First and Last

Posted on 13 May 2013 by jendavid91

There are evenings like tonight that I am sure I will remember in thirty years. There’s nothing remarkable about tonight, just a quiet evening at home, only it entails being forced to watch the school’s football field undergo a Cinderella transformation into my way-too-soon college graduation. And as such, I am overcome with a simultaneous sense of relief and panic – causing me to nearly freak out at the sight of the stage being built with a near “WAIT I AM NOT READY TO LEAVE”. But alas, no one would hear me, so I will spare my neighbors the screaming.

Graduating college is funny – you spend so long thinking about what school to choose, and then what classes to choose, what dorms to live in, and which textbooks to buy or rent. I remember matriculation four years ago, sitting in the crowd of my new classmates, a pit in my stomach trying to quell my intestines from causing a scene. To think about how sick I have been these past few years – the sheer number of doctors’ appointments, pills swallowed, IV attempts, hospitalizations, scars now icing my abdomen, and an ostomy bag carefully tucked into my dress, it seems unbelievable. But I want to be clear and direct – college was an amazing experience, and while I perhaps had far from the typical four-year journey, I have so loved my time at school and done some wonderful things.

When I was graduating high school, people who didn’t know me well cautioned me with wrinkled noses that I should stay home, I was – after all – sick, and why would I want to go to school in another country? My parents, undaunted by my persistence in school choice, willingly sent me on my way (okay, not so willingly when it came to saying goodbye, but that I’m guessing is a normative going-off-to-college right of passage). I found friends who saw beyond my disease, who have laughed with me, brought me extra clothes in the hospital, met my doctors, and made cupcakes in my kitchen. I have done community service and had a job serving under-resourced preschools all four years. I have been doing research since freshman year, did a senior thesis and got a grant, and am being awarded a Psychology Research award at graduation. I’m graduating with honors. I have perfected my Patrick Dempsey addiction, finally understood how to use Tumblr, hiked Machu Picchu, ran a half-marathon, and never pulled an all-nighter. And just before graduating and really entering the ‘real’ world (whatever that actually means), I even went on a first date – make that second, compliments of vegan ice cream.

The point to the rambling – I went to college. I went to college with Crohn’s. I went to college and was sick. I went to college and had surgeries. But, I went to college. I went to college and did it in four years and am graduating. I did it. I did not do it alone, but I did it. And so can you or your child or your best friend or that new patient you had in clinic today who was frightened and sick.

As an English minor, I took a class this semester that centered around literary non-fiction. The final class project was to write an essay of our own – mine was a braided essay about the history of Crohn’s (look it up, the story is fascinating!) and my own personal experiences. I even interviewed my GI for the piece. After being undecided about the title for literally weeks on end, my roommates finally prompted me to accept the working title of ‘Not Where I Thought I Would Be’ – and they, as usual, were right. At one part in the piece, I wrote that my GI understands that even though I may be broken, I am not breakable. I sent him the essay, which he so kindly read, and sent me an email response. “I would dispute one thing,” he wrote. “You are not broken. You are whole.” And while the thought was enough to leave a permanent grin on my face and make me feel incredibly lucky and honored to have such a compassionate doctor, it made me think – he’s right. I am whole.

In pediatric chronic illness, the focus is often on what’s broken. Your ESR is too high, you don’t like taking injections, you miss school to see the doctor, band-aids dot your arms to remind you where blood was taken. There are pictures of your gut, all twisted and inflamed, the pharmacist knows you by name, your medical chart has several volumes. But we forget to remind ourselves of something really important – we’re still kids, we’re still growing, we’re still dreaming. Our bodies may be in need of support, but our souls and spirits and whole. Be it going to college or anything else, having a chronic illness is only part of the equation.

If the last few weeks have proved anything to me, it’s that life is always happening – even if it means my college graduation will be here sooner than I want. There are still so many firsts in store for me, so many exciting things ahead, and yes, enough challenges (both health-related and other) to keep me busy. Perhaps it’s not where I thought I would be, but to be honest, I’m pretty darn happy I ended up right where I belonged.

