergoing a heart catheterization and a CAT scan, she was diagnosed with Idiopathic Pulmonary Arterial Hypertension: for an unknown reason, the arteries that run blood from her heart into her lungs for oxygen are narrowed. This causes extremely high blood pressure in those arteries and causes her heart to work harder to push the blood through. It’s like she’s running a marathon all the time. The end result of this disease is right heart failure and death because the heart has pumped so hard for so long that it eventually gives out. Thankfully, there are 14 approved drugs that force the arteries open to ease the strain on the heart, but like most drugs, nothing is FDA-approved for peds. Doctors use them anyway, hoping for few side effects in their tiny little bodies. And the drugs do not cure the disease, they only slow its progression. If pulmonary hypertension is left untreated, life expectancy can be as short as 2.8 years. The journey to find the right treatment is full of trial and error and uncertainty. We knew we needed help.

And seven months after the diagnosis, we found it in The Pulmonary Hypertension Association (PHA), which became our PHamily. We met our first other PH patient. We went to our first PH conference and met other PH kids and their families. We found hope and support. We became fighters for our PHighter. In January, we will be making our first trip to see a pediatric PH specialist and we can’t wait! Currently, there are only 7 hospitals in the US that have pediatric pulmonary specialists; seven, for all children under the age of 18. In concert with these facilities, the PHA promotes awareness among physicians, which in the case of a rare disease is key to promoting to early detection. They also help fund research in hope of someday finding a cure.

I love imagery. The ribbon color for PH is periwinkle because it is the color the lips turn when deprived of oxygen. They call PH patients medical zebras. It comes from an analogy that medical students are taught: “When you hear the sound of hooves, think horses, not zebras.” And most of the time diagnoses are common, like horses, but there are those one in a million -- the zebras. And the community that fights this disease has taken that those facts that can overwhelm us with despair and turn them into beautiful things like periwinkle nail polish and blue lipstick selfies. They wear zebra prints with pride.

The imagery I love to use with Kylie is my little panda bear. Still black and white like a zebra, but truly rare. Chubby cheeks and adorably cute and playful. Having a child with a disability, chronic illness, special needs, terminal disease, whatever you want to call it, has created a wellspring of hope inside of us. This disease has changed our family. We have allowed this disease to transform us into vessels of hope and love. We have become more compassionate and empathetic. Life is a gift. She is a gift to us. We been entrusted with the privilege of showing her what it looks like to live an alive life full of adventure, courage, risk, joy and dancing. She is a wellspring of life.

Moreover, taking this journey together has made us realize that we are all diseased. There are things inside of us that are so broken and sick that we are often more dead than alive. Anger will rot our souls. Sadness will swallow us whole. We have to hope. Hope empowers us; it creates beautiful things out of brokenness. Yes, we’ve been in a hospital more than we’ve wanted to. And we know harder days are ahead for her. That her future may become more complicated than taking her meds like you would take cough syrup. She may have an IV feeding meds into her bloodstream, or a subcutaneous pump. She will probably have days where she doesn’t have energy to get out of bed or walk from the car to school. It would be so easy to be angry or judgmental about it, but that doesn’t help her or us.

What helps is hope and love. We have discovered life is not meant to be lived alone. We have found shoulders to cry on, hands to help carry us, hearts that beat with joy and life enough for dozens.

So you may never meet Kylie, but allow knowing her story start to change you. That you can become more alive and full of hope and love. That you may be aware of your own brokenness and the brokenness of those around you; those in pain and struggling. Because disease wants us in bed. Hope pulls us up off our knees. Disease wants us to succumb to despair, but hope presses us to explore the possibilities. Disease wants us to be lonely. Hope drives us to community. Disease wants us to be selfish and pity ourselves. Hope calls us to be generous.

Our good friend Jennifer Hoffman is helping us raise awareness and funds for Pulmonary Hypertension! She sells LuLaRoe clothing (link below) and is donating a portion of every online sale (and the sales from any of her "Open Shopping House" in the LuLaRoom) to the Pulmonary Hypertension Association in the hopes that one day soon Kylie-Bear and her fellow PHighters will have a brighter outlook and shine here on earth longer!! We are so grateful for Jenn and her friendship. For her generosity in organizing and partnering with us for hope in Kylie’s future. Hope for a cure. Hope for life. Hope for a more beautiful and empowered humanity.

With love,

Ethan, Suzanne, Morgan, Sean and Kylie

Check out Jenn Hoffman's LuLaRoe page and click Shop Now!

A lot of our hope has been found at Mosaic; a community that follows Jesus and His teachings to live by faith, to be known by love, and be to a voice of hope.