Some names have no meaning and some names mean absolutely everything to and about the bearer of the name. Our name falls into the latter category. Despite the more popular acronym, WTF! stands for Worth The Fight!
The origins of our name began with someone that I love to the moon and back, who was struggling with depression. This person was cutting themselves and trying to mask their pain with drugs and alcohol, and attempted suicide before I realized what was going on with them.
Life isn’t easy for a Chiari family. From the moment that I was told that my head and neck pain wasn’t just pain, but something wrong with my brain, everything in our family changed. Everything became centered on me.
“Don’t stress mom out.” “Let mom rest.” “Can’t you see how much pain she’s in?”
Surgery came just weeks after diagnosis for me. It was in hopes that I could become the wife and mother that I once was, the wife and mother that my family so desperately needed me to be. Two years after decompression, I had a revision to fix a pseudomeningocele (leak) with an SP shunt (Subgaleo-peritoneal). It was about a month after this second brain surgery that I realized that there was much more going on in my house than I’d ever dreamed.
It was just after 2 am when there was a bone-chilling pounding on our front door. It was the kind of pounding that would awaken even the heaviest of sleepers – the kind of pounding that you’d never forget. My husband and I rushed to the front room, greeted by siren lights and multiple people shining flashlights into our windows. It was a firetruck, an ambulance, and the police. We opened the door and one of the officers informed us that they had reason to believe that our daughter had attempted suicide. Words could never express the feelings that I had as I ran desperately to her room unsure about what I’d find when I opened the door. She was alive, but incoherent and unaware of her surroundings. The officer intervened to assess her condition, asking if she was able to get up and come out of her room to talk. The one officer talked to her and another two pulled us aside to talk to us, as the paramedics stood by. Everything was surreal. How could I concentrate on hearing and answering questions when I didn’t even know if our daughter was going to live or die? The officer explained that she had called a friend after taking pills with wine or champagne. The friend told his mom and together they called the police while he continued talking with her. She had initially told this friend that she was in a park across town, so the police had been scouring the park looking for an overdosed teenage girl, and when they couldn’t find her, they pinged her cell phone which led them to our home just in the nick of time. My emotions raced. How could this be when she had come to our room earlier that night, looking tired, telling us how much she loved us, and that she was going to bed? (We should have known that something was wrong, but again, I had been so lost in my own world that I couldn’t see all that my children were going through at the time.) After assessing our daughter, the attempt was deemed “credible and in immediate need of emergency care,” and she was transported by ambulance to the county hospital emergency room.
My husband and I followed in our car. At the hospital, we were informed that she had taken multiple doses of my husband’s blood pressure medications and multiple doses of my opioids. The doctors said that the first concern was her heart, “if” she survived through the night. The next concern would be liver toxicity since the opioids all contained Tylenol. And that if she survived and made it through those steps and deemed stable, she would be held on a 5150 (Involuntary Psychiatric Hold). While we prayed at her side her blood pressure dropped down to the lower 50s/20s. We called for the doctor and they told us that there was nothing more they could do (it was too late to try to pump her stomach), she would either survive the night or wouldn’t. They told us to try to keep her awake, so we walked laps around the ER every single time her blood pressure dropped in an attempt to keep her awake. I don’t know how I held up my head that night, I was running on pure adrenaline at the thought of losing my only daughter. She survived the night and while we still had to wait for the toxicity reports on the liver tests, they allowed us to walk with her over to the Psychiatric Department of the hospital.
After a twenty-four-hour evaluation, our daughter was moved to a San Francisco hospital for a week-long intensive therapy program. We couldn’t visit her for the first few days. We were limited to scheduled phone conversations. At first, she just wanted us to go get her. It’s incredibly hard as a parent to be in a position where you legally cannot just take your child home. But we knew she needed help beyond what we could offer, and eventually, she realized that she needed that too.
Over the week, she worked on herself and we worked on creating a safer environment for her to come home to (they actually have a checklist when something like this happens involving a teen). I won’t go into all the details of how we tried to safeguard our home and family after realizing that Chiari hadn’t simply set out to steal just from me physically, but its attack extended to our entire family in every way. But there was a website that I happened by that really caught my attention.
I happened upon a story “To Write Love On Her Arms” by Jamie Tworkowski. It’s a story of a group of friends learning how to fiercely love a friend struggling with depression, addiction, self-injury, and suicide. They would write the word “LOVE” on her arms; the same arms that she had been carving the words, “FUCK UP” on. They figured that if she went to cut her arms again, she’d be reminded how greatly loved she really was.