Jennie

Kicking Up Confidence

Posted on 9 May 2013 by samisophia

My lucky parents were blessed with a child who not only won the IBD lottery, but long before that diagnosis, had a severe reaction from eating a nut at age two. Growing up with a life-threatening nut allergy, I became accustomed to standing out from my friends long before my IBD diagnosis – but that is a story for another time. The point here is, I mastered the game of careful avoidance from a young age. Although I was not sensitive to the smell of nuts, I would take care not to even hang out in the same room as any. I was taught well that they were the enemy, and the farther away I stayed, the safer I felt.

So, you can imagine my surprise (read: horror) when, on my very first college campus tour, our guide announced that one of the distinguishing features of the campus was a large courtyard brimming with pecan shells. I stuck to the sidewalk when the group walked through the (admittedly beautiful) pit of possible death, trying hard not to let this unexpected development spoil a day that had been wonderful up until that moment.

I came home disappointed but determined. I returned for a second campus visit prepared. After two rounds of allergen testing (including literally walking into my allergist’s office with a bag of pecans and asking that we rub them all over my feet), we confirmed that although I had not outgrown my oral allergy to pecans, I did not have a skin allergy. So, one year later, I returned to that pecan court – and despite the March cold – donned flip flops and stomped all around that thing. My heart was racing, but I had to prove to myself that I could do it.

I was literally walking, kicking, and dancing through a Pit of Things that Could Kill Me.

But I did it. And nothing happened.

Three years later, I walk through that pecan court at least once a day. And sometimes, I feel a little surge of victory. I can do what I once thought I couldn’t do. Other times, though, I feel a pecan shell slip beneath the sole of my shoe and rub up against my foot – and despite the overwhelming evidence that I won’t react – I still look for a hive to pop up. I am safe – but I can never erase that twinge of fear and doubt.

IBD is similar in some ways.

I have been in remission for over two years. But in that moment I see a red-tinge on the toilet paper, my mind inevitably begins to race off in directions I know it shouldn’t go. I’ll think, ‘This is it. This is the first drop, and tomorrow there will be two drops, and then in a week there will be red all over the bowl, and then I will be on Prednisone, and I should go freak out now.’ I always manage to regain my common sense by the time I finally flush that terrible industrial grade skin-irritating toilet paper away, but the panic never fails to set in for just a moment there. Even now.

I know remission is not a cure, and thus I am always ready to lose it. When I feel an abdominal cramp come on, I know I should go straight to the conclusion that it’s just my menstrual cycle. That’s the most likely conclusion, and for three years, that has been what it always turns out to be – but my mind never goes there first, even now. Perhaps it’s a coping mechanism for when the day does come that I slip out of my remission – as if I think I’ll find comfort in saying, ‘Well, at least I knew this was coming.’

Living with a chronic illness, I am always walking through a pit of danger. Right now, I’m protected, my treatment is doing its job, but I know my armor is unlikely to last me forever. My 6mp probably won’t hold off my immune system until I’m old and gray, but in the absence of a cure, my disease isn’t going anywhere. Even my medications could hurt me one day.

But, just like with my nut allergy, there are things I can do to protect myself. I can take my meds on schedule. I can check in with my doctor every three months. I can be alert to my body and bowel movements so that I catch bumps in the road before they progress to flares. I can avoid behaviors and foods that might trigger problems, and do my best to keep my body healthy and rested.

It’s important to know what I can’t do, but it’s equally important to know what I can do. I can walk through that pecan court. And, with a touch of luck and a lot of cooperation as an engaged patient, I can be an IBDer who hangs on to that remission for what I hope will be a good long time. It’s important to know where I stand, but even more important to walk with confidence through wherever I am – whether it’s the sidewalk or a courtyard of pecans, remission or a flare.

IBD was certainly unexpected and (if I let myself become preoccupied with all the what-if’s of my disease) can be unnerving, but I am walking, kicking, and dancing through it.

A Brief Interlude – And an Alcatraz Bathroom

Posted on 22 April 2013 by nocolon33

Sounds like the opening of a joke, doesn’t it?

It’s not. I’m going to start with a brief interlude in which I brag about my kids. I will end with the tale of a bathroom.

Tinkerbell, Jedediah and Elly Mae each have some talent. Tink and Elly Mae each dance. Jedediah woke up one morning and wanted to act, and he’s got some chops.

Sela and I, together, have five left feet. The only person I know who has a voice worse than Sela does is me. So where they get this talent, we don’t know.

