There are days.

Broken Flower

There are days in life that have the potential to permanently alter the course of your future for the better; days that could make some of the things that you live with easier from that point onward; days with the ability to get the ball rolling towards some positive, long overdue change. Yes, there are days like that.

But sometimes those days instead end only with missed opportunity; another lengthy appointment with disappointment, and another added mark on your overflowing wall of let downs and discouragements. Those days that, instead of giving you a piece of your life back – no matter how small – end with you being left to go back and suffer endlessly, in the same painful reality, once again feeling defeated and abandoned by the only people with the power to truly make a difference in your life.

The 8 long months leading up to that day passed me by in slow succession: cloaked in a bleak and melancholy air that hung heavy over and all around me. The weeks were almost entirely marked only by the increasingly debilitating and all-consuming pain in my lower spine that brought about the need for that day in the first place. Things were consistently deteriorating right before my eyes, and I was frighteningly often struggling desperately just to pull myself out of bed each day.

While time passed and I waited, I forced my mind not to linger too long or too often on the possibilities of that coming day, which sadly – experience has taught me, over and over – would most likely end in the exact disappointment, frustration and – should I allow it – devastation, that it did. Or, worse than letting my mind focus on the fear of things ending badly, I couldn’t let the hope in. If you have hope it only hurts so much worse when that hope is shattered. I couldn’t take the crippling pain of getting your hopes up and then having them destroyed, on top of everything else.

But, I did get my hopes up a bit – I couldn’t help it, it’s all that I had to prop me up. And so, as hard as I tried not to let it, some hope did manage to find it’s way in. But, I think that was what had carried me these last months through all of the pain: that little bit of hope that maybe someone was about to help find a way to lessen it for the first time, and that maybe this person would finally be the one. My fears about hope ended up being perfectly reasonable in the end - despite not having all that much of it to begin with, it was still a devastating thing to have and then lose.

I’m back at home now, back to my reality, and that day has gone and passed. The pain continues on in the same ever-worsening way that it has for the past 10 years – exactly one half – of my life, while my body continues to fall apart in a constant string of new and unexpected ways. And that day is ever further behind me, without having given me anything to help carry me forward. And, now, sometimes, I don’t know how I’m going to be able to. But yet, somehow I do.

*I’ll write more about what exactly went on at the appointment in my next post.

Sorry it’s been so long again, things have been tough.
Lots of love to you all. ♥

-Katie

A guest post by Destiny

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“My name is Destiny, and I am 20 years old. I love Panda’s. I’m a pretty plain girl…I love the colors black and white! Oh yeah, I’m also dying. Yep, I’m 20, and I am dying. How wonderful, right?”

I was introduced to Destiny’s story and Facebook page a few months ago by a fellow EDS zebra. Destiny is the same age as me and has Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome Type 4 which is the vascular type. This is considered one of the most severe forms of EDS due to the extreme fragility of the blood vessels and organs that it involves, which can lead to the rupture and tearing of many of the body’s major organs and blood vessels. The first thing that I learned about Destiny was that she’s incredibly strong and brave. The second – which you’re about to see for yourself – was that she’s an amazing writer with a gift for helping her readers see things through her eyes. The above paragraph that she wrote, in my opinion, sums up the kind of person she is; despite everything she’s lived and is living through – which is more than anyone should ever have to endure – she’s kind, cheery, funny and optimistic. She’s stoic beyond belief and there’s such a warm bright light within her no matter what she faces. And, she was sweet enough to let me use the following post as a guest post on Tissue Tales.

Enter Destiny:

This day started out just like any other day. She woke up with only 20 minutes to spare, her alarm still ringing in her ears. She gently and quietly climbs down her bed, so as not to wake her slumbering roommates. She goes to the mirror and brushes her hair back into a ponytail when the world spins and tries to go black. Her cold, white hands cling to the futon as her heart pounded and the blood rushed everywhere but her head. The sparkles in front of her eyes began to lessen and the girl, with a face as pale as the moon pops her morning pills, downs a salt packet, and fills her cup with orange pedialite; flashing back to her days as a child, grabs her backpack, stands – slowly this time – and heads off to her first class of the morning. Her hands still shaking and her heart still racing.