Chronic pain conditions (such as Ehlers-Danlos, Chiari Malformation, and the other comorbids) can take a toll on us and how we think, how we see our future and the value that we see us having in this world. As we see ourselves become increasingly dependent on our family members, we see the burden that it places on them, and it hurts. We know that they say that we’re ‘not a burden,’ but we see it. When we hear those that we love, deny that a burden exists, we know they’re just saying that because they love us. “It’s nothing,” they tell us. IT’S NOT NOTHING! IT’S EVERYTHING! BECAUSE THEY MEAN EVERYTHING TO US! Perhaps it would be healthier to say that ‘we’re worth the burden,’ instead. No mother can deny that having a newborn baby is a burden of love. It’s absolutely exhausting, but we know that despite the burden, no matter how hard it gets, that little baby in our weary arms is absolutely worth the work! (Just like my daughter and all that she went through, there’s nothing that I wouldn’t have given to see her through it. She was worth it!” And as I continued with my fight, I realized that I was too and if we were going to fight to win this battle, we had to have very real conversations about my fight. My family had to be allowed [encouraged even] to admit that they get exhausted without fear of hurting me or offending me. It enabled us as a family to put the blame on my conditions so that it was Chiari that has robbed us, not me. It had robbed all of us, and we weren’t going to play games and put it on anything or anyone else. We were going to fight back as a family. So if anyone has a problem with our name or our acronym, I’m perfectly okay with letting that be THEIR PROBLEM.
If you have a family member struggling with EDS/Chiari/Comorbids, whatever, you’re going to have to strengthen one another. WE HAVE TO STOP DENYING THE MAGNITUDE OF THE FIGHT, acknowledge it (every part of it), and fight back as a family, where every single person in that family KNOWS (beyond a shadow of a doubt) that they’re WORTHY! That even if we as a family must go to the ends of the earth together, it’s worth it, because each of us is WORTH THE FIGHT! And if someone forgets, write it on their arm to remind them!
This article is dedicated to my daughter, MyKaella, who taught me what it means to live knowing that we’re WTF! I’m so proud of the woman you’ve become and the woman that you helped me to become!
![The Michelle Cole Story – A Chiari Warrior’s Journey [UPDATED]](https://dev.chiaribridges.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/12/DSC07853t.jpg)
Colton had just finished his Chiari Decompression. He was headache free and doing great! His neurosurgeon came to me and said, “This is a genetic disorder and Emmalyn should be checked.” Two weeks later I took Emmalyn into the Chicago area to be sedated for her first MRI of the brain and spine. Three hours later I met Emmalyn in recovery where she came out of anesthesia smiling. Emmalyn was three years old and asymptomatic, not even a headache. Colton’s neurosurgeon called me the next day and let me know that she was only 5mm herniated, but in the spinal MRI, she had two separate syrinxes. A smaller one in her cervical spine and a very large one in her thoracic spine. Her opinion was to decompress Emmalyn right away as she was very concerned about the two syringes and explained, “With the decompression, it should allow the syringes to dissipate.” So, we scheduled her first decompression for two-weeks later, on July 31st, 2012. Emmalyn went through her first decompression like a champ and was released from hospital after three days. This is when Emmalyn’s headaches started. It seemed like once a day she would be getting a headache. Two weeks into recovery Emmalyn was sitting in a chair and said that she felt sick to her stomach, so she ran into the bathroom, I followed and as she was heaving her head went deeper into the toilet. I picked her up and her eyes darted to the right and she couldn’t talk to me. I immediately called 911. When the paramedics arrived, they swept her from my arms and rushed her to the ambulance. They kept her in front of our house in the ambulance for about ten minutes before they came and told me she was having a seizure; they didn’t want to jostle her head, so they called the helicopter. We were told to meet the helicopter at the hospital, which is forty-five minutes away. My husband and I jumped in our van and I don’t think I have ever seen my husband drive so fast; we beat the helicopter there. When the helicopter landed, we were in the ER to greet her when she came off the elevator, and when she did, she was covered in blood and screaming. I looked to the helicopter nurse and she said, “Two minutes before landing she came to and she wanted her mom and pulled out her IV.” She had a forty-five-minute seizure. We are in “small-town,” USA, so the ER did a quick MRI, bloodwork, but no EEG and at the time I didn’t know she should have had one. So, they said she was fine and released her from the hospital. Of course, after speaking with her neurosurgeon the next day she had us in the car to make the five-hour drive for her to be admitted. After three days of tests, they concluded that she had chemical meningitis and put her on medication and anti-seizure meds for six months. Let me tell you that was the scariest time of my life, but Emmalyn took it like a champ. In three months, we had repeat scans, her decompression site looked good, but her syringes didn’t change in size, so we chose to wait and see.
to clean up the scar tissue so that flow could be reestablished. Emmalyn underwent her third decompression on November 2nd, 2015. She sailed through surgery and the surgeon came out to talk with my dad and me. She explained that Emmalyn’s future could be complicated as she was developing a lot of scar tissue and that would make things more complex because it could continue to block the flow. The pain after these surgeries is something, they don’t prepare you for and after this surgery, it was worse than the last two. She came out swinging and hated everything. They got her pain under control, but it seemed like more pain medication was needed this time to keep it that way. This time, she spent four days in the hospital before returning home.
