NS

NS
The Most Common Rare Syndrome You've Never Heard Of

Sunday, November 2, 2014

My Son George-Sarah Eastaugh



Hi, my name is Sarah and I am from Essex, England. My sons name is George. He was born 3rd September 2013.

The pregnancy was uncomplicated, though I did find out at 34 weeks I had gestational diabetes.

George was born at 36 weeks, a healthy weight of 6lb 4oz’s, but he showed signs of distress right from the beginning.  Immediately after birth George was taken to the NICU. Further tests indicated he was having Apnoea’s and desaturations.  Treatment for those uncovered a heart murmur, and later Supravalvular Pulmonary Stenosis.  In total George was in the NICU for 11 days. 

Our time in NICU was hard. George is my first child--it wasn’t the start of parenthood that I had expected.

George’s time in the NICU was a tremendous struggle.  For starters the first week we were both in hospital for an infection, and I was on complete bed rest due to blood loss and low blood pressure. During that time I would spend the whole day sitting by his incubator just crying. My husband had to be strong for the both of us as this tore me apart. I would check his chart over and over for any change or setbacks and would feel like I had been punched if I saw the dreaded mark.  At the end of the week I was able to go home, which I had mixed emotions about. I knew I would eventually have to leave without him so wanted to be able to start that routine, but then of course I didn’t want to leave my son.


I spent 2 nights at home without him. After that he was put on a 24 hour breast feeding trial, which was a success.  I was then able to take my boy home. My family was complete.

Being at home with my son was amazing. Like many new-borns he slept a lot, and wasn't too fussed on milk. Little and often was just enough for him. And then when we moved onto bottles it was the same.

When George was 3 months old we had an appointment with the paediatrician. The appointment was straight forward.  He was happy with his progress, but the heart murmur was still there. This is when we were referred to the cardiologist. At this point we didn’t think anything of it.

When George was 4/5 months old we went to see the cardiologist. When the tests were completed and the results in the doctor dropped the bombshell – “‘your son has Supravalvur pulmonary stenosis and clearly has Noonan’s Syndrome”. My heart sank.......I didn’t know anything about this, and of course when I left I got straight onto Google, and then cried all the way home. My heart felt like it had been broken. My poor son. Why us? Why him?

We knew we were being referred to see a geneticist but I knew I had to do some research first, hoping to prepare myself beforehand.

I cried everyday for weeks. I felt liken my whole life had been taken away from me, and that my son already had a rough start in life. Why did he need another obstacle? It just wasn’t fair.

Our first geneticist appointment was at  9 months old. By this time we knew George had a slight developmental delay, but I truly believed it was because he slept so much. Again I wasn't prepared.

The Geneticist said she could see features of NS with George. His eyes, his ears, and then the slight delay. Bloods were taken and we were told that he was being tested for PTPN11, and the results would take 3 months.

In this time we had been referred to a group called, “ Portage”. They come to our house once a week for developmental play. George loves it!  And he really has come a long way from when he first started.

George has many friends the same age and younger whom he loves seeing, but I really struggle seeing them all together because it just highlights how delayed my son is, and then I have mixed emotions: jealousy, anger, and joy. I can honestly say that I am jealous of others, angry that it’s my son who has these issues, but then happy when I see how far my son has come. I speak to my friends when I have a bad day but sometimes I find the responses upsetting. I am told, “he’s fine, he’s perfect”, “he’s doing so well”, and “you need to just accept it”. But unless you are going through it yourself you don’t ever truly understand. I felt like I had lost the little boy that I was expecting, and then had to plan a life for the boy I had.


We are still playing the genetics waiting game as the results for PTPN11 came back negative.  His bloods have been re- sent for another panel of testing that will take until the end of the year. We are anxious for answers so we can do some future planning for him. We know that eventually he will need open heart surgery, but that is something I plan to push to the back of my mind until the appropriate time.

I still have days when I cry. George has just started physio. They come once a month and we have seen them twice. Although he is doing really well, I always cry after the session. My brain just ticks over and I think “he shouldn’t be having this" or "he shouldn't need this”, but then it’s like a flick and I think “but this is going to help him, this is going to get him to where he needs to be”.

