Be Mighty- Our Patients are Waiting

This quote is not mine but I love it.

I am going to steal it for every single mitochondrial presentation. For our doctors, for our researchers, for our government, for you….please…..be mighty….be bold……we are waiting.

Friday found me here:

Discussing this:

I invite you to read the caveat on the bottom of the poster ‘Given the complexities of primary mitochondrial diseases, and by extension the difficulty of designing informative clinical trials in this group of rare diseases, FDA is organizing a scientific symposium with the goal of bringing together academic physicians, FDA regulatory experts, patient advocates, and other interested stakeholders to exchange ideas and advance drug development in this challenging field.’

Oofda.

When the FDA puts this in print, our call to be mighty is mighty.

I pulled up on Friday in my Uber…..just a simple English major from Colorado…… with our super-smart Mito experts and the frickin’ FDA.

Well butter my biscuit and call me for breakfast.

Here’s the skinny; you Mito folks we have an audience.

We have an ear of the FDA.

Thank you to the UMDF, Stealth BioTherapeutics, MitoAction, MDA, everyone in this space, thank you for promoting our ear.

Clinical trials within the mitochondrial space are not easy. Mitochondrial diseases spread among 37 MtDNA genes and over 250 nuclear. Our family carries a mutated POLG-1 gene, which is a nuclear inheritance but the presentation even among our family is different.

Every night Hubs would rub Sammers head and say ‘good night, Samantha, keep fighting the good fight.’

We lost that fight.

I hate that we lost that fight.

When the FDA started talking about Pediatric testing and the ethic barriers to certain tests, I got up and talked. I talked about when Samantha was diagnosed with Infantile Spasms; when her poor precious brain was seizing 90% of the day and the only med that could help help her was Vigabatrin. And when I found out Vigabatrin was not FDA approved because it was known to inhibit peripheral vision.

I didn’t give two poops about her peripheral vision. Stop the seizures.

Stop the seizures.

Stop the seizures.

We paid out of pocket from Canada for Vigabatrin and for a brief moment, I lived the life of a Vigabatrin drug lord because it was approved in the States.

The FDA needed to know my life.

The FDA needs to know your life.

They need to know that you would sacrifice peripheral vision to stop the seizures. That your life is so far from normal, you would give up what seems normal for a bit of normal.

My challenge to you Mitochondrial community.

Be Mighty

Please be Mighty.

Lets talk about our story. We talk about a Natural History study, mapping out genetics and physiology. What about a person study? Who were you before your mitochondrial disease? Before your child’s mitochondrial disease? We now have an ear to the FDA.

Be fearless, be bold, know you have a voice.

We have nothing to lose.

Be Mighty.

I will take your mitochondrial story: heather.schichtel@gmail.com

Do You Hear the People Sing?

It’s Friday evening.

I’m always hesitant to post on Friday. It reveals the fact that I’m not out at a hip bar drinking appletini’s but instead sitting in my study contemplating the meaning of life.

Alas, I am a tad nerdy.

But also tonight mind and body demand a little downtime. A little time to think about how amazing the last week has been and everything we have accomplished.

Last weekend our Summit for Samantha team of 61 riders rode over 130 miles and raised almost $130,000 for mitochondrial research here in Colorado. In our ten years as a tenacious team, we have raised a cumulative $893,000 for our mito clinic.

Next year I’m calling a million. A million dollars for mitochondrial disease.

I would be lying if I said this week doesn’t knock me on my hiney. I have gone radio silent on my team. It took me three days to unload my car. I am now staring at a pile of stinky rider gear in my study.

Stinky.

But my goodness, its awesome. And my goodness, I am so proud of what every, single, person has done to raise this team up into the ten year success it is. We are number 5 in overall fundraising for the ride; number five with teams raising awareness for cancer research, heart defects and overall hospital support. These are known, important causes that are easy to rally behind because the general population knows about them. Here we are, number five for mitochondrial disease. Mito-what-drial?

This is not an easy ride. Vail Pass after 60 miles of riding is brutal; your head plays games and your legs plead for you to stop. I turned on my Pandora about two miles from the top. The station queue’d was Hamilton but a song from Les Miserables was playing…..

Do you hear the people sing?
Singing the songs of angry men?
It is the music of the people
Who will not be slaves again!
When the beating of your heart
Echoes the beating of the drums
There is a life about to start
When tomorrow comes!

I pushed along to the cadence but thinking to myself, I’m not angry.

But then my other self called bullshit on that and declared I clearly had too many shot blocks.

Of course there are times when I’m angry. When we should not have to raise money for mitochondrial disease. When I should not know so many who have lost their Littles.

And when I realized that, climbing up Vail Pass, the beating of my heart echoed the beating of the drums…..

And I started to cry.

Two miles from the top of Vail Pass on your bike is a really awful place to cry. I told myself this but myself does not listen and started to cry harder; snot, sweat and tears.

This year we arranged for a beer stop at the top of Vail Pass because, well, beer. My friend Paula coordinated the stop, rallied volunteers and dressed as a giant banana to keep us going.