Once again, her headaches and leg pain continued, but she was able to be upright again. In the middle of February, the back of her head became squishy again and her headaches started to get worse when upright. I called her neurosurgeon, and as always, more imaging was ordered, and as I suspected, her pseudomeningocele was back again. She delayed surgery as she wanted to do some research. So, Emmalyn laid down for most of a month. On March 31, we returned to the hospital for her sixth surgery. She went in and did the repair and placed an EVD drain, to check the pressure and drain CSF fluid. The drain was placed for a week, and it was the happiest and pain-free I had seen Emmalyn in over two years. Her pressures were all above 28, which meant high pressure. She made the decision that a VP shunt needed to be placed. Emmalyn went in for her seventh surgery on April 6th. Her Neurosurgeon came out and talked to me and my parents, she let me know that if this patch was to blow and another pseudomeningocele was to appear that at this point she wouldn’t know what to do next, that Emmalyn was too complex for her. I wanted to cry in fear for the first time. My dad said then what, whatever it was we would make it happen. Thank God for my dad, my rock. She said that she would refer us to a specialist she knew of in NYC. I prayed right there this night for god to take care of my little girl and heal her. After she woke up, the pain wasn’t as bad. Shunt placement seemed to be much easier than decompression. She stayed for two more days and was released to return home.
We returned to NYC at the end of the month and she went back into her first surgery of two on March 22, 2017. In the first surgery, he placed an EVD drain to drain CSF and to check pressures again. Her pressures were normal but on the higher size so he proceeded to surgery number two on March 29th. He removed the EVD drain and placed the new no valve shunt and the anti-siphoning device that could be changed when needed. It was a very painful surgery for Emmalyn as the placement of the anti-siphoning device was behind her ear in a very tender spot, and he also let me know she was the first child he had ever placed this in. She had recovered and returned home. Her headaches continued.
We returned to Illinois. Her symptoms continued to be debilitating. I emailed him at least five times a week for answers and he quit answering. So, I called his office and they would set up phone call appointments that he never kept. All attempts to contact him were ignored for three long months, while our eight-year-old Emmalyn suffered. Until the day I emailed his college about the problems she was having, asking, begging for anyone to give us a second opinion, and what do you know he called me ten minutes later. He promised he would come up with a plan, and said he thought she needed pain management as everything surgical was stable. After a week of hearing nothing, I emailed him one last time. Asking him to open the back of her head and check for a leak, if there wasn’t one, I would concede to pain management. His office called the next day to set up surgery.
We returned home and as always headaches and leg pain had continued. We returned to NYC for post-op and imaging at the beginning of March. All imaging was done, and no leaks were found in the back of the head, but they noticed a “kink” in her brainstem and that her two syrinxes continued to be large. Her neurosurgeon believed everything was stable in her brain, even though the thoughts of CCI were still there. He began to focus on her spine. He sent her for a prone MRI (where she was laying on her stomach), and her surgeon said that she did not look tethered, and we were put back in the “wait and see” category.
The weekend after we returned home Emmalyn started complaining of a bad headache and stated that she heard a cracking noise in her head, and her head felt wobbly. I immediately emailed the two neurosurgeons. The plan was to get a CT on Monday. We found out the donor bone in her fusion had broken. The plan was to put her back in the cervical collar for it to heal. In just a few days of being in the cervical collar, the headaches were horrible, and her incision opened and looked infected. After talking with the neurosurgeons and talking with Emmalyn it was decided to return to NYC to have the top part of her fusion back in. On November 5th she went back in the OR once again to have the top part of the fusion put back in place. It was then that we learned just how extensive the infection had been, and our nightmare battling it began. After fusion surgery, she was placed back in the collar and the plastic surgeon that closed her stated that part of her incision had a blackness to it and needed to be revised and would have to be back in the OR in two weeks for revision. After the revision the infection returned. They put her on antibiotics and sent us home right before Christmas, after eight weeks in the city. Emmalyn’s headaches continued and did not get better, but the incision started to look better. Her round of antibiotics ended, and her incision opened again, so I sent pictures to her plastic surgeon and he wanted us back to NYC as soon as possible. We returned on January 2nd, 2019. We saw plastic surgery, infectious disease, and neurosurgery. Infectious disease was concerned that her hardware was infected, but neurosurgery said it wasn’t. After three weeks in the city, it was decided to take her into the OR and take the infected part off and see how deep it went. It was determined to be superficial, but they decided to keep her on the antibiotics. Her headaches continued to be bad, so the decision was made to keep her in NYC for the next month to monitor her. Her incision healed well on the antibiotics, so they discontinued the antibiotics. On February 27th she was taken into the OR for another ICP bolt, to check to see if high pressure returned. When upright her pressures were at 0 to -5 and laying down, they went as high as 8. Our neurosurgeon let us know that her pressures were normal, and a shunt would not help. After the surgery was done and we were discharged her incision opened, yet again. We went for her post-op visit with the neurosurgeon and he took one look and said her hardware had to be infected and needed to be removed. After speaking with her fusion surgeon, he stated there was no way we should be removing the hardware so soon, as she was not fused. So, they decided to take her in the OR and do a complete washout and cultures and put her on antibiotics indefinitely until the hardware could be removed. On March 11th she was taken into the OR once again and had a complete wash out with antibiotics. After the cultures returned with no answers, her infectious disease doctor put her on Cefadroxil 500mg twice daily until the hardware could be safely removed. After three months in the city, we finally returned home.