At 14 months George is a healthy eater-- loves his food, he bum shuffles, commando crawls and is happy cruising around the sofas. His favourite word (only word) is dada, and he is my happy, beautiful boy who is my world– I just love him.


Having a child with Noonan’s has opened my eyes to disabilities, and not just what the child has to go through, but also the parents. It is a really lonely place. We have friends and family but being able to speak to those in the same boat is priceless, and for that I will be forever grateful.




Wednesday, October 8, 2014

If Only For a Moment--Heather Cole



The first time I peered into the cloudy glass window, through safety bars and clumps of advertising stickers, I froze.  The American bounty of familiar food filled the shelves—Jif peanut butter, snickers candy bars, ruffled potato chips, Keebler  crackers and the like.  I mentally tasted each and every one.  True, thanks to an import business that sprang to life sometime within the seventeen years I had been away from Kenya, obtaining foods similar to those types of American items was now possible.  Even so, the current plethora of food products weren’t from home.  They weren’t the familiar, comforting tastes I knew so well.  And to make matters worse, the store I was salivating over was ONLY for American government employees (VAT free), not run of the mill missionaries from America.  All those delightful, pretty boxes and crinkly packages were off limits to me, no matter what.  And every time I walked by that store my heart… pulled…hard.   We had been living in a rural area for many months, not to mention sleeping in a spider infested back room of another missionary’s home, subject to someone else’s preferences in food.  Imagining me sinking my teeth into a good ol’ Snickers bar sounded absolutely blissful.

It has been three years since the birth of my son with NS.  As with so many other families the entire first year, and well into the end of the second year, was wrought with extreme sleep deprivation, high anxiety levels, endless hospitalizations, procedures, doctors and emergency visits.  Putting it lightly, there wasn’t a day gone by that didn’t bring something new-- usually unwelcome.  My world spun around a little boy and all his needs, barely making room for two big sisters and a dad always waiting in the wings for any crumb of attention they could sop up.  And spreading all the love around never really felt possible.  In truth Rhyse did get 90% of the attention in those two years, and I can only hope that I haven’t permanently wounded any little psyches because of it.  A ‘normal’ day couldn’t even be contrived.  But I am so thankful for the word, “grace.”  If it weren’t for grace from all family members to allow me to throw my attentions where it was demanded most, everyday life would have been a whole lot harder.

As I lay in bed last night thinking about the past three years, beginning October 17th, 2011, I saw a picture of myself in front of that ex-pat store.  And I realized how much that symbolized where we are today, and where we will always be.  

As parents we don’t see our children as labels, but on paper labels do exist: Leah, the adopted daughter, Leah the moderately cognitively impaired daughter, and Rhyse the son with Noonan Syndrome.   And these labels, even though they aren’t worn around like name-brand symbols on t-shirts and tennis shoes, they do change the dynamics within a family.  And I can say for me that so much like those can’t have  --don’t even think about it—you have no right to them American foods I salivated over every single time, living life as if there were no cognitive impairments, or medical complexities and surprises just doesn’t exist: it isn’t attainable.  And every once in a while I do peer into a world where I don’t have to worry about my daughter’s sustainable future, nor live on the edge of a medical crises, or learn of yet another diagnosis, or be sent to another specialist: that world is out of reach. So I stand and squish my face up against an invisible, dirty window at a more ‘typical’ family—if just for a brief moment.  And then I walk away knowing my life is full, no matter what. I'm happy to say my heart is NOT tormented. And though I would truly make the CI diagnosis and NS diagnosis go away if I could, I don’t for a second lament their labels.  It's totally normal to "check out the other side of the fence" occasionally, and it's OK! And like any other parent in the world, I wish all three of my children safety in school, protection from bullies, success in whatever their hearts desire both now and in their futures, and fulfillment from the inside out!





Heather and Jon are parents to Leah (11), Maggey(8) and Rhyse(3), residing in Allendale, Michigan. Heather is a stay at home mom who enjoys blogging when she has a spare moment at Life Journeys and Such.  Jon works for a local manufacturing company.  

