She sits in her class with her heavy textbook on the table way in the back row. Listening to all the students talking about the parties of the night before, her mottled hands begin to warm up and she sips some more pedialite. The shaking begins to subside and she prepares herself for the next 2 hours. Her hands begin cramping an hour into the lecture as each second is another second of her body attacking itself. She puts her purple pencil down on her crisp white notebook for a break when suddenly the nausea hits. Deep inside her belly a heat hits her and it travels up to her head, which in turn fills with a pressure words cannot begin to describe. She grasps her desk tightly and tries to take a deep breath only to find her chest was too tight, she couldn’t breathe.

Her frantic green eyes searched around her for what to do. She noticed people were staring and their lips were moving but she couldn’t hear them. A hand on her leg, a feeling, someone can see something is wrong, she reaches for that hand, anything to keep her in the here and now, desperately trying to convey what is happening as she is a prisoner in her own body. She tries to move, and her dry, blue tinged lips try to form words when the pain rips through her chest and the world goes white.

Fast forward a few days later and the girl lies in a hospital bed with an icepack across her chest from a fractured sternum. The CPR done to save her life fractured her porcelain bones. Tears pour from her pale green eyes as she replays the words in her head again and again.”…too sick…medical leave….close call…can’t risk it…focus on yourself and family…you need to withdraw…”. On the bedside table lies a copy of the medical note from her team of doctors, a copy of a form she signed officially withdrawing her from college. On the bedside table lies a copy of all her hopes and dreams completely crushed by a disease no one has ever heard of.

This isn’t my best writing…but it is pieces from my last week in college before I was forced to withdraw due to my medical problems. Looking back, I agree it was the right decision, and I have accepted VEDS won that battle, but it still breaks my heart in half. School was an escape for me…even in Elementary. It was a place I could focus on something besides my disease and my pain. It was a place to express myself and learn who I was. In High school I was in so many activities, the honor roll, and was even teaching a class come senior year. School was my sanctuary…College became a more hectic, scary sanctuary. One that opened my world to limitless opportunities, all of which I wanted at one time…I loved the friends I made, the classes I took and all that I learned…and the main thing being to never give up.

My hopes and dreams are still on that bedside table. The travelling abroad, the tutor program, the German club, community choir, becoming a teacher or a psychologist, specializing in Autism…all of those are still on that table and never will I be able to pick those up, dust them off and hop back in….But with that loss comes growth.

My new dream: to raise awareness for rare diseases. To raise money for research. To find a doctor willing to do research on such a little known condition. To share my story and inspire others. To have my story reach as many people as possible…and eventually I’d like my dream to come true, true to the point that my slogan will no longer be needed. That “Awareness for a Cure” will not need to exist because people will have heard of Ehlers-Danlos type 1,2,3,4… KLS, Dysautonomia and the other rare diseases.

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If you’re as inspired as I am by Destiny and you’d like to let her know you can find her Facebook page here.

Thanks for sharing your story with us Destiny!

Rare Disease Day, last Marfacts + My lung issues.

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It seems very fitting that Rare Disease Day happens to fall on the last day of Marfan Syndrome awareness month. For those of you that don’t know Rare Disease day aims to raise awareness all around the world for the approximately 1 in 20 people living with the thousands of rare diseases and disorders that exist. Events are held in dozens of countries all over the world, as well as various social media campaigns and more. To learn more click here.

When I first learned about this project a few years ago I began researching and blogging about various different rare diseases in the days leading up to it, in the hopes of shining some light on the day itself and some of the specific illness they’re trying to make change for. In the process I learned so much about some of the things people are living and struggling with that I had never even heard of before. It ended up being a really great learning experience for me.

It’s hard to really comprehend just how many people these diseases – connective tissue disorders included – effect, and how much people go through because of them. And still, for so many diseases and disorders, so little is known about what they are and how to properly diagnose and treat them. To find out how you can help and participate in future Rare Disease Days click here. You can also raise awareness by wearing jeans for genes today! :)

And now, in honor of Marfan Syndrome awareness month, here are the last of this year’s Marfacts (provided by the wonderful Marfmom and Marfan Foundation) respectively.

