Thursday, December 15, 2022

Advent angels

The liturgical season of Advent has long been my favorite time of the church year.  As a child I enjoyed the urgency and drama of Mary and Joseph needing a place to have their baby, and ending up in a stable.  Of course, I didn't meet my first lamb or cow until I was 22, living on a 16th century farm in Cornwall, England. So, my bucolic, childhood visions of a manger did not include mud or manure.  I saw my first baby born at a teaching hospital in the Bronx, and there were no mammals other than those in scrubs with masks and gloves.   I did deliver a footling breech baby in a thatched hut in rural Guatemala, which actually exceeded the drama and urgency of anything I might have imagined as a youngster during the 1950s and 60s in the steel town of Lorain, Ohio.  All of this aside, it has always been the mystery, the awe, and wonder that has captivated my imagination during Advent.


Angels may be my favorite part of Advent. The Christmas story  always includes angels that mysteriously appear in the night, gently conveying God's eternal message:  "Fear not."  

I'd like to experience an angel someday... a real, true angel.  I wonder... What will it be like?  

  • A warm Light in a deep darkness? 
  • A heralding of exquisite music that draws me into a pure and ecstatic haze of Bliss? 
  • A palpable Presence of Love that floods my being with awe? 

"Fear Not.  I am with you."

Advent is also known as the season of expectant waiting, which is wholly (holy) ironic, because I am no good at waiting.  My cane now grants me priority boarding, and I am all too happy to prance forth ahead of the crowd to take my seat in steerage.

If I dare to probe deeper, the expectant waiting of Advent offers an annual opportunity to remember the hope of a transformative love, born into a world that relegates unwed, teenage mothers, like Mary, to the sidelines of every society.   

In my view, newborn babies are inherently holy beings.  This changes, of course, when they refuse to sleep, and when they cry with no apparent rationale.

A fresh, healthy, pink, full-term newborn who is ready to nurse and be comforted in a parent's arms is a pediatrician's dream come true, and one of the most sacred moments to witness, no matter the venue.  

Virgin Mary and Child by the painter Andrea Solario. 
Our Lady of Milk and Good Birth.circa 1500

This Advent I am savoring the season of hope.  I am turning my attention toward palpable love, and glorious music.  I am seeking out opportunities to see light brought into the darkness, or a deep darkness brought out into the light.  I am expecting hope to surprise and delight me. I'm on the lookout for angels.

"Fear not.  I am with you always."








 

Wednesday, October 19, 2022

Adapting



Have you ever stumbled on a wooded path in autumn?  The brightly colored leaves begin to obscure the well-worn trail, and the abundant acorns act like mini-rollers underfoot, making conditions ripe for an awkward misstep.

I went down today; tumbled right off the path.  The fall came as a complete surprise.  I was using my new, high-tech walking stick.  I was walking slowly with Delta leading the way along a path we have traversed almost daily for more than 20 years. My left foot caught the edge of a small twig poking up from the leaves, and I stumbled without the reflexes to autocorrect.

I fell in slow motion.  As I rolled downhill into the underbrush, I actually had plenty of time to hear Peggy gasp behind me.  

Ordinarily we can chuckle about these gaffs.  Today, it scared us, because the fall came out of the blue.  The good news is that I landed fine, even though I launched off the trail in an uncontrolled free-fall.  

Once Peggy got me righted, our hike continued without further surprises, but the mood had changed.  The sunset seemed more solemn.

Life with ALS brings constant change.  Like parenthood in its earliest stages, ALS presents new challenges almost daily.  Just when you have almost mastered the last skill or adaptation, there is a new one at your threshold.

This past month has brought a whirlwind of adaptation to the Plews-Ogan household.

I no longer carry anything that requires the strength of two arms. (The lamb stew careening across the kitchen floor ended that, much to Delta's delight.) I need to rest between activities that require effort, like watering the garden.  I routinely use a walking stick outside, and I pace myself throughout the day.  It's best if I type in bursts of 20-30 minutes.  And, we have started major home renovations to create a handicapped accessible bathroom and bedroom on the first floor.

Gratefully, the Hummingbird Fund also presents new challenges and opportunities:  

  • We will soon award our first grant to expand access for modular ramps to families facing this necessary transition for wheelchair access.  
  • We are entering exciting partnerships with local, regional, and national ALS organizations to advance research and advocacy.  
  • This blog, Offering Kindness, and the Fund's social media accounts have brought many newly diagnosed folks and their families to us for advice and council on integrating ALS into their lives.
As Peggy and I endeavor to integrate ALS into our own lives, we continue to be buoyed and inspired by the love of family, friends, and the ALS community.

I'll leave you with this choral work by RenĂ© Clausen performed recently by our church choir.  The choir at St. Paul's Memorial Episcopal Church continues to be at the center of our community of love.

Set Me As A Seal

(by René Clausen, from Song of Solomon}

Set me as a seal upon your heart

As a seal upon your arm

For love is strong as death.

Many waters cannot quench love

Neither can the floods drown it.

Set me as a seal upon your heart

As a seal upon your arm

For love is strong as death.

Listen to St. Paul's Memorial Church Choir

(minutes 25-28)

 

 

 

Monday, September 26, 2022

Dancing trees


I look forward to my daily morning contemplation.  A cup of coffee in a favorite mug.  DeltaMae at my feet.  And a sweet bit of time to embody stillness, silence, solitude, and an open heart I call space.  

Each morning's experience is unique.  Many mornings bring gifts of insight or peace, or wholeness.  Other mornings offer an unadorned groundedness to begin the day.  Today I was reminded that every reality manifests an opportunity.