DISCLAIMER:

The article above was written by a guest blogger. The opinions and ideas written belong solely to the guest blogger. Noonan Syndrome Foundation DOES NOT endorse political candidates and religion or religious preferences.
This blog is provided for moral support purposes only. This blog is not a substitute in any way for medical advice, diagnosis or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have learned from this blog.
The Foundation does not recommend or endorse any specific tests, treatments, physicians, products, procedures, opinions or other information that may be mentioned in this blog. Reliance on any information provided by the Foundation, Foundation volunteers, staff or guest blogger/s is solely at your own risk. You should not rely on information you receive from or through the blog for any personal, medical or health decision, but should consult with a qualified professional for specific information suited to your family member’s case.





Saturday, May 31, 2014

To Compare is to Devalue--Heather Cole and Harmony Harkema (SILs)



Heather and Harmony and Lili

Harmony's Voice:


The Perfect Family

“I’m pregnant.”
The words came without warning. She simply dropped them into a lull in the conversation as though she were making an everyday observation. She might have said it was supposed to rain the next morning. Her tone was light and perfectly calm, her expression serious.
I was stirring something in a pot on the stove, and I turned abruptly, my wooden spoon leaving a trail of liquid across the kitchen tile. I looked at my sister-in-law intently, searching for a hint of humor beneath the surface, a sign she was messing with us.
There was none.
“You’re . . . joking?” I asked, falteringly.
She shook her head.
Heather’s pregnancy came as a shock. She had thought her family was complete. But God – he was on another page. He had something special in mind for Heather, Jon, and their two girls. Or rather, he had them in mind for someone else.
###
Seven months later, after months of morning sickness, a challenging bout with gestational diabetes, and burgeoning worries when third trimester ultrasounds showed that Heather’s placenta was calcifying, Rhyse Addyson Cole entered the world. He came quickly, both during labor and at the end of it, his father catching him like a football as he exited the birth canal in a rush of life-giving fluid.
We went to the hospital the afternoon of his birth, the entire extended family crowding into Heather’s postpartum room, passing the newest member around like a shared treat. He was the tiniest baby I’d ever held, a mere five pounds four ounces, with swirls of surprising red hair that led Heather to joke that maybe he was really the mailman’s son. Jon smile was the widest we’d ever seen it.
Rhyse charmed us all that first afternoon, his tiny, perfect face relaxed and calm, his eyes seeming to take the measure of each of us like a wise old soul. Both Eli and I snuggled him close and smiled at Heather’s hints to us that Rhyse needed a cousin close to his age. We had no idea that we were already pregnant. We drove home from the hospital feeling nothing more than a deep thankfulness that this longed-for and deeply loved little boy had safely arrived.
My phone rang just before 5 a.m. the next morning, pulling us from deep slumber. When I saw Jon’s name on the caller ID, I came fully awake with a jolt. Even before I answered, I knew there could be only one reason for Jon to call so early. Something had to be wrong with Heather or the baby.

The days and weeks that followed were filled with mystery as the doctors searched for an explanation for Rhyse’s unique medical state. A fearsome low blood platelet count spurred the hospital OB to rush Rhyse via ambulance to the nearest children’s hospital. Finally, after six weeks in the NICU that involved countless tests, numerous platelet transfusions, and all kinds of other medical intercessions no infant should have to endure, Heather and Jon received a tentative diagnosis, one that would require further testing before it could be made formal. Rhyse had Noonan Syndrome.

Noonan Syndrome. None of us had ever heard of it. Heather and Jon had to educate themselves out of necessity, and they did their best to educate the rest of us in turn. In the end, all we could really be sure of was that nothing was certain. Noonans looks different on every child, and we had no idea how it was going to look on Rhyse.
###
It’s been over two years since Rhyse was diagnosed with Noonans, and it’s safe to say he’s become the light of our collective family life. He has proven himself hardier than any toughened adult, undergoing constant assessment and treatment for everything from feeding issues to breathing problems. He has a team of twelve specialists who are regularly reassessing his needs. He has a G-tube. He gets twice daily steroid shots to help him grow and will continue to do so until he’s 18 years old. He gets nightly breathing treatments and will soon have both his tonsils and adenoids removed in order to improve his ability to breathe while he’s lying down. But these medical pieces, while they are a big part of Rhyse’s life, do not define him. Far from it.