Emmalyn’s headaches continued as always. It had been her way of life for seven years. Now the new symptom of nausea started and never left. We returned in May to have her hardware removed. After it was removed her upright headaches came back strong, but her incision healed perfectly. We were there for another six weeks after surgery to be monitored and because of the low-pressure headaches that I knew all too well. I asked our neurosurgeon for a CT myelogram and he refused, saying he “still believed she had instability issues and there was definitely not a leak.” After going back and forth with him for a long time he refused to listen. I decided it was time for a second opinion. I reached out to another specialist and he had many questions and agreed to see her. I let her neurosurgeon know that because all he was willing to do is have her see pain management, we were headed for a second opinion. We left NYC and didn’t look back.
California in September, where we met with a pain team and physical therapy. It was decided she needed a CT Myelogram as they were convinced there was a leak somewhere. After the Myelogram, we met with her neurosurgeon and it was determined Emmalyn had a leak at L1 in her lumbar spine. He recommended an epidural blood patch to repair the leak. We received a call from the pain team that the leak specialist agreed. We returned to sunny California on October 8, 2019, for her blood patch on October 9, 2019. On October 9th Emmalyn went into the OR for her blood patch. She had two blood patches placed due to the presence of scar tissue at her L1 and L2 from her tethered cord surgery. They placed one there but also did a second patch coming up from her tailbone to make sure that it would seal. She struggled for a few days in the hospital with rebound high-pressure, so her neurosurgeon put her on Diamox until we could figure out her new normal.
After the fifth patch, the doctors had serious discussions about what was next. Emmalyn’s headaches when upright were worse than they have ever been. After a lot of discussions, it was decided for Emmalyn to return to California on April 1st for another CT Myelogram (to check for remaining spinal leaks) with a Lumbar Puncture (to check her opening pressures), and surgical repair if necessary. The onslaught of COVID-19 hit. With so much unknown, we decided it would be safer to drive to California, rather than flying. Emmalyn and I rented a vehicle and hit the road on March 26th. We didn’t stop much and tried to do two states a day. The ride was a hard one on Emmalyn and the headaches were horrible, but we arrived in California on March 28th. Her Lumbar Puncture revealed that her opening pressure was twenty-four, which is a little on the high side, and not low like they expected. To make it even more confusing, the CT myelogram revealed a small leak still in the lumbar spine. The decision was made to do an EVD drain to drain CSF and recheck her pressures, to address the high-pressure issue first. On April 1st she was admitted for an EVD drain placement for seventy-two hours. She was put in the PICU (Pediatrics Intensive Care Unit) and at first, things weren’t improving at all. They dialed up the drain and as it was draining her headache began to improve by the last day her headache was at a two-out-of-ten, something we haven’t seen in an awfully long time. It was so great to see a genuine smile on Emmalyn. They removed the drain on Saturday afternoon, and she was discharged to the Ronald McDonald House, where we were staying. By Monday, her upright head pain returned with a vengeance. The decision was made to place a VP (ventriculoperitoneal) shunt with a Certas Programmable (adjustable) Valve.
Emmalyn went in for her Cisternogram with a Lumbar Puncture to check her opening pressure (which was normal… so the high-pressure was no longer a factor due to the shunt). The Cisternogram is generally a forty-eight-hour series of tests – beginning with an initial CT, another three hours later, another after six hours, then twenty-four-hours, and finally one at forty-eight-hours to check everywhere for a leak. Emmalyn did great and after the twenty-four-hour test, they said they didn’t need to do the next one. After a round-table discussion of doctors regarding the results of the test, it showed that Emmalyn had a leak at L4-5, and this time, they wanted to surgically repair it. On May 13th we went in for Emmalyn’s 38th surgery. Due to her constant leg pain, they also decided to do an ultrasound of her spine while in there to check her Tethered Cord area. She went in for surgery and four-and-a-half hours later the surgeon was out to speak with me. He found the leak and was able to repair it and upon the ultrasound of the spine, found that her spinal cord was complexly tethered again, stating “it was in a ball and he had to untether it.” He let me know that her EDS is severe and that her scar tissue is massive, so he went back in to try and repair all that he could.
the resident and told him, “No, none of this is making me better it is making me worse.” He was patient and kind and told her if we didn’t do surgery it would continue to get worse yet. With Emmalyn’s blessing, I signed the consent and they took her back into surgery the next morning. After three hours they came out and told me it was a seroma and it was taken care of. By the next day, Emmalyn was ready to get up and her back was feeling somewhat better, but she couldn’t walk again. At this point, we didn’t know how long she would need the walker. We were in the hospital for another five days and over the course, she improved walking with a walker and her back pain subsided, but her headache was back all the time, and laying down wasn’t taking it away. We stayed in California until June 9th, where at this time Emmalyn was back walking on her own, another MRI was performed to check the seroma and it had fully dissipated, but her headaches were still 10/10 and even Dilaudid didn’t help. It was decided it was time to go home and give her a break from surgeries and time to heal, so Emmalyn and I hit the road. We decided to take a long route home to see friends and the Grand Canyon. (Since this has been such a long battle for all of us, I try to find ways to break the monotony of it all whenever I can if she’s up to it.) On day three of the drive (after seeing the Canyon), we stopped to rest and visit a friend, but Emmalyn was in so much pain, she was in tears and said she couldn’t continue with the drive. We had a carload of stuff, so the decision was made to pack everything in boxes and ship them, buy plane tickets out of Denver and fly home. Flights for Emmalyn are horrible, the pressure makes her headaches so much worse.