Stillness is my current challenge to harmony in contemplation.  The fasciculations of Mr. ALS impose themselves--insinuate themselves-- rather rudely into the experience of stillness.  

I am faced squarely with the opportunity to welcome pesky muscle twitching into the morning's contemplation.  Thank you Mr. ALS for the gauche interruption of bliss.

Alas, here is another stark reminder that the realities of our daily lives are meant to be lived too.  Gauche or not.

I don't enjoy the constant fasciculations that herald the death of motor neurons.  Maybe one day I will miss them, but not today, not now.  

Slowly, ever so slowly, I am adapting to their gauche presence.  Accepting them with poise remains a significant on-going challenge.  

Alas, another stark reminder:  seeing God in everything and everyone means seeing God in the gauche.  Ultimately, it even means welcoming God in the gauche.

Gratefully, this morning I looked up to see the sun spotlighting the tree tops which had just begun to sway, in a breeze that was theirs alone-- a gift of their morning contemplation, and a welcome reminder that God exists to be enjoyed.





Monday, September 19, 2022

Sacred questions


Recently I took part in a Tim Lowry ALS panel for occupational therapy (OT) students.  As panelists we answered many of the questions you might anticipate about how OT has improved our lives with ALS.  I was happy to tell the students about pencil grips, rocker knives, and splints.  The OT professor specialized in hand therapy and was eager to help with my current conundrum:  buttering toast. 

The question that most surprised me was directed to Tim Lowry who communicates via eye-gaze technologies.

"How do you prevent giving up when there is limited treatment and no cure for ALS?"

Fair enough. We tell the audience that we are an open book. Ask us anything. Still, it's not a question in the same league as how to butter toast.

Youthful students, given permission to be truly curious, will expose the elephant in the room.

"How do you face existential challenges, for real, in the day-to-day?"

Tim's poised response revealed the intentionality of a reflective life.  He has learned to nurture his mental and spiritual well-being to support the consequences of his on-going physical decline.

ALS poses its unique challenges to be sure.  Our motor neurons are dying, and it turns out that we really need healthy motor neurons to get dressed in the morning.

One option, I suppose, would have been to answer the youthful questions with a question: "How do you face the existential?  How do you keep from giving up?"  Life is chock-a-block full of existential opportunity:  our present climate crisis, raging gun deaths, a loved-one's eating disorder, a recurrent major depression, a father with ALS. How do any of us live with uncertainty and ambiguity in our lives?

I wonder, now that I have ALS, am I meant to understand more about managing existential crises?   I mean, I have stuff to do.  I have a garden to weed and water.  I have a Tim Lowry panel to prepare for.  I have asparagus to blanch for lunch with Zach and Isabelle.

Here's one thought.  What if we allowed our present reality to become sacred?  Fighting for climate justice and gun safety.  Being with a friend who is struggling.  Learning to put your socks on with one hand.  Blanching asparagus.  Living with ALS.  What if we approached all of it with reverence for the moment at hand?  



Fr. Gregory Boyle, S.J., the founder of Homeboy Industries, and author of The Whole Language, puts it this way:

"We remember the sacred by our reverence...This is the esteem we extend to the reality revealed to us. Jesus didn't abandon his reality, he lived it. He ran away from nothing and sought some wise path through everything. He engaged in it all with acceptance. He had an eye out always for cherishing reality. A homie, Leo, wrote me: 'I'm going to trust God's constancy of love to hover over my crazy ass. I'm fervent in my efforts to cultivate holy desires.' This is how we find this other kind of stride and joyful engagement in our cherished reality. The holy rests in every single thing. Yes, it hovers, over our crazy asses."





Tuesday, September 6, 2022

Holy tears

 


Tender

soothing rain

all night last night

lingers unto morning

like sweet tears

to begin this day anew

and whole.



I did not grow up in a culture of sweet tears, the kind that flow gently down the cheek, as plainly and innocently as a smirk might linger while contemplating someone's clever retort.  In truth, I learned to withhold smirks and tears at all cost, until I became a dad.

Dad tears are sweet tears. Dad tears are Holy Tears.

I rarely withhold tears anymore.

Last week I found myself in Howard Goodkin's office with Peggy and William.  Howard is the chair of neurology at the University of Virginia. He is also a child neurologist with whom I have shared many complicated patients. Howard invited us to join him and the leaders of the ALS Dart Center of Excellence to explore the possibility of a partnership with the Hummingbird Fund.

It is worth mentioning here that Howard is also the person I emailed when Peggy and I first seriously suspected a diagnosis of ALS.  We were lost, adrift, so I emailed Howard. He called my cell before I could get up from the computer.

A couple of months later, at the Hummingbird launch, Howard joined a dozen colleagues, friends and family as a docent, mingling with guests, wearing his docent's badge that read, "ASK ME ANYTHING."  He was terrific.

All of this history sat silently in the back of my mind as I calmly entered Howard's office and took a seat at the familiar, long oak table, much like I had done many times before while working at UVA.

We began with introductions and roles, going around the table, ending with me.

As I began to recount my diagnosis, and the journey which has led to the Hummingbird Fund, tears began to roll down my cheeks.  I was surprised by the tears, and I smiled at Howard who was sitting at the other end of the table.  I said, "Well Howard, this is the first time I've cried in your office."

Everyone chuckled quietly, and without missing a beat, Howard said, "Well Jim, it's not the first time someone has cried in this office.  Many people have cried in this office, including me."

More soft chuckling... followed by a brief, intimate silence... followed by me having a moment to regain my grounding as a man with ALS, in a room full of people who know Mr. ALS all too well.  The group moved on through our agenda, and we will have a meaningful partnership.