In the last week, we’ve been to a recital for Elly Mae’s dance team, an awards banquet for Tink’s dance team and several performances of Jed’s play.

Sela and I are extremely proud of each of them. They selected activities that were important to them, and they worked HARD and practiced. A lot. There are few things that have given me as much joy as a parent as seeing them get excited about an activity that they chose, as opposed to the requisite soccer, etc. that every kid is forced to try.

We’ll talk about Tinkerbell’s foray into horseback riding in some post in the future. No idea what that was all about.

As Buzz once said (and I’m paraphrasing), “To the bathroom, AND BEYOND!”

Jed’s play was at the Junior High School. Which is convenient because Jed’s a junior high student.

Being at the Junior High School necessitates going to the bathroom in a junior high school bathroom.

With me so far?

It shouldn’t surprise you to learn that boy’s junior high school bathrooms smell like junior high school boys. So I was put in a foul humor upon entering.

I’m also fairly convinced that the first casualty of school budget cuts was functional toilet paper. This stuff was the worst of the industrial bad. Wow. It was so bad that my butt audibly complained. Seriously.

Despite all of that, the worst part was the sink design. Picture this. Two side-by-side sinks. Not a problem. Where were the soap and paper towel dispensers? To the left of the sink on the left, of course. You couldn’t get to them from the sink on the right. You might as well have had one sink since only one was usable at one time.

Don’t give me any complaints about space constraints. There were options. A myriad of options. Between the sinks for the soap dispenser? Anyone? Anyone?

At least I only had to use the thing a few times. Jed’s gotta use it all the time.

Performance Feedback

Posted on 10 April 2013 by ImproveCareNow

To improve at anything – be it your grade in history class or your best time at the 50-yard dash – you need to know how you’re doing. This can come in the form of a grade or where you finish in a race. Without this type of feedback, you can never be sure if you’re on the right track.

At ImproveCareNow, we want to provide the best pediatric and adolescent IBD care for all of our patients. To make sure that we are on the right track, ImproveCareNow centers receive regular feedback in several key areas related to IBD care. This information helps centers know how well they are reaching their goals and helps them make progress in areas that need improvement. (Click here to see an example of an ImproveCareNow Key Clinical Measures Report.)

In addition, ImproveCareNow centers have access to new tools that allow patients to provide feedback to the individual doctors and nurses who provide their care between visits—they want patients to be activated and ready to participate in their care.

Additionally, with the introduction of automated pre-visit and population management tools, doctors and nurses can be better prepared for visits. They can pinpoint areas that need attention and learn from the care provided by other providers at their center. The more timely the feedback, the sooner our providers can address aspects of your care.

We are excited to provide tools that help your doctors and nurses do a better job helping you achieve improved quality of life and better health!

[Editor's note: This post was contributed by Theresa Todd, MPH, MA. Theresa is the Improvement Coordinator for Gastroenterology at Nationwide Children's Hospital in Columbus, OH and it is her responsibility to help the IBD team with quality improvement goals. Theresa has been part of the Nationwide team since July 2010.]

Pre-Visit Planning

Posted on 3 April 2013 by ImproveCareNow

Imagine being a patient who arrives at the clinic and can really sense that the providers are ready to meet your needs!

Imagine knowing that your whole care team sat down a week in advance to review your disease course over the last six months, track down any missing lab results, and troubleshoot with colleagues to figure out why it’s been so tough to keep your disease in remission. Imagine getting a call from the nurse a full week before clinic to ask what has been going on since your last visit and, as a result, the social worker is in clinic and ready to discuss solutions to the issues you are having at school. Imagine the lab having your orders well in advance so that the collection tube that they have to use, but don’t keep stocked, is ready and waiting. This time you don’t have to wait while they run down to the supply room, making you late for school and your parents late for work.

The automated pre-visit planning tools that ImproveCareNow centers are now able to use will help make scenarios just like these a reality. Providers will have detailed summary information about their patients available at their fingertips when they need it…before the visit. They will have a concise, printable tool that can be easily shared with the rest of the care team. Ideally, this tool will be used to guide conversations with parents and patients before they come to clinic so that they can be a part of planning their visit, not just passive participants in it.

The result will be more reliable, proactive and individualized pediatric IBD care.

[editor's note: submitted by Sarah Myers, MPH, RN | Lead Quality Improvement Consultant for the ImproveCareNow Network]