No really. A banana.

As I got to the top, I was greeted by my team chanting “Heather! Heather! Heather!” I was handed a cold Summer Shandy, a Kleenex and felt the relief that all I had to do was ride down into Copper.

How can I possibly be angry?

You all make it IMPOSSIBLE for me to be angry.

And not that it does not well up at times. And not that I don’t ugly cry at times. But I’ll tell ya, 61 riders, $130,000, a Summer Shandy and a dancing banana…..ya’ll are good people.

Thank you for another amazing year.

Letter to my team about your money

Hello Very Best Donors!

This is the time of year when I un-apologetically ask you for donations to my bike ride. I thank you for listening, donating, supporting, cheering. Y’all are awesome.

This is our tenth year riding. I am amazed by what this team has accomplished. They have changed how we diagnose and treat mitochondrial disease in the Rocky Mountain area. I not only ask this group to ride 150 miles up three mountain passes, I ask that they raise over $500. Here is my letter to my team about what they support and the very important work they do.

You can support them here:

Hello Very Best Team!

I hope you stayed dry and managed to find a break in the weather. The clouds made me extraordinarily lazy. I made soup.

A couple of you have asked what is new in the clinic. Since you are fundraising for the clinic, this is an great question and one that I hope I can answer in a couple paragraphs.

Those who have ridden with us know these facts:

  1. We are the only mitochondrial clinic serving the Rocky Mountain area. Our team has been the sole supporter of that clinic
  2. We were part of an international clinical trial. One of 33 sites worldwide. This is a phase three trial that should get FDA approval by the end of the year
  3. Our clinic sees both children and adults in the area
  4. We provide ubiquinol, a supplement not covered by insurance, free of charge to families being seen by Children’s
  5. We recently became part of the Mitochondrial network of care. There are 23 sites nationwide, only 8 west of the Mississippi

This is all because of this team and their fundraising efforts.

But here is what your amazing researchers are doing in the lab. Our team has been focused on diagnosing and finding potential therapies by working with skin cells.

Skin cells? Why skin cells?

Mitochondrial thrive in organs that are tough to get to; the brain, the heart, the liver, muscle. Many times a mito diagnosis had to be from a muscle or liver biopsy which is very evasive especially for our medically fragile population. These cells are finicky, hard to keep alive in a laboratory and are of limited supply. Skin cells however are everywhere! I think I just shed some right now! I know, ew but you get the picture and why we would want to work with a more user-friendly cell.

When a suspected mito patient comes to Children’s, a non-painful skin biopsy is taken and researched in  our lab. Our researchers are now pros at creating an environment where the mitochondria in the skin cells are ‘stressed’; usually by monitoring oxygen intake. From that point, they can look at where in respiratory chain does the breakdown happen, which makes diagnosis faster.

What is even more promising; from that methodology, the team can try potential treatments to see how the mitochondria react. This research is getting international attention. Dr. VanHove found a series of genes that react and respond positively to amino acid therapy. You can access the article here. Please note the reference to our bike team at the end:  https://eurekalert.org/pub_releases/2018-10/uoca-cas100318.php

I know this is a lot to put into a fundraising letter. I might just tell your donors that they are supporting international break through research…..and mean it….100%

I hope this helps! You are all making a difference.

Happy Sunday!

Heather

June 30

Sigh.

Today just cannot pass without talking about it. I feel it in my energy. I feel it in the way Hubs and I move around each other. We are sad. Today should be different but it’s not.

I hesitate posting about Jack. I never heard him cry, never knew the color of his eyes, but I knew him. And I love him. And he demands his day.

Fourteen years

That’s a lot of life.

And yet the timing of that day passes through me every year……..the minute I sat in the waiting room, the second I found out, the moment I called Hubs.

I hesitate to post about Jack because it is so very sad. Nothing is more devastating than a silent delivery room.

Tomorrow we will toast to our First. I will place the frog ring on the creme’ brulee. The waiter will ask what we are celebrating and we will awkwardly look at each other and come up with a lame answer.

But to tonight I will miss a person who should have been here.

June 30

Sigh.

Today just cannot pass without talking about it. I feel it in my energy. I feel it in the way Hubs and I move around each other. We are sad. Today should be different but it’s not.

I hesitate posting about Jack. I never heard him cry, never knew the color of his eyes, but I knew him. And I love him. And he demands his day.

Fourteen years

That’s a lot of life.

And yet the timing of that day passes through me every year……..the minute I sat in the waiting room, the second I found out, the moment I called Hubs.

I hesitate to post about Jack because it is so very sad. Nothing is more devastating than a silent delivery room.

Tomorrow we will toast to our First. I will place the frog ring on the creme’ brulee. The waiter will ask what we are celebrating and we will awkwardly look at each other and come up with a lame answer.

But to tonight I will miss a person who should have been here.

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

United flight 403 is taking me back to Colorado. Back to real life; back to a place where distinctions of phenotype and genotype are not topics of debate, back to where no one really talks about the phenomenon of allelic hetrogeneity.