Marfact #27: Do you know the 5 Ps that could signal the presence of an aortic dissection? They are pain, pallor (paleness), pulselessness (difficulty finding a pulse), paralysis, and paraesthesia (a tingling sensation, like when your foot falls asleep). Not all of these have to be present. A sense of impending doom is another common symptom. If you have Marfan Syndrome or a related disorder, make sure the ER rules out dissection with an echo, TEE, MRI, or CT scan: whichever can be done the most quickly and be expertly read. More information about how to advocate for yourself or your loved one during a possible cardiac emergency can be found here.

Dissection awareness poster featured on the NMF's website.

Dissection awareness poster featured on the Marfan Foundation’s website.

Marfact #28: There are several lung issues that can come along with Marfan Syndrome. These include restrictive lung disease (it affects about 70% of Marfs), chest deformities, collapsed lung, emphysema (at least 10-15% of Marfs, if not more), asthma, and sleep apnea.

In my case the bases of both of my lungs have what is know as “chronic atelectasis”, which is: the incomplete expansion or collapse of parts of, or a whole, lung. This can cause numerous issues such as: difficulty breathing, chronic cough, increased heart rate, low oxygen saturation, chest pain and more. For me it was coincidentally discovered during a chest CT and X-ray that was done last year as part of my annual cardiac screening. It definitely wasn’t something that I was expecting to have show up. I’m not sure how long my lungs have been like that and if that’s the reason for some of my chest related pain and problems or if those are from something else. Maybe it’s a bit of both. A lot of the complications and symptoms from that overlap with some of the other illnesses I have like POTS, so it’s frustrating trying to figure out what could be causing what sometimes.

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Thank you all so, so much for your support during Marfan Awareness month. I hope that with the continued efforts to raise awareness by not only those within the Marfan community but outside of it as well, that in the near future no more lives will be lost from otherwise preventable causes.

I also hope that the number of people who suffer for what feels like endless years alone and in debilitating chronic pain without any answers, will continually diminish until it disappears altogether. This feels possible with the tireless efforts of organizations like the ILC and Marfan Foundations, both of which I could never find enough adequate words to properly thank for the differences they’ve made in my life. ♥ 

Marfact #25 + My lens journey: Part 4

In honor of Marfan Syndrome awareness month, here’s today’s Marfact (provided by the wonderful Marfan Foundation).

Marfact #25: People with Marfan syndrome should be treated by a physician familiar with the condition and how it affects all body systems. Careful management includes an annual echocardiogram to monitor the size and function of the heart and aorta; an initial eye exam by an ophthalmologist, including a slit‐lamp exam, with periodic follow up exams; careful monitoring of the skeletal system by an orthopedist, especially during childhood and adolescence; medications such as beta‐blockers to lower blood pressure and, consequently, reduce stress on the aorta; and lifestyle adaptations to reduce stress on the aorta.

Visit www.marfan.org for more information.

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My lens journey part 4:

Part 3

The healing process from the last surgery to re-attach my left lens implant was painful and slow going thanks to the complications that occurred. It was only 3 months later and a few weeks into December of that same year when I noticed a worrisome ring forming around the vision in my right eye. I was pretty sure that this was the lens but my optometrist said everything looked fine for the moment. Regardless of how it looked on exam, I knew that something was wrong and after a few days of the ring continually increasing in length and thickness it became obvious. I bent forward to get a pair of pajamas out of my dresser drawer and my entire lens slid forward into the front of my eye.

This was different than the last time one of my lens implants dislocated in that it happened gradually and was still holding on to some extent. The last time it had happened instantly and it wasn’t hanging on at all. My surgeon again wasn’t available for a week, so this was another long week of sleeping upright and worrying about what I was about face. Only this time I had every reason to worry, after all of the things I had gone through during the last two surgeries and everything that followed. I had just lost the vision in my remaining “good” eye and I was looking at what could be another horribly painful, complicated surgery with months of healing time. I was afraid that the vision in this eye would turn out as poorly as the vision in my left eye had or worse.