I am learning that tears and ALS are pretty much kissing cousins.  Fury, deep disappointment, grief, and heartbreak. This community also weeps for the fearlessness, dignity, and brazen honesty of our kin. The road forward is a road through tears.  Holy tears of love and courage.








Friday, September 2, 2022

ALSTLS

ALS is always a grim tale to tell, and to hear.  Sorry.  

What if we could tell a parallel ALS tale that was the opposite of grim?  I have an idea.  Read on.

ALS, Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, is generally defined as a progressive, neurodegenerative illness with no cure.  Often, this straightforward definition is embellished with a clause or two: 

  • eventually leading to the inability to walk, talk, swallow, or breath.  
  • including complete paralysis with intact cognition.
  • being 100% fatal with an average life expectancy of 2-5 years. 
ALS is commonly referred to as a brutal disease; the disease most feared by doctors.

As I mentioned, it's a grim tale.  Sorry, again. 

Did you know that the functional decline that accompanies ALS is scored as a way of tracking the progression of the illness?  There is a 12-item functional rating scale called the ALSFRS-R:  48 points = A+ = no disability.
See details here.
  • Speech
  • Salivation
  • Swallowing
  • Handwriting
  • Using utensils
  • Dressing and hygiene
  • Turning in Bed
  • Walking
  • Climbing stairs
  • Dyspnea (breathing hard with activity)
  • Orthopnea (difficulty breathing while lying down)
  • Respiratory insufficiency

I am currently a 43 or 44.  I was a 41 or 42, until I taught Righty to use a pen.  Honestly, I could probably be a solid 44, if I used a rocker-knife.  After all, if we can enhance or adapt function to increase inclusion and participation, we diminish the disability.
It is worth noting here that Mr. ALS's march toward disability does not necessarily include mental, emotional, or spiritual decline.   ALS causes motor nerves and muscles to die. The thinking-mind remains completely intact.  Spirit, drive, passion, motivation, personality, the ability to give and receive love, all remain in full force.

Let us remember that intact abilities often compensate for innate or acquired disability.  People who are blind develop an exquisite sense of touch, smell, and hearing.  Kids with spina bifida who have never had use of their legs learn to scoot around as fast as their playmates and siblings.

What Lefty is losing in function, Righty happily takes on with aplomb.  

Joining the ALS community through organizations like I Am ALS, I am inspired by a fierceness of spirit, a courageous drive for change, a passionate desire to leave the world a better place.  These ALS champions and their loved ones are my new team.  Everyone is welcome.  Everyone gets into the game.  Kindness is not a zero-some proposition.  Love abounds.  Courage and hope prevail.

I understand the need for the ALSFRS-R.  But, wouldn't it be great to have a partnered scale to measure positive progress?  We could call it the ALSTLS.  The ALS Turbo-charged Living Scale, measuring:  
  • adaptability
  • humor
  • kindness
  • compassion
  • hopefulness
  • resilience
  • altruism
  • passion for creating change
  • fierceness and drive
  • advocacy for self and others
  • ingenuity
  • vision and meaning
What do you think?  Great idea, right?

Thursday, August 25, 2022

The media


The Hummingbird Fund is gaining notice which makes me really happy.  Our mission is clear, and dare I say boldly stated:

Ending ALS. Starting with all of us.


The Hummingbird Fund stands on three pillars: access, innovation, and advocacy. We are on a mission to end care gaps for Virginians living with ALS, accelerate innovation to improve quality of life, and advocate for legislative action and research to end ALS. Through agile grantmaking, we work to help ALS patients and their families live full lives. Join us to help end ALS in this decade.


Hummingbird offers me the opportunity to use the experience I have accumulated from decades of work with families facing the enormous challenge of caring for a child with significant medical complexity and disability.  Moreover, I am lovingly joined by my family and hundreds of others whom I am calling the Hummingbird Champions. 


When invitations from the press started to roll in, you might imagine I would be delighted to share my passion for the vision of the Fund.  


My immediate thought was that this kind of carpe diem would be best delegated to my highly photogenic, uniquely poised, well-spoken family.


They declined, saying I was the man for the task.


So, I keep saying yes.  And you know, with preparation and some practice it gets easier.  I now see the media as a chance to share the ALS story, which has been side-lined for almost 100 years. 


Recently, Will Selden, a podcaster at the Virginia Health and Hospital Association, began his interview, asking, "So tell us, how are you doing these days." 

The question caught me off guard with its humanity. I thanked him for the question and its kindness, and then I answered as I almost always do, saying, "Oh, I'm fine." In this instance I elaborated with mention of the abundant love surrounding me.


I mean, no one wants to hear about me struggling to learn how to butter toast with my right hand, or the disappointment and fear associated with the gait-related side effects of edaravone, a medication I've been waiting to try for months, and one that required no less thank 20 hours of my time in the way of prior-auth's and payment schemes.


With the media I stay close to my talking points, allowing the daily realities to swirl like an imaginary cloud bubble above my head.



Some questions are fun.  Here's one that Will Selden used to close out our interview.  Feel free to try this at home and let me know your answers.


If you were stranded on a desert island, all alone, what one book (aside from the holy text of your choice), movie, and recording would you want to have along?


Ok, so here goes.  I will mention that I decided to go for diversity:


BOOK:   Mirabai Starr's recent translation of Julian of Norwich's The Showings
FILM:     Notting Hill
MUSIC:  Nina Simone "Pastel Blues"



Will Selden had one more question before signing off.  He asked for a bit of advice I had received that was worth passing along. My answer came immediately to mind, but I decided to place it in the context of a brief story.

