Home


About


William


Ivy and Noah


Pemphigus


Donate Blood


Dear Donor


Reviews by Tiff

Subscribe Follow me on Twitter


AMB Badge


FYBF


This blog designed by Rah!Creative

Archives
Categories

Archive for October 2011

The disappointing day.

Today was a very disappointing day.

 

When Ivy’s Hickman’s line was removed I was okay with it.

Happy, in fact.

We had been in discussion with the immunologist about Ivy being able to trial subcutaneous immunoglobulin -

which is basically the same medication as the IVIG

just in a more concentrated dose

and it would be delivered by a small needle just under the skin on a  twice weekly basis

rather than having it intravenously every three weeks.

I was keen on the idea because it meant Ivy could have the infusions at home,

in the evenings

and we could miss less of everything

and keep Ivy out of the hospital for a while.

The immunologist seemed to be very happy to give it a go too

and so I thought that peripheral access would be limited to one, maybe two cycles of the IVIG, while things were organised.

Then we would start with the subcut.

At least, that’s what we were led to believe.

Ivy hasn’t had the best health since then, it’s true

so the immunologist pushed it back a month

and then another.

She didn’t want to overwhelm Ivy’s system.

She felt Ivy needed more time.

She wanted to give the lactoferrin time to work (the lactoferrin is a whole other issue which needs a post of its own, really)

and so every three weeks, I have taken Ivy into the hospital for her infusion.

It’s been okay.

The paed prescribed midazolam to relax the girl (which it does very well)

and cannulation has gone fairly smoothly.

The needle has found the vein first time,

most of the time.

Last infusion we blew a vein – it was her best one

but the doctor found a second vein easily in the other arm.

There’s no point even trying to get a cannula into the veins in her hands any more.

Even though the doctors pat at them and think they may be viable.

There really isn’t any point.

They’re just too scarred.

Last week’s IVIG was supposed to be the last one and then we were going to travel down to Sydney for three days at the children’s hospital,

to learn the ins and outs of subcutaneous IG.

Except now – today,

it’s been pushed back again – for another two cycles, in fact

before the immunologist with review that option

and I am disappointed.

For Ivy, yes

but for all of us too -

I was looking forward to the ‘freedom’ it would give Ivy

and our family.

The immunologist says that Ivy is not stable enough to trial the subcutaneous.

She’s using the small girl’s limpy leg now as her reason to deny.

It’s okay.

I can understand where she is coming from -

there are only about twelve children on the trial

and the immunologist has been very selective as to who is approved

to ensure a high success rate

so that the trial will continue to be supported,

which will in turn allow more people with immune deficiency to be able to access the subcut form of immunogobulin

and I guess, Ivy is too much of a risk, right now.

If Ivy were to be put on the program, and not do well, that would throw the success rate out.

I get it.

I’m still sad that there will be at least two more cannulations in Ivy’s future

and I’m willing to bet more.

I’m pretty sure that next month will be a bust too

and then we will be into the new year.

The immunologist suggested that the growth hormone (which has been in the works for well over a year)

would also be an issue for her and would delay things for the girl.

Which brings me to a crossroads.

Which is the more important issue?

Ivy’s growth and bones are in trouble – she is osteopenic and her bone age is 2 – 3 years, when she is almost six.

She’s on calcium and vitamin D but still, she’s struggling.

I can’t imagine how bad a broken bone would be for her, right now.

There has been no promise that the HGH will be approved any time soon, although I live in hope

so,

do I push on with IV access on the off chance that she will get it

but then

what happens if we blow all access peripherally?

I know that we are okay at the moment but what happens if her veins can’t take any more.

Will we then be pushed into having to consider central line access again?

That would be a nightmare.

The subcutaneous Ig would take that issue away.

I feel stuck and sad that we are not moving forward on this.

Yes, today was disappointing indeed.

 

 

 

 

Things I know about community.