I held onto the hope that because 4 of my 6 previous surgeries had gone perfectly that this one likely would too, despite how the last two turned out. After all, the odds were technically in my favor. The surgeon decided to re-attach my lens as he had done during the previous 2 operations and before I knew it I was being wheeled into the OR again. The first thing I remember after waking up from the surgery is being in tremendous pain. Because of this I was kept in the recovery room far longer than I’ve ever needed to be and the nurses would return every five minutes to administer more pain meds in order to try to get the pain under control – which was largely unsuccessful. After about an hour of this they wheeled me back to the holding area. I remember laying curled up in a ball on the bed clenching my fists and waiting for them to bring my mom in – sometimes a girl just needs her mom.

It was a long time before they finally brought her in and they still hadn’t been able to get my pain under control, though not for lack of trying. I was told that my eye had hemorrhaged again and that there was severe inflammation – just like last time. The pain was really intense and on top of that it’s not uncommon for people in my family – especially my mom and I – to not respond very well to pain medications (or local anesthetics) to begin with. Eventually I just started vomiting uncontrollably from all of the pain medications, the violence of which did not feel good on my eye. Eventually, because nothing they did was helping much and all I wanted to do was go back to the hotel and curl up in bed, the nurses agreed to let me go home. All in all I was in the hospital for 9 hours after this surgery, instead of the usually 2.

The recovery for this surgery was by far the longest I had ever experienced. It took well over 6 months before my vision had healed to the full extent that it would and the pain had largely and finally subsided. Sadly, my vision never recovered to what it had been before the surgery. While I thankfully don’t have floppy iris or double vision in my right eye, my visual acuity as a whole was largely reduced and my distance eye can no longer see distances very well at all. It’s been hard to get used to and it’s been a very long and frustrating journey.

I miss things the way they were and it’s been hard to adjust to not seeing the world as well as I had all those years. But, as hard as it’s been to cope with these changes, it’s these experiences that have also renewed in me a feeling of appreciation and gratefulness for the vision that I do have. I’ve been reminded that nothing is guaranteed, and that’s something I’ll always hold on to.

Marfact #23 and 24 + My lens journey: Part 3

In honor of Marfan Syndrome awareness month, here are Marfacts 23 and 24 (provided by the wonderful Marfan Foundation
and Maya over at Marfmom respectively).

Marfact #23: Related conditions that have signs and treatments that somewhat overlap with Marfan syndrome include Loeys‐Dietz syndrome, Ehlers‐Danlos syndrome, Beals syndrome and MASS phenotype. The differences are critical so it’s important to get the right diagnosis.

Marfact #24: Do you know the signs of a pneumothorax and how to treat it? A pneumothorax is “a collection of air or gas in the space between the lungs and the chest that “collapses” the lung and prevents it from inflating completely.” It’s an emergency situation, although usually not life-threatening. http://marfan.org/marfan/2444/Lung-Emergencies/

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My lens journey part 3:

Part 2

The day after surgery I woke up in a tremendous amount of pain. It hurt pretty severely to look anywhere, but if one eye moves so does the other, so it was almost entirely unavoidable. When we got to the eye doctor’s for my post surgery checkup (with a surgeon’s helper, not my actual surgeon) I was very agitated in a way that I never am. But I had done this 5 times before and I knew the drill: they were going to take off my patch and hold open my eyelid, shine a light in it, put drops in it – all things that I usually wouldn’t bat an eyelash at. But, this time I was in so much pain that the thought made my stomach turn – and it turned out to be for good reason. The pain I felt just from the weight of that tiny drop hitting my eye was enough to make me tear up and cry out.

Something was definitely wrong. Never had I ever experienced even a fraction of this much pain after a surgery. At this point I’d been living with a lot of pain every single day for the past 3 years and I was pretty good at handling it, but this pain was frightening in it’s severity. Lucky for me that I didn’t know how much worse things were about to get or I wouldn’t have been able to find the courage to carry myself towards them.