The road with EDS, Chiari Malformation, CSF leaks, Tethered Cord Syndrome, Craniocervical Instability, and all the comorbids she’s faced, is such a long road for anyone that has it, but don’t give up, because the right surgeon or doctor will come along and hopefully be able to help make it better! Emmalyn’s story has been long and hard, and more than any little girl should have to endure. It’s impossible to go through forty surgeries in the eight years of her now eleven-year life and have a short story to tell. She’s stronger than any child should have to be and despite all the pain, she tries to maintain a cheerful disposition that brightens everyone’s day. Emmalyn wanted to share her story in hopes that it might help other children in their fight. We hope that her story will help other families understand the importance of advocating for their child, even if it means getting second/third opinions! Don’t believe everything your doctors say, research it for yourselves and push to get the medical care that your child deserves. If a surgeon is willing to do surgery but is unwilling to run tests, walk away, and get another opinion! Ask your child what they’re feeling and when they’re feeling it, as well as any changes that might be helping to relieve the pain (even if the relief is slight) because those are important details; and believe what they tell you even if you’re the only one that believes them. And beyond everything else, don’t give up and don’t give in! Fight it like you’re fighting for your child’s life because that is exactly what you’re doing – that is the fight!
“But you look so good” is what people usually say when they find out that I struggle with debilitating chronic illnesses. It is true- I wear fashionable clothes, I do my hair, I put on makeup and I have a smile on my face. Underneath it all though, is someone who is trying to live her best life with the cards she was dealt with. I grew up in southern India and none of my family members knew what Chiari malformation was. It wasn’t until I came to the United States, had a baby and hit a complete rock bottom that I found out that a condition called Chiari even existed.
with that same narrative, I started questioning if it was all indeed in my mind and psychosomatic. I was starting to accept that living like that was going to be my new normal. I was training with my figure skating coach to be able to make to adult nationals. Skating gave me joy because it was an artistic sport that I could distract myself with. But eventually, the pain took that joy away from me.
From the diagnosis of Chiari 1.5 to surgery was about 3 weeks. I liked my surgeon and the care team, so I was comfortable with the surgery. Recovery was long and painful though. I had meningitis twice after the surgery, developed chronic migraines in addition to trigeminal and occipital neuralgia. The diagnosis of central sleep apnea, MCAS and EDS came a year later. My brain stem was traumatized massively. I had to go to vestibular physical rehabilitation therapy to fully walk independently again. A year after my Chiari decompression, I had the Nissen Fundoplication to fix my esophagus. Four years past surgery, I am still recovering and learning how to manage my conditions. My care team now consists of – Anesthesiologist, Physiatrist, Neurologist, Pulmonologist, Gastroenterologist, ENT doctor, Massage Therapists, and Mental Health Counselors in addition to my close family. A huge part of learning how to manage these conditions has been figuring out what my physical limitations are and listening to my body cues. It has taken a long time to learn that it is ok to say no and that it is ok to have a LOT of mental energy but have little to no capacity to do things physically. I gave up figure skating because that kind of physical activity was causing me extreme pain. I get intense urges to skate every now and then which I give into occasionally but as the years have gone by, I am much better at gauging the pain and deciding not to do it. Loud sounds and bright lights trigger a lot of pain now, so I am better about avoiding places that I know are noisy and overwhelming. I have found peace in hiking through the wonderful trails of the pacific northwest. I have cut down on social commitments to prioritize my health over anything else. Some weekends, I do nothing except sleep all day… I have had to learn that that is OK. My husband has been a huge support and my pillar to lean on for the 11 years that we have been married. If I am tempted to do something against my better judgment, he reminds me to know my limitations. I have made peace with the fact that some people might find it impossible to hard to understand what living with Chiari and the comorbid conditions is like and that I cannot control how other people see it. My job has been a stable and joyful part of my life, but it took me a long time to accept that too since my original goal was to go to medical school. I realized my personal limitation about not being able to make it through medical residency. I want to let everyone know that there is hope at the other end of the tunnel… even though it is not in the form of a cure.![The Petra Johansson Story – A Chiari Warrior’s Journey [English Version]](https://dev.chiaribridges.org/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/Petra-Now2.jpg)
It was spring 2017 and I was the happiest gal in the world. We had planned and longed for years and we were finally becoming a family. I could not have been happier. At that time, I was used to getting headaches when I coughed or sneezed, but I figured this happened to everyone. I would never have thought that something was wrong, but all of a sudden I started getting real headaches and I went to the doctor’s office. They said that it was just the pregnancy and that I didn’t need to worry so I went on with my life. However, the symptoms were escalating fast and I was losing my balance, strength, and coordination, and I had major issues with remembering and focusing. When I finally went to the doctor again, they sent me straight to the ER to get an MRI to rule out a stroke.
The next day the head of the department came to see me and told me that my cerebellum was protruding 13 mm from my skull and that they would have wanted me to have an operation immediately, but because of the baby – they would have to wait. Outside my hospital window, the world was getting ready for summer and the calendars now read, ”June 2017.”
what happened during that time. Dealing with the loss of our dream and my own illness was too much to bear, and I just shut down. The world was a cruel and harsh place.