I know I am proud
and feel lucky that my family is surrounded by a wonderful community.
Last week the high school that the biggies all go to had another Team Ivy Day.
They raised $2,500 with  a gold coin donation day
and a bake sale.
Many of the kids dressed up as fairies again (even some of the bravest boys).
The money raised goes to a charity.
Last year (which was the first time Team Ivy came to fruition)
we raised an astounding $10,000 for the hospital ward that Ivy stays in.
It purchased equipment and tools to help parents and their families and the nursing staff
make the hospital experience a little better.
It was largely due to the beautiful online community of bloggers out there, who donated.
I know that all of you showed me the goodness of humanity.
I hadn’t opened up a donation page this year – I felt strange asking again
but the high school still wanted to raise money for us
and I am thankful for that.
It was a very hard decision who to donate the money to,
because so many people have helped our family.
The IDFA has been trying to find its feet in a sea of charities for a while now.
Its aim is to educate others about immune deficiency and support people and their families, just like ours.
Immune deficiency is a disease that is rare  and largely unknown in Australia -
I still have days when I’ll come across medical professionals, who quite honestly tell me that they have never heard of it
and yet,
it can be life threatening and leave people with chronic damage to major organs.
We have been extremely lucky to have had Ivy diagnosed early
and to have a paed who is willing to learn along with us
and an immunologist to guide us through.
At the moment the average age for a child to be diagnosed with a PID is around six.
I know that if it were not for some amazing friends in the United States who contacted us  (thanks largely to this blog)
we would have been floundering for information and support in the early days.
It has only really been in the last twelve months  that we have made  wonderful connections with other families living with immune deficiency, in Australia
and I am so grateful for them
and for the work of the IDFA.
Ivy meeting a new friend, who also deals with immune deficiency.
I know I would love to see this foundation blossom and be able to offer services
that can help and educate.
A real passion of mine is to see children with PID have access to camps and therapy programs
to help them work through and make the most of their lives, while living with this disease.
I know I’d love to see that happen in our country.
For now though,
I know I want to leave you with this slideshow of Team Ivy day 2011 -
together people can move mountains.

 

 

joining in with Shae today.

Limps and lumps.

Yesterday the girl was in so much pain with her limpy leg

that she took herself to bed with a heat pack and an ibruprofen cocktail

and slept for over two hours.

She missed her ballet class

and cried until there were no more tears.

It was the first time this week, that she had mentioned her knee -

it was every other day last week

and so it caught me off guard.

She’s okay again this morning though.

Happy and pain free.

It happens mostly at the end of her day.

 

I can deal with a lot of stuff

but I don’t deal well with my children being in pain.

It’s such a terrible, useless feeling when you can’t make it better

and it seems as though there has been a lot of pain this year.

Too much.

Everyone I’ve talked to says that it’s important to keep Ivy moving

but how do I do that when she looks at me with those big blue eyes,

tears streaming down her face.

Instead, I rub the sore place

and warm it

and medicate her

in the hopes that I am doing something good.

The limp has stealthily  crept into our routine.

It’s not ominous

but its there.

I don’t like that limp.

I bet the girl feels the same way.

Then there are the lumps in her chest,

which are superficial and benign

but painful.

Again with the pain.

The paed put her on a ten day course of antibiotics after the  last hospital admission

because he felt they may have been infected lymph nodes

and they did shrink alot,

while she was medicated

and grew in size,

once the course was finished.

There is one that is the size of a pea, that doesn’t bother her much

but the bigger one – the one about the size of a ten cent piece,

hurts

and has this strange discolouration,

almost like bruising around its perimeter.

 

The paed said she could do another, longer term course

but I’m loathe to put her on them again, unless there is a real need.

It’s another drug, when she is already on so many

and I worry what all of that is doing to her body.

If they are still up tomorrow though,

I will make the phone call to secure the script.

Just in case.

 

When Immy and Maddy were born,

and to some extent with Lily and Noah

I  fretted myself into a ball of angst -

so frightened that I would lose one of them to SIDS

but after that initial period of time

I just knew in my heart that they would be okay.

Even when they are sick,

I have, what I think of as a safety net,

a feeling that they will be alright.

With Ivy it’s never like that.

Even when she is in a good place.

With Ivy I always feel like I am standing on the edge of a cliff

always precarious

always anxious -

and with one wrong move

we’re falling.

She’s falling.

There is no safety net with the girl

and I feel sick

and sad

and tense all the time.

Last night I couldn’t sleep, worried for her adult life.

What are all those medications doing to her system?

What will happen to her bones, her eyes – we’ve already seen so many side effects.

What if she can’t have babies and she really wants them?

What if my choices today are ruining her future?

With the others

I just feel like it will all work out.

I don’t know if that makes any sense to anyone out there

or if it seems strange that I am concerned, when she is just (almost) six.

I don’t know if the feelings I have are wrong or right.

Most days I just keep on swimming

and hope that I am in the proper lane.

 

Almost wordless Wednesday – superdog.

Faster than a speeding tennis ball.

More powerful than a little  red wagon.

Able to leap tall verandahs in a single bound (most of the time)

Look!

Up on the lounge!

It’s a bird!

It’s a plane!

It’s Super Linus!

It seems this old friend wants his invitation to the upcoming party too

and has called it on the super hero costume.

I guess that means that leaves the princess fairy outfit for the small teenage sausage dog.

He won’t be impressed.

 

I’m joining in with Trish’s Aussie Wordless Wednesday.