To find out what was wrong I would need an ultrasound on my eye. My eye that was still mushy and flat from the previous day’s surgerywhere there were stitches sticking out everywhere and fresh wounds, and where the weight of a tiny drop was followed by a shocking amount of pain. I thought to myself there’s no way. But yes, that’s exactly what they were going to do.

As they explained the procedure I wanted so badly to run as far away from there as I could. But what do you do? If I didn’t get the ultrasound they wouldn’t be able to figure out what was wrong, and then what? I couldn’t risk losing my vision because I was scared. It had to be done, which I guess is what made it so doable. That being said, the 20 minutes it took seemed to drag on for hours. My fingers hurt from gripping the chair arms so hard. I stayed silent with my jaw locked tight and kept every muscle in my body tensed to the point of exhaustion – I couldn’t help it. Up until that point I had never been in that much pain in my entire life. You know that horrible, intense shooting pain that you get in your eyes sometimes during brain freeze? The pain was a lot like that, only worse and for 20 minutes straight.

But, what the ultrasound revealed was that my eye had hemorrhaged and was severely inflamed. This explained the amount of pain that I was in and if left untreated could have severely and irreversibly damaged my eye. I was immediately put on a high dose of steroid drops four times a day (more misery), along with steroid tablets to help the healing and zantac to protect my stomach from the steroids themselves. I was also on a few other drops that I always take after surgery starting four times a day everyday.

After all was said and done I spent the rest of the day a bit traumatized by everything, but I was also impressed with myself for handling it – not that I had much of a choice. It’s pretty amazing though: just how much pain we can endure when there’s no other options. Things were still a bit difficult from there on out. Because of the complications my eye was taking a much longer time to heal than it ever had before. I was impatient with the slow progress – I wanted to know how my vision would turn out this time around and if it would be like it had been before the past two surgeries.

I can say now that I wish things had turned out differently. After all of the pain and worry; the drops, the traveling, the money; this surgery turned out worse than the last one. While I didn’t have the floppy iris anymore, I now had severe double vision and the acuity of my vision itself had decreased considerably. I could no longer read nearly as well as I had been able to or see close up things a fraction of how I had (my left eye is my nearsighted eye). It was all so frustrating. I couldn’t understand why everything had gone wrong when I used to breeze through the same surgeries like they were nothing. I was also inescapably terrified that my right lens would soon dislocate too and that I’d have to go through it all over again.

Coma

This is an example of how the double vision in my left eye looks (the center and far right images) compared to my previously normal vision (far left).

Part 4

Marfact #21 and 22 + My lens journey: Part 2

In honor of Marfan Syndrome awareness month, here’s today’s Marfact (provided by the wonderful Marfan Foundation).

Marfact #21: People with Marfan syndrome are at an up to 250 times greater risk of aortic dissection than the general population.

Marfact #22: Marfan syndrome can affect many parts of the body, but has “variable expression,” so each person is affected differently, even in the same family. While there are features that are frequently seen in many people with the disorder (such as tall, thin stature, disproportionately long arms and legs), not all people exhibit these features.

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I’m actually going to be splitting this into 4 parts because of how long it actually is once I sit down to write it.

Part 1

About a week after my 16th birthday my life changed – and I will never mean this more literally – in the blink of an eye. Meaning that I blinked and all of a sudden the vision in my left eye was entirely blurry. I knew what had happened immediately: my vision was identical to when I had no lenses at all and would take off my glasses. My implant had dislocated and I was devastated. At the time we had been told that should anything ever happen to my lens implants that they would likely have to be removed and that would be that.

My eye surgeon wasn’t available for a week, and because of the risk of my lens implant lodging in my pupil and causing serious problems I had to spend that entire week sleeping practically upright to keep it from doing so. This coupled with thinking that I had just lost one of the most precious things I had, made it a pretty long and melancholy 7 days. To my enormous relief though, my eye surgeon decided to re-attach my lens instead of removing it. I wish that had been the end of it, but it wasn’t.