What does define him? The same things that define any two-year-old. Bottomless curiosity. The desire to make his own place of significance within his family and his world. That unmistakable toddler mix of courage and timidity. The hunger to be heard, understood, respected, and valued.

When we think of Rhyse, we don’t think of Noonan Syndrome. We think of our spunky red-headed nephew with the unshakable sense of humor. The one who loves and fights with his older sisters like any little brother. The one who loves to tease his daddy. The one who, in spite of delayed verbal development, communicates his needs, wants, and feelings as clearly as can be. The one who loves cars and trucks as though it’s in his DNA. The one who is bright and intuitive and can read the atmosphere in a room as well as any psychologist. The one who wants, just like any other child, to be loved and snuggled and teased and talked to.

Rhyse and Lili
We live halfway across the country now, and most of our time together consists of sending each other videos or making time to Skype. When we do, we don’t see a sick child, or a struggling child, or an abnormal child. We see a happy, active little boy yelling and running and playing and just having a ball being alive. He and our daughter, Lili, who is nine months younger, wave to each other gleefully across the miles, always excited to see each other, even if it’s only via a computer screen. Indeed, Lili’s favorite “TV show” is Rhyse’s YouTube channel.

And his parents? His sisters? No one, no one, could love Rhyse, could care for him, the way they do. Even at the end of a week wherein there have been gas bubbles in the G-tube and episodes of throwing up formula all over the minivan, hours spent in a specialist’s office that end in yet another tweak to the care plan, and midnight visits to the emergency room - even when it feels like there’s nothing more that could possibly go wrong, none of it can cancel out the love shared between the five of them.

Noonans doesn’t stop them from being a family who goes to the library and the bookstore and the zoo and the beach. A family with a swimming pool and a trampoline in the backyard. A family who goes on hikes and bikes rides and trips to the ice cream shop down the street.

It’s still not clear what Noonans will mean for Rhyse long term, what he’ll be able to do or be as an adult. What is clear, however, is that Rhyse is exactly where God meant for him to be – cradled in the bosom of a family that, while as imperfect as every other family, is perfect for him.

Harmony Harkema is the proud aunt of Rhyse Addyson Cole, a spunky little boy who just happens to have Noonan Syndrome. She is also the proud mother of Rhyse’s favorite cousin, Lili. Harmony lives in the Washington, DC area. She blogs at www.beyondtoast.com.

*******************************************************************************


Mom's (Heather) Voice:


Mom and Rhyse(PTNP11)
When I walked into Meijer, a mid-western mass retailer, I found myself settling my eyes on a little boy who has a syndrome.  He and his dad were walking along the fresh vegetable aisle holding hands, and sporting smiles spread from ear to ear.  I didn't have my son with me at the time, but as I sauntered by these words came to my mind, “I know.”   I continued on past the salty snack aisle, the baking aisle, and the ethnic food aisle and onto the cleaning aisle to grab some toweling. But all the while I desperately wanted to run back to that daddy and tell him, “I value your son too.” I grabbed some toweling and made my way back to the front of the store, purposefully gazing down each aisle momentarily to look for the boy and his dad.  I never found them.  I feel I missed an opportunity to remind that dad he’s not alone.

According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary the second meaning of compare means “to look at (two or more things) closely in order to see what is similar or different about them or in order to decide which one is better.” The second definition of devalue means “to cause (something or someone) to seem or to be less valuable or important.”

All of our lives we compare who we are to who someone else is or what we may or may not have as compared to a friend or a stranger —wondering how being like someone else or having what they have might define us differently.  These comparisons seem inherent to our nature as humans, though for each of us these may be bent in different ways according to the culture and sub-culture that we live in, as well as our personal spiritual journeys.

Comparisons can push us to greater success, or greater failure. Comparisons can be inane, or horrifically self-defeating. If we could live a life without comparing I truly don’t know if it would be better or worse! 