They removed 2.5 cm of my skull bone and 2 cm of the lamina from my atlas vertebra (C1) in March 2018. For two weeks I was fine until I developed chemical meningitis and was hospitalized. Well, fine is maybe an overstatement since they did forget to close my eye before the operation and it actually dried up and stuck to the operating table, scarring my cornea for life (yes, that is a thing). I waited and waited for that moment when I was supposed to feel good again. But it never came. I couldn’t lay down on my back or the back of my head without feeling like I was going to faint, my head pain was awful and I had several neurological symptoms. The doctors tried different medicines and painkillers but nothing worked or it gave me bizarre side effects. No matter what they tried, the pain wouldn’t subside.
Time was my worst enemy. I couldn’t believe how slowly it went by. February 2019 came and it was 11 months after I first lay on that table. I couldn’t manage the day to day life, I slept all through the day and I was in grave pain. If I tried laying on my back, I would pass out. My boyfriend took care of our house and me, and life was not a life worth living. Once again I tried contacting my doctor. This time I simply wrote a goodbye letter, I knew I was dying. He called me right away and told me that they were going to open me up again. There were still no indications in the images that something was wrong so they asked me to perform some tests before they would schedule me. I did neurological tests, a lumbar puncture, and a new MRI. I had to be put to sleep during the MRI because of my issues and the tests did show my pressure was a bit too high. However, the neurologist thought I had a couple of extra kilos for my height and attributed everything to me being slightly overweight. My second surgery was scheduled in April 2019.
Nobody really knows what is wrong with me and how to handle it. I am a great enigma with my doctors and I can not trust anyone to be my advocate and do the research, so I do it myself. I’ve learned to ask tough questions and not give up and I have also learned to ask for help from people in my position. What are they doing and how can I apply that to my life. Without the community, I would be lost. I would not know what to do when I get to yet another doctor or nurse who asks, ”You have WHAT?” I don’t think I would have had the strength to keep on fighting if I didn’t know that I wasn’t alone. I am pretty sure nothing else can happen now that I haven’t already been through. I have more knowledge and experience, but I am also more worn out, exhausted and sometimes just jaded from having to constantly fight. To go through two major surgeries without any relief is not easy peasy. Sometimes it just sucks – I am supposed to get better from treatments, not worse. Right?
When I first started getting hit with symptoms, I was a divorced, single mother of three amazing kids; responsible not only to provide for them but to see them through life, unscathed by life’s situations, and showing them that there was nothing that if they worked hard at something, nothing could hold them back. I had just started to expand in my career as a self-taught auto technician. I was a woman making a place for herself in an industry traditionally dominated by males. July 3, 2015, was the day that my life forever changed. I was brought to the hospital with stroke-like symptoms. I was having visual problems. I couldn’t walk or talk. I had no idea who I was or where I was. The whole right side of my body basically stopped working and the right side of my face was droopy. I was brought to the ER and before the doctor would even try to figure out what was wrong with me, he ordered a series of drug tests. I passed every test, so he finally admitted to me. Once on the neurology floor, more testing was done. They performed an MRI, MRA, EKG and told us that all results were normal. I later discovered that was not the case.
A few days later, I followed up with my PCP. She went over my MRI results with me and pointed out that they found a Chiari Malformation with a 19mm herniation of my cerebellar tonsils. She told me of changes in my white matter that the radiologist said needed to be “further evaluated” and referred me to my first neurologist, who I met within August. He ordered a visual evoked potential and an EEG. Both come back normal, so he diagnosed me with migraines, even after hearing my symptoms, which frustrates me even more as I know that it is not migraines causing these issues.
During this care for MS, I kept having what they thought were MS relapses, roughly every three to four months. Each time they ordered new MRI images and treated me with high doses of IV steroids for five days in a row. Never once did this imaging ever show an actual MS-relapse or MS activity. I continually had issues with every medication that they put me on to help “try to delay the progression of the MS” (the MS that I never had). In November 2017 I started Ocrevus, which was just FDA approved that year. Around this time, I started having strange symptoms and thought them just to be side effects of the medication, not realizing that something else might be causing it all. I met with my neurologist before my second full dose and I told her everything that I was experiencing. We opted to take me off the Ocrevus and they repeated the MRI yet again. Again, the MRIs show absolutely nothing new for activity and she admits that she doesn’t know what to do for me. I am three years in at that point and never once have they seen any MS activity.
The last four years have been one hell of a ride when it comes to my health. My health problems have made it far more difficult to continue working on cars. As my symptoms wage war on my body, I am now forced to work on light duty and have been for the last two and a half years. I know that my days of working in a shop are coming to end as I just can’t handle the physical requirements of the job anymore. My quality of life in the last year alone has declined sharply. I used to be the energetic mom who could coach a sports team after working all day in the shop and still have the energy to keep up with the housework, now that is not the case. I manage to push on and get them to their activities, but I’m exhausted to the core. When this all began back in 2015 my kids were 8, 7, and 5. They are now 12, 11 and 9. At times I feel like I am a horrible mother because I miss the mom that I used to be. I miss the days when my kids weren’t worried about my health and when we could make plans with other families and keep them. I have lost so much of who I am thanks to the ignorance of some members of the medical community. I am losing faith in the medical profession in general. Male doctors have been the worst as I go through this journey, as women seem to have to first prove that it’s not psychosomatic before we’re worthy of being helped, even with imaging shows something to the contrary. When I present them with proven facts about Chiari Malformation, it still gets dismissed and it is extremely frustrating. The longer I go without receiving proper treatment, the more likely it becomes that some of this damage will become permanent and to me, that is not acceptable. I am fighting for my life and I will not back down until I receive the proper care, I can’t!