My eye healed quickly and very minimally painful as they always have, but once my vision began to come back I noticed that every time I moved my eye everything in my field of vision would bounce. Mom and I left Vancouver and made the 8 hour trip home hoping that as my eye continued to heal this would go away, but it didn’t. I went to my local optometrist for a post operative check and was told that the cause of the bouncy vision was “Floppy Iris Syndrome”. As far as he could tell my lens implant was reattached further back this time to help keep it from rubbing on my iris as it had before, but now it was too far back and not supporting my iris at all, causing it to “flop”.

6th Eye Surgery

My eyes a month and a half after surgery #5 and a day before surgery #6.

So, about a month and a half after surgery #5 – my eye red and still not fully healed – we headed back to Vancouver for another operation. This time it was decided that he would replace my lens entirely with a new one (a bigger and riskier surgery) and for the first time ever before an operation I felt dread. I was hoping that because he would be replacing my lens this time that things would be better but when I woke up my mom told me that it had been decided during surgery that my old lens would be reattached instead of replaced as it had last time. Aside from that, right away things felt different this time when I woke up than it ever had after the previous surgeries. And though it wasn’t unmanageable, my pain level was a lot higher than it had ever been following eye surgery.

It was the day after though, that I ended up going through one of the hardest things I’ve ever been through.

Marfact #20 + My lens journey: Part 1

In honor of Marfan Syndrome awareness month, here’s today’s Marfact (provided by the wonderful Marfan Foundation).

Marfact #20: Eye problems associated with Marfan Syndrome include early nearsightedness, early glaucoma, lens dislocation and retinal detachment. Treating eye problems early is key to maintaining quality of life.

Visit www.marfan.org for more information.

*I’m splitting this post into two parts because it’s a bit of a long story.

Lens dislocation and the complications that come with it is something that I’ve dealt with in some capacity my entire life. I was 4 years old when I was diagnosed with ectopia lentis and not long after that I was undergoing the first two of seven eye surgeries because of it. These early surgeries were done in order to remove the lenses and fit me with highly magnified bifocal glasses. I hated those glasses with a passion for how they made me look, but at the same time I was actually seeing the world for the first time in my entire life.

When I was 10 years old my dream of ditching the glasses and being able to see out of my own eyes, without any vision aids, finally came true when it was decided that I was a good candidate for lens implants. And so, it was with surgeries number 3 and 4 that I received one of the most amazing gifts I could have ever imagined. Things were relatively calm for the first few years afterwards but then I gradually began getting unexplained bouts of Iritis and Uveitis that would cloud up my vision, as if I was looking through a frosted window. These episodes were gradually becoming more frequent and severe, until one day I woke up without being able to see anything out of one eye and subsequently landing in the ER, wondering if I had gone permanently blind in that eye.

It turned out that my lenses were rubbing on my irises, causing tiny pieces of them to flake off. This would then clog my pupils, disallowing any fluid to escape and causing the pressure within my eye to skyrocket. To remedy this without trying to re-position my lenses my ophthalmologist decided to use a YAG laser to make a small hole in each of my eyes, underneath my upper eyelid (too small to see) so that if my pupil did become blocked there would still be a way for the pressure within my eye to escape. And, although the procedure itself was really unpleasant because my eyes wouldn’t freeze properly and I could feel the holes being burned, it ended up working really well and afterwards the episodes dissipated entirely.

Part 2

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Marfacts: 18 + 19

Marfan Awareness

This story tragically highlights why it’s so important to raise awareness about Marfan Syndrome: so no other families have to suffer this same devastating loss, and so no more lives are cut short needlessly. I dream of a day when there are no more stories like this one. My heart goes out to Stevie’s family and friends, as well as all of the other families who’ve lost a loved one this way.

In honor of Marfan Syndrome awareness month, here’s yesterday and today’s Marfacts (provided by the wonderful Marfan Foundation and Marfmom).

Marfact #18: While there is no cure for Marfan syndrome, continuing advances in medical care and research are helping people with the disorder live longer and enjoy a better quality of life.