I am ready to be home. I am also grateful for these four hours, 30,000 feet above the ground. I need this time in the clouds to process the week.

We are a rare community; a community that carries deviations shared by only thousands (or hundreds) in the world, a community that must explain themselves daily, a community that feels ignored and is oftentimes misunderstood. For three days in the garden level of the Hilton however, we are not so rare. We are not the minority. We can discuss our genetic anomalies to a table that shares similar mutations.

This is not a hard week for me. This is a week where I can talk about our journey, our daughter and hypsarrhythmia without sad eyes. I can share stories. “The ketogenic diet work for you? It worked for us too!” 

We are surrounded by amazing specialists who work tirelessly for this cause.; intelligent, thoughtful caregivers. We honored one of our Mito Specialists at the dinner last night, Dr. Bruce Cohen. As we all stood in applause I started to cry. This is an awful disease that steals dreams, breaks families but I felt so grateful to be in this room.

Our very own Dr. Van Hove came up to me and gave me hug.

“Thank you so much Johan for all you have done for our family.”

He looked right back and me. “Thank you for supporting what we do for these families. I would not be here without the work you and Maria are doing.”

I put that moment in my pocket and will take it out anytime I feel misunderstood in this journey.

I’ve been a mushy grateful, reflective tub of goo for the last 24 hours. United flight 403 is taking me home. I sit somewhere between earth and sky. I think I might stay here a little while.

If we were Vampires

Hubs and I spent the last week in Vermont and upstate New York with dear friends. A friends daughter was getting married and we were lucky enough to attend.

Situated in the Green Mountains lies the estate of Abraham Lincoln’s only child to live into adulthood; Robert Lincoln. The grounds are lovely; the peonies were just about to bloom and miles of green lush forest surrounded us.

The groom turned his back when the bridal procession started.  As his bride approached, winding gracefully through the gardens, he turned and looked at her and started to cry.

And so I cried.

I love love. Love is pretty stinkin’ awesome.

Hubs was lookin’ mighty fine in his tux. I was all spanxed up. We snapped a photo in the peonies.

“We’re looking older,” he said.

Sigh. We are. He took my hand and his fingers traced the back; age spots, veins and fingers that slip so easily into his hand.

We aren’t so old. But we are old enough now to know that this time is fleeting. Views are to be taken in. Hands are to be held. Good friends inhaled. Moments sipped until the glass is dry and the mind is tipsy with happiness.

We went on to visit another dear couple in New York. They have lived a lot of life with us. After dinner we sipped whiskey next to the fire. I had a Great Dane balanced in my lap as I listened to the rain. His tail thumped my leg when I stopped petting his ears.

We talked about the wedding and how love changes as life happens.

And then our friends played us this song.

And I cried again- grateful cry about the irony of life, good sipping whiskey, a groom and his bride, a dog on your lap and a hubs whose hand slips around my fingers.

If we were vampires and death was a joke
We’d go out on the sidewalk and smoke
And laugh at all the lovers and their plans
I wouldn’t feel the need to hold your hand
Maybe time running out is a gift
I’ll work hard ’til the end of my shift
And give you every second I can find
And hope it isn’t me who’s left behind

Does trauma gives you a hall pass? Someone should tell the hall monitor

I posted something cryptic on Facebook Saturday. It caught a lot of attention from my tribe but it really wasn’t a big deal….

Nothing like seizures, mitochondrial strokes or premature death.

I joke because I can.

Because I have survived these things.

I watched the EEG of my daughter explode. I have held hands in the PICU, I looked at a tiny pink casket, our tribe has buried our Littles before their time. I have gone toe to toe with a PICU doc and won.

I am a badass. I run with Badasses; I am proud of the strong people who have held me up and who I have held.

And yet.

At times.

Silly life shit takes hold of me. Suffocating. Like that stupid snake in the Jungle Book. It starts at my ankles, moves up my knees, my tummy, constricts my heart and looks me straight in the eyes. Sings to me and lulls me into a sense of doubt, confusion and negativity. Trust in me…..just in me….

I hate it.

Because silly shit is not worth suffocating over. I buried two babies and still managed to put my pants on and brush my teeth.

Silly shit is not worth it.

But I think all of us who have suffered trauma deal with this; cars cut us off, people are jerks, friends disappoint us, egos get in the way, Facebook pisses us off. These are not life and death situations. But in my mind, I expect the inconsequential to roll off my back and when it does not, it rattles me more.

I could place a cath in 10 seconds, deliver rectal Valium and I never gave it a thought. Why does this rattle me?

Perhaps this is the evolving trauma process…..what do we do after trauma when real life makes us crazy.

After we put our pants on, brush our teeth, go to work, cross the street….what happens next?

And really, I don’t post this as cause for alarm.

Because cause for alarm is another issue. I sometimes feel us going through all of this are afraid to post our struggles, because we don’t want to cause alarm. We are okay, really. We cry in ours cars, we get sad but we are here, really we want nothing more than to relish in joy and live our lives.

So a question for all of us and real life; what are your tools? What are your tricks for dealing with the silly shit? I invite all ideas J

Happy Spring!