In the beginning of our journey’s with Noonan Syndrome I believe many of us could only see the blatant differences in our children.  And those differences were painful.  Most mommies were being wheeled out the door of their birthing center with their little bundle in arms, overwhelmed with the impending sleep deprivation and life changes that come with having children.  But at least that is “normal.”  For many of us NICU instantly became our “normal”. Instead of exuding joyous emotion over our new arrival, in between yawns of course, we had to find a new way to handle both joy and pain in the same moments. We had to learn quickly to allow strange men and women to handle, cuddle, feed and clothe our newborns.  And trust doctors we had never met.  We had to learn to fore go the expectations of a new parent, and learn to return home from the hospital each day empty handed.  It has been two and a half years since my journey with Noonans began and the wounds that these things left can easily be torn open from sheer memories alone. I can only look back for a short time, and then I must move on to savor the present—to value my son for whom he is.  If I don’t value him, as a parent, for both his differences and similarities to others I don’t know that he will be able to value himself as he becomes more self-aware.

When others compare our child/children to the mainstream or to other non-typical children we feel devalued as parents, and it feels like our child/children are being devalued as well.  But if I could gather all of us parents together in one room I think we could agree that as our love for our child grows deeper, we focus less and less on their differences. And whether others compare our children to the mainstream or we ourselves compare our own children to the mainstream it is fruitless, and it can devalue everyone.  As moms and dads of children who do not fit into the “typical” category, whether the differences are physically obvious or not, we know that comparison is less about differences and more about commitment: commitment to love beyond the imperfections of humanity, and to love and to value in a new and deeper way.

Maggey, Rhyse, Leah
I wish I could say I was perfect at commitment instead of comparison myself, or that the words of others comparing my children just slip off me like water down a slide.  But I can’t.  As of mother of an adopted daughter whose inherited skin color is a deep, lustrous brown I face the challenge of rising emotions when she is compared to white folk. Just this past week she came racing off the bus upset that she was called, “dark chocolate” all the way  home. My second daughter is white and “typical” in every way and truly can’t understand why others tease her sister—they are the best of friends. My son who not only has Noonan Syndrome but has spectacular, orangey-red hair--for which he gets gawked at by older ladies, just plain sticks out wherever he goes!   

While we do not want to be hypersensitive to the stares or the questions we get from strangers I will be the first to raise my hand and admit I get tired of the “he’s so small what’s wrong with him?” question or “your son looks tired is it nap time?” And don't complain to me that your child won't eat his veggies!  At least he eats!  Ok, see?  I, too, have to take a big breath and bite my tongue on occasion.  Rarely does anyone really want to know about a syndrome, and when I use the word, “ptosis” their own eyes glaze over!  There are days where I am tired of feeding Rhyse through a g-tube, being puked on at the most inconvenient times, changing bed covers three times a night from med port eruptions, perpetual sleep deprivation and a long list of diagnoses that only continues to get longer-- I struggle with feelings of incompetence and uselessness as a person.  And in the wee, wee hours of the morning, when I can’t relax long enough to ooze back to sleep because the sounds of Rhyse’s asthma are keeping my nerves sharp and edgy, I desperately wish Noonans away like the whole thing was just a hokey nightmare from too much pizza. I crave “typical.” Eventually morning does come, and the brain fog lifts, and there it is, Noonans, still staring back at me in face of a beautiful little boy that I could not love any less, no matter what. 

So I erroneously compare myself with that mother "out there" who has healthy kids, who keeps a perfectly clean house, and always gets the dry laundry out of the dryer before wrinkles set in--and I come up so far from human.  Being a mom of a child with a syndrome  makes me feel different too. I guess we all have to keep reminding ourselves not to compare! We compare and we make assumptions; assumptions that are usually wrong.  And for some darn reason when we compare and assume we aren't thinking in the best interest of others! 