Marfact #19 (courtesy of the awesome Maya over at Marfmom): Consistent monitoring of the heart and aorta is vital for patients with Marfan syndrome. This leads to a greater likelihood of preventative surgery, which has better outcomes than emergency surgery after a dissection (tear of the aorta) has taken place. Most people with Marfan are on some sort of medication to keep their blood pressure very low in order to slow the growth of the aorta. Typically this is a beta blocker, but ARBs like losartan and irbersartan are currently being researched as well.

If you suspect that you or a family member may have Marfan Syndrome or a similar connective tissue disorder, please get evaluated by a medical professional (who is familiar with these disorders). Visit www.marfan.org for more information.

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Marfact #17 and if I had known earlier.

In honor of Marfan Syndrome awareness month, here’s today’s Marfact (provided by the wonderful Marfan Foundation).

Marfact #17: People with Marfan syndrome should not play competitive or contact sports because of the effect on the fragile aorta, as well as the pressure they put on the fragile bones and joints

Visit www.marfan.org for more information.

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This is something that would have been different for me growing up, if I had gotten the diagnosis of Marfan Syndrome earlier in life. I loved sports in school and participated in any school sports team that I could. I also played a lot of games of dodge-ball that probably should have been avoided for someone with my tissue disorder.

Looking back on it, even without the diagnosis of Marfan Syndrome, my history of lens dislocation and implants should’ve taken things like dodgeball out of my physical education curriculum. But, even the eye surgeon who did all of my previous surgeries never suggested that I avoid sports, contact or otherwise in the long run.

I can remember getting hit in the head more than once with a dodge-ball or volleyball in school, and on one particularly rough occasion that it precipitated one of my earliest instances of Iritis. I think it was either later that night or the next day that the vision in one of my eyes began to cloud over and fill with thousands of tiny floating dots.

Obvious risks aside, because of how much I loved sports in school and how much they meant to me, I can’t help but be glad that I was able to participate in them growing up. Don’t get me wrong, if I had known the risks I wouldn’t have done it and I’m extremely thankful that nothing too bad came of it, but it was still nice while it lasted.

I do often wonder though, if those instances and injuries may have contributed to my lens implants dislocating later in life. Or even some of the particularly weak tissue I have in certain joints. It was right around when I started joining the school’s basketball and volleyball teams that my first tissue injury and chronic pain started (a painful ganglion in my left foot at 10). But I guess I’ll never know for certain how things would’ve or could’ve turned out under different circumstances.

Marfact #16, quality of life, and thanks!

In honor of Marfan Syndrome awareness month, here’s today’s Marfact (provided by the wonderful Marfan Foundation).

Marfact #16: There is no cure for Marfan syndrome. However, a range of treatment options can reduce and sometimes prevent complications.

When the words Marfan Syndrome were first mentioned to my parents as something that I could potentially have they carried with them a very bleak and devastating outcome. It was thought that should I have the syndrome I would likely only live long enough to become a young adult at best. Today however, because of the treatment options offered – mainly where our cardiovascular systems are concerned – and the ever-expanding knowledge of connective tissue disorders, our lifespans are now on average the same as those in the general population.

It’s truly amazing how much things can change in the span of 20 years. Length of life isn’t so much of a worry anymore, but with that instead comes the increasing fear of quality of life. Our faulty connective tissue now has far longer to carry us than it ever has before. It’s scary to think about what kind of shape I’ll be in physically or how much more the chronic pain will have increased a year from now, never mind 40 years from now.

But, fears for the future aside, I’m extremely thankful that I live in a time where so much is available to us medically. And, if that much can change in 20 or 30 years who knows what treatment options we’ll have in another decade or two.

Visit www.marfan.org for more information.

I want to thank the Marfan Foundation for supporting Tissue Tales and sharing it on their Facebook page. I have so much love and appreciation for all that they have done and continue to do for those of us who live with connective tissue disorders and to have their support where this blog is concerned is an enormous honor.

And a ton of thanks to the wonderful Ben for his reblogs of the Marfacts! Please do stop by Ben’s awesome blog and have a read – and a look at his art. You’ll be glad that you did!