When I was first diagnosed with ALS, I was at sea with knowing how to integrate ALS into my psyche, into my soul, really.  I revealed this awkwardly to a friend, who took a moment, then looked me straight in the eye, and with a gentle smile, said, "Just be yourself, Jim.  All you have to do is be yourself, and the rest will follow."



Wednesday, August 3, 2022

My daily 40

A local gastroenterologist taught me the proper way to swallow a pill.  

Said gastroenterologist was also the mom of a teenager in my care.

Teenagers famously swallow their acne medicine without so much as a sip of water.  Hence, the doxycycline sticks to their dry esophagus and creates an ulcer.  Said teenager then ends up in the pediatrician's office with chest pain.  Thus, I have discovered, teaching teenagers to swallow their pills with plenty of water is just practicing good, preventive medicine.

Here's what I learned from the gastroenterolgist-mom, and subsequently passed along to dozens of teenagers I treated for acne:

  • begin with 8 ounces of water
  • first take 2 swallows of water to moisten the esophagus
  • then swallow each pill with the remaining water   



I take 40 pills a day, my daily 40.  That's roughly 1200 pills a month. 

If I followed my own advice, I'd be swallowing 320 ounces of water a day,  That's 2.5 gallons of water a day.  Peggy has suggested I try milk instead of water, to make the swallowing easier. Doing the caloric calculations for 2.5 gallons of whole milk, that would be an extra 5,760 calories a day.

In various mindfulness workshops, I've been instructed to eat one blueberry or one M&M at a time, savoring the individual experience of the moment.  And perhaps it would aid my healing to contemplate the action of each pill, individually, in the moment, as it fights Mr. ALS, but 2 1/2 gallons of water a day seems impractical, and potentially dangerous.

And besides, I eat blueberries with gusto by the handful.  Is it really a surprise that I'd take my pills by the handful too? 

When swallowing pills, I am careful to drink lots of water.  However, even well meaning techniques pose potential hazards. 

Depending on the size, shape, and quantity of pills in each handful, I might cough a bit, causing water to shoot up my nose.  This, by the way, feels exactly the same as getting water up your nose while jumping off a dock, into the lake, doing a cannonball to show off.   Such a show off.

Included in the daily 40 are 4 anti-retroviral medications (ARVs) that are part of a NIH clinical trial.  Why am I taking ARVs commonly used to treat HIV, you ask? Well, it turns out that I am among the ALS patients who have HERV-K floating around in their blood.  And, HERV-K, like HIV, is a retrovirus.  The NIH study aims to determine if ARVs can eliminate HERV-K from the blood.  And what might be the role of HERV-K in ALS, you ask?  Like most everything with Mr. ALS, the role of HERV-K remains illusive.  Sorry.



Ah, but here's the plot-twisting good news.

During the HIV epidemic, a small group of patients with HIV also developed ALS, or something that looked exactly like ALS.  When these patients received ARV treatment for the HIV, their ALS symptoms went away.  In other words, ARVs  completely reversed the ALS.  They were cured!

This current NIH trial lasts 24 weeks.  At the end of the study, the NIH will no longer provide ARVs, even if they seem to be helping clinically, because this is not a randomized clinical trial. The purpose of this trial is only to investigate the effect of ARVs on HERV-K in my blood.

Ok, just for kicks, let's imagine that I do experience a positive clinical effect, a reversal, from the ARVs, like those folks who had HIV.  If I want to keep taking the ARVs, the monthly cost would exceed $12,000, and insurance will not cover ARVs when used off-label for ALS.  A sad reality of our health care system.

To continue taking the ARVs after the NIH study ends, it appears I will need to contract HIV.  Now, no one wishes HIV on anyone, but this seems the only logical way to obtain insurance coverage for medication that might successfully defeat Mr. ALS. 

HIV to get ARVs to reverse ALS, why not.





Thursday, July 21, 2022

Milkweed


"Contemplation is a long loving look at the real."
                                                                --Fr. William McNamara

Most mornings, weather permitting, I begin my day sitting here in our contemplation garden.  I sit alone, or with Delta Mae, in contemplation, sipping coffee, hoping to center myself in silence, stillness, and solitude.  The intention is to sit here until I'm ready to start the day.  

How do I know when I'm ready? Not surprisingly, ready means different things day to day.  Mostly, I'm ready to stand up to start the day when I feel whole.  For some folks, I suppose whole might mean complete, or put together.  But for me, whole is when I feel more real, at least more real than when I sat down.  You might say I feel a bit less independent, judged, accomplished, or broken.  Truthfully, I feel whole when I feel more like part of the garden.  Steady, poised, rooted.

Often, the garden will offer me a gift in contemplation. 
  
 

Look at these milkweed.  Look at how they stand tall, day after day, boldly growing toward the sun.  Their brilliant flowers have passed.  The spectacular monarchs, drawn to their blossoms, have moved on.  Now, they wait for autumn.  In a month or so, each velvety pod will crack open to release silky seeds across the morning breeze.  And, as the air turns cold, their thick green leaves and sturdy stems will wither, turn a dusty brown, and fall, unceremoniously back to the earth.

This morning I see dignity, I see humility, and I see what's real.






 

Thursday, July 7, 2022

Quick Check-in with JimBob

 


--It's time a for a quick check-in with JimBob and his pal DeltaMae.

--JimBob, tell us how you're doing these days.

"First, let me thank you for not tilting your head to one side while asking how I'm feeling.  It's a fair question, but, Lord, it's hard to answer.  As someone living with ALS, I never know how to respond to the 'feeling' question.  Emotionally? Physically? Mentally? Spiritually? 

--I can see that.