I feel I must interject an important point here: this is from a mother’s perspective.  I am not the one who is labeled “different.”  I am not the one who has to overcome physical and emotional challenges in a world set up for “typical” people.  I grieve EVERY time I read the many accounts of kids, written by parents of kids with Noonans, being viciously bullied because of their small stature.  I am moved by the love of a sister when I watch Alexia Grace Hopkins singing, "DifferentThan Everyone Else", a song she wrote in honor of her sister who has Noonans.  In a bittersweet way I enjoy reading and rereading Lee Robinson’s blog regarding his beloved brother, Connor.  The paradox between resenting Connor because of how his medical issues inherently brought so much attention as a child, and yet the fierce love of a little brother for his big brother gets me every time. I see how this could be playing out in my own kids’ lives. And yet there is nothing I can do to change those dynamics.  I can only love equally and believe someday all my kids will understand.

Each time kids who have NS speak out I listen and learn.

So as I take a deep breath and examine my own coined phrase, “to compare is to devalue”, as a mom who has a child with a syndrome, I challenge myself to always value him well beyond any reason to compare him to others, and to teach my other two kids that comparing themselves to others for any reason is futile.  And most of all to help Rhyse "catch" the understanding that being different doesn't make him less.  Not to mention kicking myself in the pants occasionally and reminding myself of the same thing!

Heather and Jon have three kids, Leah, Maggey and Rhyse(PTNPII). They reside in Allendale, Michigan. Jon works as a Materials Manager for an international company, and Heather is a stay at home mom--who occasionally likes to blog!   Life Journey's



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DISCLAIMER:

The article above was written by a guest blogger. The opinions and ideas written belong solely to the guest blogger. Noonan Syndrome Foundation DOES NOT endorse political candidates and religion or religious preferences.
This blog is provided for moral support purposes only. This blog is not a substitute in any way for medical advice, diagnosis or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have learned from this blog.
The Foundation does not recommend or endorse any specific tests, treatments, physicians, products, procedures, opinions or other information that may be mentioned in this blog. Reliance on any information provided by the Foundation, Foundation volunteers, staff or guest blogger/s is solely at your own risk. You should not rely on information you receive from or through the blog for any personal, medical or health decision, but should consult with a qualified professional for specific information suited to your family member’s case.


Wednesday, March 12, 2014

Lee Robinson--Growing Up with a Soldier


This is a short story on what growing up with a brother with noonan syndrome is like from my point of view.

I am 22 and Connor is 20. As children Connor and I were the best of friends. I have little recollection of knowing he was different until primary school.  At that time he was bullied a lot for being different. I was very protective of him, getting into fights with those that bullied him.

Eventually Connor changed schools because the school he was at refused to believe my brother was being bullied. Secondary school was even harder. During that time he became ill a lot, and I was old enough to understand how sick he was.  I found it heart breaking to support him while struggling with my own mental health challenges.  I could not get a handle on things as I felt pushed aside. As a teenager I did resent him, even though I loved him to bits and would fight for him.

When I was no longer in school with Connor he was bullied by both teachers and other students and I was no longer there to protect him. He did not tell us he was being bullied until he left school because he was scared of how I would react.

Throughout all the crap he was still suffering from different health issues. But I continued to support him, trying my best to understand Noonans. He was also my rock when I was diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder, even though he doesn’t understand it to this day. He tries his best and for that  I can’t thank him enough.  

When our mum took ill a few years back he became withdrawn.  I became the main caregiver for him.  That time was hard--I had to be strong when I just wanted to cry. I still remember his voice telling me things would be, “ok.”  It’s something I will never forget because I was the big brother but he was the strong one that day. Through it all we all came out the other side together.

Dad left when Connor was born, and was a part time dad for 8 years until he got remarried and just disappeared. I struggled with him leaving, and was always very angry with him. Connor has never had a bond with him so he has never spoken about him even though it must upset him at times.

Connor is the strongest person I know and I look at him like a soldier. Nothing has ever beat him even though he struggles every day with his health. He still has a smile for me every day and I love him so much .

As I was writing this he came and hugged me for no reason .

I am writing this to let everyone know that you come out the other end the winner and the struggle is worth it just for that beautiful smile, or once in a blue moon hug. So for anyone with a sibling with Noonans  just remember their struggle is so real to them, and the best thing you can do is just be there with a smile and a hug when they want it.