I was what you would consider a “typical developing child” growing up, I did not have any health issues and was able to enjoy much of my childhood. My journey to finding answers in regard my health began at 15 years old, when I began rapidly losing my vision in my left eye. I dealt with severe headaches and the doctors struggled to draw a connection to my declining vision. I went from 20/20 vision to 20/400 in my right eye and 0 vision in my left. I was considered legally blind. I had to relearn how to navigate life with very little vision.
Fast forward a few years, I was told that a second decompression surgery was required, which I agreed to. It resulted in a rip in my dural patch causing a cerebral spinal fluid leak at the surgical site. After these two decompression and a CSF leak repair surgery, my vision had improved significantly yet I was worse off symptom wise than I was when I initially began noticing changes in my body. Sadly, I was told from my specialists that there was nothing more they could do for me. They referred me to the headache/face pain clinic. After many failed attempts at managing my pain with medications, my doctor mentioned that my symptoms resembled a spinal fluid leak and that there is a doctor who is navigating research and I should be evaluated.
contrast, CT , digital subtraction myelogram, MR myelogram, and the list goes on. After a few months of investigating we were able to confirm that I suffer from spontaneous intracranial hypotension, meaning that I have multiple leaks or suspicious areas in my spine, that happened spontaneously (without known trauma). My doctor mentioned that my Chiari diagnosis is what is classified as an Acquired Chiari Malformation.
After several hours I regained consciousness, family and doctors surrounded me trying to explain what they knew about baby Eric. They explained Eric and I would have to be immediately flown out to a larger center where they could properly care for my baby. Eric couldn’t support his own airway, he couldn’t suck, swallow, or move due to hypertonic muscles. He was having several seizures, all pointed to brain damage. At this point they had no idea what was wrong and could not conclude whether my baby would live. I recall saying I wanted to go see my baby and trying to get up out of the hospital bed, but the nurses told me I couldn’t see him, because I had just gone through a major surgery and he was too sick; we both had to rest for transport. When the nurses told me that, I flipped, telling them that come hell or high water, I was going to see him. I got as far as swinging my legs over the bed before I vomited everywhere. The nurses finally clued in that I was going with or without their help, so they laid me back down and wheeled me to the NICU to see him. I couldn’t even see my baby for he was so small and leads encased his body where he layed. They had his chin strapped up as every time it fell backward it would close off his airway leading to oxygen desaturation. They didn’t have the resources to intubate a baby at this hospital, so they decided to fly us out to Vancouver Children’s Hospital.
begging, pleading to God for your child to be healed. After 3 weeks they finally let me have skin to skin cuddles and started teaching us how to care for him. This isn’t the way it’s supposed to go; you’re supposed to go to the hospital, have a baby and take them home, right? Instead you walk around numb, you don’t remember the last time you ate, or showered, you just feel like you’re having an out of body experience, as if you’re watching this happen to someone else. You’re scared to leave their side for even a minute because what if it’s that minute that he leaves this world and you’re not there?
After about a month we had a meeting, and it was then that the doctors told us we had a failure to thrive baby, his cells didn’t migrate to the right place at the right time, that his cerebellum and brainstem were severely underdeveloped. The statistics 19 years ago was that one out of one million babies were born like this and they had yet to find out what caused the illness. Our baby couldn’t regrow the parts of his brain that didn’t develop. He had gestational arrest at 32 weeks, he had scoliosis, spina bifida occulta, epilepsy and severe brain damage. Our child would never move on his own, suck or swallow or be able to interact and that he would most likely die of aspiration pneumonia. He would live his life in hospital more than out. I have worked with special needs adults with this type of quality of life, I could play the tape to the end, and I knew hanging on to him would only be for selfish reasons. I understood that my baby was in pain, I could see in his beautiful blue eyes, as I said before, a mother always knows. It was at this time Eric’s father and I decided to sign a” Do Not Resuscitate” order. It was without a doubt the single hardest thing I have ever done.
Within 2 weeks, it was clear this child was a strong fighter and wasn’t ready to give up quite yet. We had another meeting and it was decided we would take him home. We wanted his big sister to have time with him and show him what a home was like. We took a 2-week crash course on neonatal nursing. We had to learn how to do his lung physio, how to suction him, and how to work a feeding pump and so much more. Eric was brought home February 10,1999. We did his 24-hour care until March 9th when he took a turn for the worse. He was diagnosed with aspiration pneumonia. This left me in a panic; I wasn’t ready to let him go, and I wanted him sent back to Children’s Hospital and be treated. We had an amazing Doctor who came to the hospital and took me for a walk to discuss why we made the DNR code and why we made the right choice for our son. I took my son home that day knowing we were running on borrowed time. His breathing became very shallow, he turned blue from lack of oxygen and on March 11, 1999 at 3:15 am our darling boy went home to be with his creator. The year following is a fog, I 
remember very little. I was deeply depressed but I knew I had to keep moving forward for my daughter, she needed me. I know she was hurting too but I was so consumed with my own grief, that I couldn’t reach out to her, I couldn’t handle both her grief and mine. My daughter and I have had to take a lot of time since to heal together. With that being said, the pain of losing a child is not something that you can run away from or attempt to forget; I relive my sons small time on this earth every single day.