"I have relevant data to share from each domain, but where to begin."

--uh huh.

"Most days I just smile and say, 'Oh, I'm fine.'"  

--yeah, I get that.

(Silence) 

--JimBob....

"Yes?"

--JimBob, back to the question:  how are you doing? 

"Besides fine?"

--Yes, besides fine.  Tell us how you are doing?  We care about you. We truly want to know how you are doing.

"Well, I'm not happy about this ALS mess."

--I imagine not.

"And, I'm not depressed or anxious.  Praise God for Zoloft."

--The world is a better place since Zoloft.  I'll grant you that.

"I have a new brace for Lefty which makes it 100 times easier to type."

--Excellent.

"Physical therapy is fixing the adhesive capsulitis in my left shoulder, so I'm not in pain anymore, and I'm sleeping all night with Peggy in my arms.  I can wash my hair with both hands again."

--Terrific.

"I've written about my double-life."

--Yeah, that was a tad dark.

"I know.  Sorry about that."

--No worries. You're good.

"The ALS falderal is ever-present, you know.  It has a way of being a constant storm."

--ALS falderal?

"The forms, the emails, the decisions, the disappointments, and all the problem-solving with lousy options."

--Oof.

"Yeah, sorry."

--No worries at all.  Sounds like a ton of work.

"And stress.  Thank God for Peggy."

--Amen to that.  And DeltaMae.

"DeltaMae loves our morning contemplation.  It might look like she's sleeping, but I know better."

--Right.

"I'm learning to slow down, and to welcome joy."

--Good.  

"I'm remembering to linger in the holy moments, and be grateful."

--Lovely.

"Oh, I can't forget to mention that The Hummingbird Fund is taking off.  We've hired a Program Coordinator for Outreach and Advocacy." 

--Excellent

"The Hummingbird Fund is clearly my next gig, and I can't tell you how happy that makes me feel."

--Brilliant.

"Hey, thanks for asking."

--You betcha.  Peace... Out.

"Peace..Out"










Monday, July 4, 2022

The Double Life of ALS

In a recent essay published in the New York Times, Mary Pipher reveals her double life.  




Perhaps you remember Mary Pipher, PhD., as the best-selling author of Reviving Ophelia: Saving the Selves of Adolescent Girls, and Women Rowing North. Or, maybe you remember her as a provocative guest on NPRs Fresh Air with Terry Gross.  

Her latest work, A Life in Light: Meditations on Impermanence, is currently on my Kindle.

In her recent NYT piece, Pipher states boldly, "Of course, I am leading a double life.  Underneath my ordinary good life, I am in despair for the world."  She goes on, "Some days, the news is such that I need all of my inner strength to avoid exhaustion, anxiety, and depression... In times like these, we need world-class coping skills just to stay fully awake, enjoy our lives and be of service to others."

Pipher shares insights from three sources:

Her grandmother:

                   "...be the person you want to live with every day of your life."                           (Forgive yourself, be whole and grow throughout your life--jpo) 

Psychology:
 
"the best way to cope with suffering is to face it... find ways to balance [...] despair with joy" (Find balance and wisdom in a double-life--jpo)

Thich Nhat Hanh:

"His deepest teaching concerned our interconnection with all life.  We all share the same consciousness..."  (Individual action in response to despair for the world adds to the shared consciousness for positive change--jpo)


Pipher is not alone in the double life.  I imagine most of us can relate to the need for inner strength as we attempt to face a suffering world, one that includes the turmoil in our own lives.  Like Pipher, we most often keep the double-life to ourselves, and share the sunny side with others.

Recently, I spent an entire day lobbying congress to: (1) increase funding for ALS research, (2) create new policy to hasten distribution of safe and effective ALS medications, and (3) address the inequities in ALS care.

Our team of ALS advocates met (virtually) with legislative aides (LAs) in 8 offices:  2 senate, and 6 members of congress.  We told our stories of living with ALS, and urged the LAs to take up our cause. We also listened to each other's stories, eight times over.  Having faced this challenge before, I came prepared with a 2 minute speech to remind the LAs that ALS is like no other adult condition in its rapid decline to profound disability.  I called on the LAs to remember this fact when they heard the ALS community calling for innovative and urgent legislative action.  

As the new team members shared their experiences of managing a life of disability and loss, I could feel the emotional toll crescendo.  For some, this was the first time they had publicly revealed their double-life.  We waited solemnly, holding the silence, when they got choked up.  We "echoed points" that others had made, as a way to show support.  And, occasionally an LA acknowledged their courage.   

In the late afternoon, I kept imagining how a post-game gathering at a D.C. bar would be a welcome end to an arduous day. No such luck.  At 4:30, we waved at our screens and clicked off:  zoom world at its finest.  

I lingered in front of my computer screen, trying to take in the day.  The stories and the emotion had infused me with the interconnectedness of a shared double-life.  I wrote short emails to each person on the team.  I thanked them for their fortitude, and their honesty.  I offered to talk.  It seemed a meager attempt at an email hug.  

As is typical for me, the emotional weight came the next day.  An ill-defined, slate-gray heaviness loomed large. I could not describe it, and I could not shake it.  A dear friend named it for me, saying I had a colossal emotional hangover.  

I muddled along, weary and somewhat confused.  Contemplation helped.  Time outside with Peggy and Delta brought color into the day.  Looking back, a simple meal and a good night's sleep seemed essential to the cure.  I felt restored in the morning.

Slowly, I am learning that our interconnected double lives need time for a re-set after these really rough days, even when they are not full of ALS legislative advocacy on zoom.  I need time to regain my balance to be buoyed back from the deep.  Mainly, I need joy, wonder, beauty, laughter, and affection to balance the darkness and to remind me that we are interconnected through our positive emotions and stories as well.  

