We have more nature in two weeks than one can really take in. A flock of wild turkeys crosses a busy road near our neighborhood. I literally have to slow the car because two of them are starting to cross but decide to draw back and continue to reside on someone's front yard. We would see the same flock a week or so later. A massive, neon green grasshopper greets me on the windshield of my car. We spot an inching gray and black caterpillar trying to find a home near our patio. The boys play caterpillars for days after this sighting.
And deer. Oh the deer. They are in our front yard, our neighbor's yard, they are crossing the busy street to Michael's school. They are eating. They are staring. They are everywhere. I am still stunned when I drive down our neighborhood street and see six of them hanging out. Ahh, nature all around us. Funny how nature is at the very root of everything.
Even more routine than our wild life sightings around suburban New Jersey are the busy morning Cystic Fibrosis treatments that jump start our days. Around 7 am, I rev the boys' machines up and the unmistakable thrum of the orchestra begins. The decibel level has skyrocketed since the arrival of Michael's new nebulizer compressor. It is hospital grade and it is a bad-ass machine. His other compressors just couldn't survive with the demands of daily treatments. The increased volume in our home has become typical and the boys have learned to accept watching TV on volume 100, no joke. I, too, have had to accept it.
I fumble around awkwardly brewing a cup of Keurig coffee in the kitchen while the ear-deafening sounds of Nick Jr. throttle the family room . Now, this machine was made for me, I am certain. My Keurig is simple, it is brainless, it makes a great cup of coffee. And it is QUIET.
I say a morning prayer for my gratitude for my boys' health, the machines and the meds that keep them that way. As I sip my steaming hot cup of coffee, I peer into the family room where the boys are shaking from their vest airway clearance treatments and their nebulizers are steaming away. This morning's prayer is for the medicine misting through Dylan's mask and Michael's mouthpiece at this moment. And it is not what you might expect. It is simply salt water.
Something so basic. So earthly, it's ridiculous. No super crazy science (well, I am sure there was some that went into it), but no chemical compounds or medicinal discovery... salt water.
Isak Dinesen, a literary legend, once wrote,
"The cure for everything is salt water -- sweat, tears, or the sea."
In the case of Cystic Fibrosis, I am convinced this quote couldn't be more true.
The sterile salt water is the hydration that their little lungs so need. Because Cystic Fibrosis interferes with the fine balance of salt and water in the body, the boys' lungs, intestines, pancreas, and sinuses, and other "tubes" of the body become dry. Fluids that normally flow through these areas of the body are replaced with dryness and a sludge that clogs the organs and passageways in the body.
So I have heard, this special salt water called "Hypertonic Saline" was discovered by a pulmonologist in Australia. Whether it is truth or myth, the story goes that he began to notice that a subset of his patients were markedly healthier than his others. And when he began to do some digging on the underlying reason why he realized that that those patients that were surfers tended to have better lung health. The theory was that the natural conditions of the salt water from the ocean in combination with the cardio activity helped those patients with better lung hydration and better clearance in their airways of those sluggish secretions that form. Supposedly, he began to wonder since there was noticeably better lung health for his surfing patients going into the ocean, was there a way to bring the benefits of the ocean to patients?
I set my coffee mug down and continue to watch the steam swirling out of the holes in Dylan's mask and Michael's mouthpiece valve. Salt water.
I believe that this drug, Hypertonic Saline, which the boys breathe in twice a day for about 20 minutes is incredible. I really am banking on this drug in the worst of the cold season this year. I feel good knowing that both boys are treated with it every day.
Imagine needing to clean your kitchen and having a damp sponge... the cleaning possibilities are endless! There is so much a wet sponge can tackle. But take a dry sponge, hard and almost rigid. It is scratchy and menacing, certainly not pleasant and in no way up for the cleaning task.
Now imagine the value of adding just a little water to one side of the sponge... what happens? The sponge will continue to soak the water up drawing it further and further in, practically seeking more water. Saturate the entire sponge and what next? You can wring out the water after cleaning with the sponge easily and disposing of the yuk water you no longer need. This is basically how I envision Hypertonic Saline to work and I believe there is immense value in it's daily treatment for the boys.
Their lungs soak up the salt water up because they need it. And once their are hydrated that can more easily "wring" out their lungs and dispose of the sludge and yuk stuff that is hanging out in their airways.
I am startled out of my daze while picturing just how this medicine is getting down into their lungs. Dylan is yelling over the machines, over the TV and through his mask that his mask is "Swippin". Translation his mask is falling off, it is slipping. I dart into the other room to help him. And so our day begins.
By bedtime, everyone is exhausted after our post-school treatments, dinner, bath, books and bed. There are so many parents who feel my exhaustion right along with me. By 6 pm you are just ready to pass out. On this night both boys are in their beds by 7:30 and the house is silent for some time. They are tucked in and I believe have fallen to sleep. My husband is still at work, so I decide to take a minute on the couch to catch the days headlines on the news.
I jump when I hear Dylan begin whining loudly and I head up to his room. I can't get up to his room fast enough. He says loudly in his deep toddler voice, "Mommy, you didn't come, I called you and you didn't come. I scared somebody take me." He is anxious and unsettled. I help him back into his wee toddler bed, and he scrunches down under his covers.
He is so tired as he is blinking his eyes close. I think for a moment he is playing a joke since his blinking is so exaggerated. I gently stroke his hand and he quietly smacks his mouth and opens his eyes wearily at me. He pats my hand closes his eyes. He whispers something inaudible and pushes my hand. "What, Dylan?" I gently ask. He is almost an actor out of a Hollywood drama. My little boy whispers, with his eyes still closed, "Go, Mom." He is nearly asleep and restful. I am in awe. He needed one last comfort from me and was ready to drift off in slumber. The drama of his performance is almost Oscar worthy.
I exit the brief scene, which I plan to submit to the Academy first thing in the morning and I head downstairs to brew another cup of coffee. Exhausted and pondering what next as I wait for the speedy brew to finish. Easy answer. I pop a sea salt caramel in my mouth. I chew it slowly enjoying the salty bite and the contrasting sugary sweetness. The punch of the salty crunch curbs the gooey chocolate caramel. I love these. These are a bite of therapy.
I feel the corners of my mouth curl up and I fight the grin that emerges.
Sea.
Salt.
Caramel.
Guess that vast ocean really can be the cure for everything.
Hooray ...you are back! Missed the blog! You have my mind thinking about that Hypertonic Saline. To ask the dr for or not ...is the question. Thanks for sharing your blog...love it.
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