I had a rough journey with these conditions and I am sharing it to help show how complex we can be and how much we need the medical community to step it up a notch (or ten)! I grew up in Denmark, where I lived when I was diagnosed and had my first surgeries.
Years passed by with various periods of severe pain flares, flares that felt nothing like the pains I had before. But no doctor was really believing me. I had a spontaneous collapsed lung a couple of times in this period and ended up with surgery for this (I woke up under this surgery which later also turned out to have a significance). At 25, one day I had a sudden and severe onset of symptoms – a pain in the back of my head feeling like two stabbing knives. This did not resolve and after several attempts with various medicines, that I only got sicker from, I finally saw a new rheumatologist whom again treated me with harsh accusations of laziness and psychological imbalance. I can assure you he was the one bringing on my tears that day, despite the extra severe pain I had been in for weeks. I was placed in the care of the hospital physios and after a while, it became clear to them that there was something really wrong and they got me to see another rheumatologist, who in turn took their word and referred me for an MRI. I had only just turned 26 when I was diagnosed with Chiari 1 Malformation and Syringomyelia – in my full spine.
I did a bit of internet research as information in Danish was very sparse and realized there was a certain number of bad outcomes due to something called Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, Retroflexed Odontoid and Basilar Invagination. I asked my neurosurgeon, who was supposed to be the best in Denmark at this point, about these things – he claimed I didn’t have any. However, he did agree to refer me for Ehlers-Danlos evaluation. Here I was told I did not have that either. However, I was bordering on a similar connective tissue disorder called Marfan Syndrome, which they still could not diagnose me with due to my heart and eyes not being faulty. I had my first decompression surgery in December 2006. It was rough. I reacted badly to anesthetics and to the morphine and I also lost a lot of spinal fluid. I could not raise myself up the first month which I thought was normal. Slowly, I got better, and imaging showed my syrinx shrinking. Two and a half years later, though, I started experiencing dizziness and nausea and though my first surgeon didn’t believe me, imaging finally showed a big collection of fluid outside my spinal cord originating from a hole in the duraplasty used to close after tonsillar cauterization at my first surgery. I tried talking to the surgeon about concerns of Klippel-Feil and instability, that I had read about, but they would not hear of it and said that for now they would just focus on this issue. So, this was repaired, and I moved to Spain with my boyfriend at the time. I was placed on a disability pension from Denmark and that enrolled me in the Spanish public healthcare. I did, however, in the meantime follow up on my concerns and contacted a specialist, who had written about the Klippel-Feil and Chiari connection, and he straight away stated I had some severe issues with my odontoid and needed it removed and my neck fused to my skull. My first meeting with a surgeon in Spanish health care came up and he just looked at my imaging two minutes then stated my problems were way bigger than Chiari and Syringomyelia. He also diagnosed a severe retroflexed odontoid and Basilar Invagination – so severe he had a hard time understanding how I could breathe, let alone walk. But given my reasonably good condition, he opted to postpone these surgeries as they are big and not without risks.
A couple of years of enjoying the benefits the climate change gave me (and likely putting my head in the sand) went by but then I could no longer ignore the fact that I was getting worse. I was in a rough period with other matters of life, so it took a while before I realized I couldn’t escape the changes in my body. I started losing weight amongst other things and after a quick detour of fear of stomach cancer, I finally realized that everything that was going on was related to my brainstem compression. So, I went back to the neurosurgeon. He ordered some testing but before it could be done, I ended up admitted urgently after I stopped breathing one night. From here started a roller coaster. I didn’t feel right about their suggestions and the surgeon that was going to operate didn’t feel very secure himself even. I ended up getting transferred to a private hospital in Barcelona that calls themselves a “Chiari Institute.” Had I known what I do now, I would never have paid the fee for a filum release, but the doctor claimed this was what I needed and well… It was worth a shot in this urgent situation. He then sent me home, claiming I was cured. I didn’t feel right and breathing through the night was still a problem, so I started sending my imaging to experts around the world and working on getting referred to another hospital in Spain’s public health with higher expertise. All these experts claimed I wouldn’t have long to live unless I had this odontoid approached.
October 2016 I finally had a partial odontoidectomy and a fusion, which beyond doubt saved my life. It was a rough ride, for both me and the surgeons. They had to deal with complications related to my anatomy, to the mess the first surgeon in Denmark had left – he had indeed damaged my muscles more than I ever knew – and to the problems relating to the soft tissue. I do know they did a great job, but due to all the mistakes, how complicated my case was and is, I am unfortunately not done. I have ongoing issues and though some of these could have been avoided with the right approach from the beginning, some are just the way it is with these conditions.