In the future, I'll plan for the time to recover.    More time with Peggy and Delta Mae.  More time in contemplation, and doing ordinary tasks like weeding the garden, or making a pot of soup. Time to simply wallow in the love that surrounds me.
   





Thursday, June 23, 2022

My pillbox


Once a week, I fill my pillbox.  The box keeps me on track, especially since I swallow a rainbow of pills and capsules three times a day.   You might think it impossible to forget whether you have swallowed 13 or 14 pills.  Trust me, when it becomes a day-to-day routine, it's easy to forget without a pillbox that stands empty.  Crazy, right?

Before Mr. ALS arrived on the scene, I did not own a pillbox, and I did not fret about forgetting to take my vitamin D.

As for today's collection,  you might enjoy knowing that I have a giant capsule filled with golden oil, and a tiny rectangular tablet the color of a robin's egg.  Theracumin is a standout for two reasons.  It is a uniquely thin capsule, easy to swallow, and it is a strikingly beautiful butterscotch-mustard-yellow.  

A wide array of white capsules are distinguished only by size.  The six giant sodium phenylbutyrates (which I take twice a day) must be taken 2 at a time, and even then, they often stick to the back of my throat, unless, of course, I remember to tip my head forward to widen the epiglottic valleculla.



Randomly, I'll mention here that as a boy I collected marbles.  I had cat's eyes, and boulders, steelies, and solids. In all humility, my collection was the envy of Riverside Drive.  Somehow this seems full-circle.



Every pill and capsule I ingest has a clearly described scientific rationale.  Some of them come with a prescription from my neurologist.  Others I purchase on Amazon.

A major player in my arsenal is the tag team of Tudca and Sodium phenylbutyrate. This combination is also known as AMX0035, which is making its way through the regulatory approval process at the FDA.  AMX0035 is only available through a randomized controlled trial, which means some of the people are receiving the actual medication and some are receiving a placebo. 

AMX0035 has shown promising evidence in the treatment of ALS:  it appears to slow the progression to respiratory failure by 10 months.

Until recently I have been using a small compounding pharmacy in New Jersey for my monthly supply of sodium phenylbutyrate, all 360 capsules.  We purchase it off label, which also means it is not covered by insurance.


Much to my dismay, the sole manufacturer of sodium phenylbutyrate halted production in May.  I talked to them, of course, and they offered no clear explanation, nor definite time frame for when production might resume.

I ask you: what's a person to do with Mr. ALS breathing down their back?  Take the regular dose and accept a pause in a proven therapy?  Take a half-dose to make it last longer and accept the possibility of it being sub-therapeutic?  Try to find another pharmacy that compounds sodium phenylbutyrate and ships it out of state?

After consulting with three neurologists who are experts in the field of ALS, I decided on a half-dose.  

In the meantime, if I were to sense a subtle, new symptom of ALS, should I worry the new symptom is the result of the decreased dose, or just the natural progression of ALS?

Another conundrum: as new therapeutic opportunities arise, what should be the calculus for the order of operation, because certain options preclude others.

The happy ending here is that we have found another compounding pharmacy and I am back to a full dose of sodium phenylbutyrate.  The injustice and inequity of my privilege is on full display as I pay thousands of dollars each month for this opportunity.  

Yesterday, I spent the entire day on zoom, in virtual meetings lobbying members of congress with a group from the ALS Association.  As people living with ALS, we did our very best to elucidate the realities of our lives.  The legislative aides listened carefully, mostly.  They took notes and expressed dismay for our misfortune.  We asked for their support regarding appropriations for the Act For ALS, and in general they assured us they would keep it under consideration.

ALS is unlike any other adult infirmity in its swift path to disability.  The glacial speed of the federal government is not well suited to respond to this kind of urgency in a rare disease.  Still we must persist.

I take hope in the power of the people.  The ALS community is a feisty lot.  We will find a way. 

Wednesday, June 22, 2022

NIH Day #3


Day #3 finds JimBob and PeggO weary at the outset. A decent breakfast is essential.  Peggo, as we all know, comes prepared to meet that task.  

This morning they begin with Peet's House Blend pour-over coffee, followed by maple flavored Brown Cow yogurt, the kind with cream on top, homemade granola, and hand-picked, ripe, local strawberries.


Vine-ripened strawberries are a wonder of nature, no?  

"Think about it," muses JimBob, "where else in the world do you see this color of red?"

He waxes on, "Strawberries are so fun to eat... plucking their little stem hats off as you pop them into your mouth." 

JimBob demonstrates, followed by a self-satisfied smirk.

"Delicious."

Gesturing with the strawberry top, he says, "No two berries are ever the same.  Isn't that amazing?"

"Yes, truly amazing.  You realize that we still need to take Delta for a walk."  PeggO is all business this morning.




Today's snacks:  assorted charcuterie, hard cheese, artisanal crackers, roasted pistachios, dates, and ripe strawberries.  Pamplemousse La Croix to drink.


PeggO knows what JimBob likes.


9 a.m. NIH 1st Floor radiology: Fluoroscopy Suite
The official schedule begins with a swallowing study, because people with ALS eventually lose the muscular control required to eat and swallow.  The first sign of a problem can be coughing while trying to swallow.  Have you ever choked a little bit on your own saliva?  Does it make you cough?  Maybe this happens when you are laughing.  Or, maybe, like JimBob, this happens when you try to talk and eat at the same time.   Mr. ALS has this way of transforming an innocent cough into a telltale sign of decline. 