Writing this was really hard as I am thinking on the bad times which is something I try not to do but hopefully someone will realize when they read this that you can get through it .

I am proud when I look at Connor now as I know I helped make him the man he is today, and I could not ask for a better brother as I love him to bits.







DISCLAIMER:

The article above was written by a guest blogger. The opinions and ideas written belong solely to the guest blogger. Noonan Syndrome Foundation DOES NOT endorse political candidates and religion or religious preferences.
This blog is provided for moral support purposes only. This blog is not a substitute in any way for medical advice, diagnosis or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have learned from this blog.
The Foundation does not recommend or endorse any specific tests, treatments, physicians, products, procedures, opinions or other information that may be mentioned in this blog. Reliance on any information provided by the Foundation, Foundation volunteers, staff or guest blogger/s is solely at your own risk. You should not rely on information you receive from or through the blog for any personal, medical or health decision, but should consult with a qualified professional for specific information suited to your family member’s case.

Saturday, February 1, 2014

Lina Windheim--Overcoming the Odds



I'm Lina and I come from Malmoe, which is the third capital of Sweden. I’m 27 years old and I have an amazing family: my parents, Ingrid and Sune and my two sisters, Boel (34 years old) and Ellen (29 years old). I have a little niece, Michaela and she was born on the 1st January 2014. 

I was born on the 1st October 1986. I was 51 cm(20 in) long and weighed 3900 grams(8.5 lbs). I had black hair and ice blue eyes. My parents were overjoyed that they had three beautiful daughters. They thought it would be fine for me. But when I was two weeks old I no longer wanted to eat. I threw up everything, and my parents worked hard to make sure I would survive.

When I was a month, the doctors discovered that I had serious heart defects. I had a large hole between the atria and ventricles. The doctor didn’t want to operate on my heart because I had really bad blood coagulation, and they thought the hole would heal itself.

I continued to vomit so my parents reached out for help. I moved into the hospital and stayed for three months to survive. After three months, I came home with an ng tube in my nose. The doctors didn't think I would live to my one-year birthday: but I survived! My parents knew I wanted to survive, and not leave my family.

My parents found out I was deaf when I was one year old. My whole family learned Swedish Sign Language. I started to walk when I was 2 ½ years old. But then my parents again discovered I was different than my sisters.

My parents and I met a specialist and he immediately knew I had Noonan Syndrome. My doctor sent me to another specialist in Gothenburg (west coast of Sweden) where there are professionals on rare diseases. Again, he told my parents I had Noonan Syndrome.

I was officially diagnosed when I was six years old. Shortly afterward I started growth hormone therapy and responded well. I took growth hormones for ten years. I stopped taking hormones when I was sixteen years old.

I will now tell you about my schooling. It was one of the toughest experiences. I started going to the school for the deaf when I was seven years old. I already knew that I wasn’t like the other pupils. I struggled a lot and wanted to have the help of the teachers, but I didn’t get much help from them. I got a lot of help from my parents. Not all teachers believed in me but I believed in myself!

One of the worst parts of school was the bullying. The pupils bullied me when I started at the school for the deaf. The bullying never stopped, but I was stronger every day. I learned to win my own battles by the time I was finished with elementary school.

After elementary school, I went to high school for the deaf and hard of hearing in Orebro (between in Sweden) for four years. There is only one high school for the deaf and hard of hearing in Sweden, which is in Orebro. I moved alone to Orebro and my family stayed at home in Malmoe. I lived with friends. It was hard when I didn’t have my family there. But I was more powerful than ever! All the teachers believed in me! They helped me a lot and I had a teacher who became my extra father. He supported me and stood by my side for four years. I found new friends. It was absolutely the best event I moved to Orebro!!

After four years in high school, I moved back to my beloved family. I looked for different jobs but I found nothing. I began studying to nurse in intensive level. It was so tough but I did it! April 2009, I found a job at retirement home for deaf and deaf-blinds, but it wasn’t a steady job. After 1 ½ years without a steady job, I started to struggle to get a steady job at the retirement home. I never gave up, until August 2012, I won my fight for work and I got a steady job there!