As they approach the radiology check-in desk, Monique is waiting.  She introduces herself to JimBob and PeggO, and ushers them back to her fluoroscopy suite.

Monique is the energetic Speech Language Pathologist (SLP) who will do the swallow study, followed by 2 hours of speech and language evaluation.  JimBob connects with Monique immediately.  She is direct and in charge.  JimBob especially appreciates the ways in which Monique respects his dignity. 

The study will allow Monique to visualize JimBob's swallowing in real time.  She begins with a teaspoon of radio-opaque liquid, flavored with Hershey's syrup.

Monique stands in front of JimBob as he swallows the teaspoon of liquid.  In a formal tone, she queues the radiology technician to capture the dynamic image of swallowing which is visible to her, and to JimBob, on a small screen next to the x-ray camera pointed at JimBob's neck.

"Now," she calls out.  

JimBob and Monique watch the x-ray image appear.

A flash of white liquid glides across JimBob's tongue, down his pharynx, and into his esophagus.  No aspiration.  This is good. 

"Stop," Monique commands.  The screen goes blank.

Next they repeat the test with an ounce of the same Hershey's flavored liquid.  And after that, 2 ounces of the same liquid, followed by radio-opaque pudding.  Monique is visibly relaxing as all of the studies are normal.  JimBob wonders how often Monique is the one to break the bad news about unsafe swallowing due to the progression of ALS.

They finish the study with a radio-opaque capsule, to test if it's safe for JimBob to swallow pills.  Since he swallows 27 capsules a day, JimBob is relatively confident this will make it a clean round on the swallow study circuit.

And, it does.

They move on to Monique's office for tongue twisters, reading aloud, and oral-motor gymnastics-- things they all know will one day be impossible for JimBob.
For today, JimBob is happy to repeat them faster than Monique.  

Next are the tests for language processing which include verbally interpreting a drawing of people at the beach enjoying various waterfront activities.  JimBob expresses concern for the man looking at his phone while the smiling woman on the blanket in front of him is opening a bottle of wine.  After JimBob has completed his timed description, Monique comments that she shares his concern for the man, and has never before heard anyone call attention to their bare feet.  

Monique now administers the test that asks for lists of words beginning with a, s, and f.  Then a list of animals.  JimBob has just completed these tests with the neuropsychologist yesterday. Today he does not have concerns about cursing, and he sails through the test with flying colors, and a knowing wink from PeggO.   (See NIH Day #2)

Monique's final test involves ordering a fictitious executive's schedule based on the restrictions described in an accompanying narrative.  Naturally, JimBob suggests they pass this along to an able administrative assistant.

"I rather assumed you might say that," chuckles Monique, with a nod toward the test that means: "get to work."

Right.

JimBob buckles down and solves the tedious puzzle that includes when to order flowers for the wife and still see his most important customer, while making all of the day's deadlines.

Now it's time for a real lunch in the lobby.

1 p.m. Electrophysiology Lab.   

There is a solid rationale for saving the EMG and nerve conduction studies until last.  They are generally presented to patients as "somewhat uncomfortable."

JimBob and PeggO asked about the need to repeat these studies at the NIH, since they were completed at UVA as part of the diagnostic work up for ALS.  The recommendation from everyone was to repeat the EMG, since it had been done at such an early point in the disease progression.  Repeating the test now should be helpful in a number of ways.  The nerve conduction study, on the other hand, was comprehensive the first time and would unlikely need to be redone. 

Entering the electrophysiology lab, JimBob and PeggO are introduced to a short, gray-haired woman in a long white lab coat.  She speaks sternly with a thick Eastern European accent.  Her face shows intense concentration.  She does not smile.  She gestures to two chairs by the wall and instructs JimBob and PeggO to have a seat.  Next, she hands JimBob a blue paper gown that she has produced from a gray, metal drawer.  As she leaves the room, presumably to allow JimBob some privacy, she chuckles to herself, saying the teenagers always want to take the blue paper gown home.  Huh?

PeggO and JimBob look at each other and need no words to express their hesitation for how this is likely to unfold.

The exam starts with an ultrasound exam of various muscles looking for fasciculations, or tiny muscles twitches.  Along with progressive weakness, fasciculations are the hallmark of ALS.  Clinicians debate whether fasciculations precede weakness.  If they do, then they may be able to predict the spread of the disease throughout the body.  

JimBob's fasciculations started in his left arm.  Currently, he feels fasciculations all day long in his arms, chest, back and abdomen.  The twitching is exacerbated by activity.  This means he has more fasciculations after many ordinary tasks like making the bed, working in the garden, typing, or standing for more than 10 minutes.  With a bit of rest, the twitching quiets down, until the next wave of activity.

Today's ultrasound and EMG will provide objective, scientific evidence of JimBob's everyday experience of fasciculations.

As she finishes with the ultrasound exam, the neuroelectrophysiologist (the white-haired woman in the long white coat) moves to the other side of the room and begins to pull the nerve conduction device closer to JimBob.  

JimBob starts to get nervous.  He remembers this experience all too well from the first time. 

A nerve conduction study measures the speed of electrical current running along a nerve.  To do this a receptor tab is placed near the end of the nerve, say at the wrist, and an electric probe is placed firmly against that same nerve, say in the elbow.  The neuroelectrophysiologist shocks the nerve repeatedly, with increasing voltage, sending a wave of electricity down the nerve.  The speed is recorded at different voltages, and the probes are placed along many nerves throughout the body to complete the test.

The first shock in each series feels like a little tingle and is easily tolerated.  As the voltage increases, the shock feels like an electric fence at the farm, and then like a shock from an electric outlet, and finally, the shock causes the limb to involuntarily jump off the table. The maximum shock is then repeated 3 times.

I'm not kidding.  This really happens.

The study begins and JimBob immediately remembers the "discomfort".  As they approach the maximal voltage, he instinctively clutches the edge of the exam table, bracing himself for the jolt of electric current.  

PeggO sits behind JimBob as the nerve conduction study progresses.  She is out of his sight line, but he senses her rise out of her chair with each maximal voltage. On the third sequence of  shocks, PeggO asks forcefully, "Is this really necessary?"

An awkward silence hovers in the room.

"This is the way I like to do these studies," responds White Coat, without turning away from her instruments.

"I knew we needed to repeat part of the EMG, but it was my understanding that the nerve conduction would not be required.  Has something changed?" asks JimBob.

No response.

With the next series of shocks, as JimBob's left foot and lower leg come jumping off the exam table, PeggO moves to get out of her chair, and White Coat calls it quits.

"He is so hyper-reflexic; I'm not sure this is worthwhile.  And it is obviously not his favorite, " says White Coat to her assistant.  She says this sitting next to JimBob...her hand still resting on his leg.

Not worthwhile?  Not his favorite?

What is going on here?  Who is this for?

Next test: the EMG.

An EMG measures the electrical activity in muscles, especially as the muscles are stimulated by nerves.  To do this, small needles are placed in muscles all over the body, one at a time.  The needles are connected via a wire to the EMG unit which measures the electrical activity in that particular muscle.





White Coat begins by placing the EMG needle into JimBobs left shin.  She observes the readings on the EMG unit, and adjusts the needle by wiggling it around in the muscle or pushing it deeper into the muscle.  Once she has the reading she needs, she asks JimBob to flex the muscle as hard as he can with the needle in place.

White Coat repeats this in JimBob's left thumb, both biceps, and finally in JimBob's neck and back.  She decides against the tongue since that was tested the last time JimBob had an EMG.  

Wrapping up the consultation, White Coat sits facing JimBob and PeggO and delivers the news. The EMG confirms that JimBob has fasciculations in his arms, chest, back, and abdomen.

I'm not kidding, this is a true story.

3:30 Final Wrap-Up with Dr. Kwan
JimBob, PeggO and Dr. Kwan sit alone in a small, quiet exam room.  Pale yellow weariness hangs like a fog as Dr. Kwan begins to speak.  

"Without patients who are willing to participate in research, we can make no progress in understanding ALS," he says.   "I am so grateful for your participation in my research."

Together, the three doctors summarize the positive outcomes of the three days.
  • Blood samples may detect HERV-K leading to an anti-retroviral treatment trial
  • 85th percentile for rate of decline in people living with ALS
  • Excellent results from neuropsychological testing
  • Excellent forced vital capacity
  • Excellent swallow study and speech
  • Electrophysiological results that support a diagnosis of ALS
  • No further need for EMG or nerve conduction studies
  • No further risk for Frontal-Temporal Dementia
  • A connection to the NIH and to Dr. Kwan for future consultations.
When it's time for closing questions, PeggO begins.  "Does the NIH have plans to expand this study to become longitudinal, tracking patients' progress over time?"

"Wouldn't it be more helpful to understand how and why patients progress over time, rather than just having data from one point in time?" she asks.

"Absolutely.  We would love to do that; however, at this time we do not have the bandwidth for that kind of study," responds Dr. Kwan gently.

JimBob clarifies, "Will every piece of data collected in the three days be used for research?"  

Dr. Kwan assures him it will.  

As they stand to say goodbye, Dr. Kwan thanks JimBob and Peggo once again.   It feels to JimBob like Dr. Kwan would welcome an embrace.   More than likely, ALS takes its toll on the doctor's heart too.

The three doctors linger, bowing slightly, tipping their heads, smiling and saying thanks and goodbye a few more times.

4 p.m.  
On the way back to the hotel, JimBob and Peggo begin to realize their cumulative fatigue from three full days of highs and lows at the NIH. 

Each evaluation held the power for good news or disappointment.  Each test brought the possibility for increased hope or further evidence of functional decline.  Each encounter carried its own risk, and required JimBob and PeggO to muster steady courage, stamina and good humor.  

5 p.m.on the road back to Charlottesville

"Well, are you glad we came," asks PeggO from the driver's seat.

"I am," responds JImBob, "I'm grateful for the opportunity." 

"I hope it helps someone down the line.," he continues.

"You never know,,, you might be HERV-K positive and then you could try ARVs" says Peggo with a hopeful tone.

"That would be so cool..." nods JimBob, "I would really like the chance to try ARVs."

'I want you to take ARVs too... it would be amazing if ALS could be the next HIV story," adds PeggO.

"Totally," says JimBob, looking out at the tree-lined streets of the passing Bethesda neighborhoods.

"It's kind of unbelievable that no one at NIH is running longitudinal studies for ALS," reflects PeggO.

"And there is no central coordination, like in the HIV days," adds JimBob. "There really doesn't seem to be anyone in charge, just a bunch of silo'd labs doing their own things."

"It's enough to be a patient, and now we're supposed to figure out how to get the NIH organized," grumbles PeggO.

 As they move into rush hour traffic, the mood in the car goes blue-gray. 

"I thought you were going to jump across the room when she kept zapping me for the nerve conduction," interjects JimBob, knowingly changing the subject.

"I was ready to,,,"  says PeggO without missing a beat. 

"I could tell.  I could totally feel your energy in the room.  It was great," smiles JimBob.

"We're a team," responds PeggO.

"Yep," sighs JimBob quietly looking away, "We're a team."
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