 I now live by myself in my own apartment. I bought my apartment in the fall of 2011. I love my apartment! I don’t need have help with anything. I can do it all by myself. I learned when I lived in Orebro. My life with NS is so tough but it's so amazing anyway! I won many battles and now I’m very happy! I survived two major surgiers (heart, April 1996 and tooth, January 2004). I feel that I'm a true warrior!I feel I can love myself and think that I am a beautiful woman!

Part 2

After my parents found out I had Noonan syndrome they looked for an association, but they discovered that there was nothing specific for Noonan Syndrome in Sweden. We thought we were alone. But it wasn't long before we found a place called Agrenska in Gothenburg. Agrenska provides programs for children, youth and adults with disabilities, their families and professionals. In the Summer of 1996 my mother, my sister and I met other children with Noonan Syndrome in Agrenska--we realized that we weren't alone! It was an amazing time for us.
After our experience in Agrenska my mother began to think about how life would be if there wasn't a Noonan Syndrome association in Sweden. In autumn 1996 she sent an application to form an association. She found another person who had a grandchild with NS and together they formed the Noonan Syndrome association of Sweden, with our first annual Noonan Syndrome conference in 1997!

My mother formed the association so we wouldn't feel alone! She is an amazing mom to have been so thoughtful. She worked very hard to make sure the association would be a success. In the beginning we didn't have very many members, but today we have 250 members, including parents and siblings! It is so amazing.

We usually have Noonan family conference once a year (summer). It is so important for me to get to the Noonan family conference to meet with others who have the same diagnosis!

My mother was on the Noonan’s board until last summer--serving families for seventeen years. My mom is now with another organization called, "Rare Diagnoses Sweden." All members in our association say that my mother is the most important person in our association. She helped them so much. I remember when I lived at home she would sit and talk on the phone for many hours, encouraging and supporting other families! She has an absolutely big heart, and she usually has time to talk about anything I need!
A lot of love from Lina


Part 3


Until recently I had very low self-confidence. I didn’t feel I could help others who are struggling with the diagnosis. My psychologist in the school for the deaf tried to help me but it didn’t work. I worked very hard on my self-confidence. My parents also helped me very much. When I was in Orebro, one of my friends realized I needed some help.
In Obrero I found a very good psychologist whom I connected with—that I really could talk to about my life with NS. One day my psychologist said to me that I must have a tool that I could use to help deal with my feelings. I worked so hard for me to be happy and proud!
At 20 years old my self-confidence became stronger--I love my diagnosis more than ever and I am very proud of myself! I knew I could start helping other children and youth, and their parents too. It was an amazing moment when I realized I could start helping others. I have changed a lot after Orebro. I have continued to help others.  In February 2012 I found out I was nominated for David Lega's scholarship.

David Lega’s scholarship is given to "a young person who has a rare diagnosis, or siblings or other relatives of a person with a rare diagnosis, and who by their voluntary commitment appears as an inspiration and role model". There were ten people in the nomination list. I was the only one deaf on the list. At first I thought that I would obviously win because I'm deaf, I moved alone to Orebro, and I fought and never gave up. I have a steady job at the retirement home for deaf and deaf-blind people where I give them a greater quality of life! But when I sat in the audience I thought, "no, I have no chance. They are stronger than me”. But when our Swedish Social Affairs, Goran Hagglund said my name I was really shocked and thought "No, no, not me!" My mother said, "Lina, it is you! Get up from your chair!”. Both my parents burst into tears saying, "Lina, we love you!". I won the scholarship and 25 000 Swedish crowns too. I gave a nice speech to the audience about my life with NS, my job and other things. That speech helped me begin my life as a role model for others! I thanked my family and friends who helped me so much. I was so grateful!

After receiving the scholarship I became more powerful than ever, and I want to continue helping others with NS, and their parents. I’m passionate about my job to help others! They need my help. I can’t leave them now. I also want to help other children, youth and parents from other countries, not only in Sweden. That's the reason that I’m in the group, "Noonan Syndrome Family" and I’m always here if you need to talk or have support.





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