Fed is best

I don’t post very often because, well, I’m parenting a teenager now. As he has gotten older, his privacy has taken priority. He is entitled to create his own digital identity.

However, you’re going to see a couple of posts from me over the next couple of months. We are coming up on 10 years post-transplant. I don’t think you often get a chance to hear from patients in this phase of the journey.

I’m going to dedicate an entire post to transplant annivery soon.

But today, I wanted to talk a bit specifically about feeding. That’s because one area in which Patrick tends to be an outlier is that he weaned to 100% oral feeding within a year after his transplant.

I want to be real for just a minute about that. Because that is such an unexpectedly good outcome that we paint over a lot of the challenges that come along with it. I am absolutely thrilled that my son can eat an entire cheese pizza by himself like a teenage boy with a growing appetite.

But in celebrating that success, I think we sometimes do a disservice to him and to others with short gut and other digestive disorders by glossing over the very challenge that eating is every day — even if they are able to take all of their nutrition orally.

For Patrick’s entire school career, he has needed accommodations specifically to be not just offered opportunities, but also reminders to eat and drink throughout the school day. He can quite easily go an entire day without remembering that he needs to stop for food or water.

This may sound unusual to you. However, it is really not uncommon in people who have had complex health issues, especially those who have had prolonged digestive disorders and enteral or parenteral nutrition. Occupational therapists have begun to discuss an 9th sense called interoception. (Feel free to Google why there are nine, not five senses). This sense describes your body’s internal cues of hunger, thirst, fullness, hunger, fatigue, temperature, etc. The ability to recognize and interpret these signals is altered by our experiences. It is very common for children with medical complexity to develop oral aversions. Or in other words, to have impaired interoception.

I mean, think about it. For the first 6 years of Patrick’s life, we’d feed him intravenously as much as we could while he slept, and then, in order to give him a break from tubes, he’d go without that nutrition and hydration for several hours during the day. Is it any wonder that he thinks it’s normal to feel hungry and thirsty at school?

There is also an emerging recognition of Avoidant Restrictive Food Intake Disorder, or ARFID, and Pediatric Feeding Disorder PFD. This is a type of sensory processing disorder related eating disorder where neurodivergent people cannot bring themselves to eat certain foods, no matter how hungry they are, because of certain sensory characteristics. People with ARFID &PFD may have very limited diets.

Now, consider that for Patrick’s early years he could not eat sugars, fruits, vegetables, or fibrous textures without severe digestive consequences. Is it any surprise that many children who grow up with SBS show characteristics of ARFID and PFD?

In our house, we have open pantries and stock high calorie preferred foods. And Patrick has been able to eat enough to grow. We have done extensive feeding therapy to expand his diet and I am constantly applying the principles used there to continue to add new foods as old ones fall out of favor.

My son is a foodie. He loves restaurants. He loves treats. He loves trying new foods that meet his very specific preferences.

However, eating has never been easy. There has always been effort to remind him to eat and drink. He only gets the vitamins he needs because we supplement.

One of the things I remember most clearly from Patrick’s transplant evaluation appointments when he was 6 months old was the meeting with the transplant nurse coordinator. In that meeting, she went through everything they thought we should know about life after transplant – from potential complications to what sports he could play. And one of the messages most strongly emphasized was this:

When your child becomes a teenager they will want to become independent. Many teen transplant patients stop complying with their post-transplant care.

Now – we are fortunate. Patrick doesn’t fight against taking his medications. He doesn’t resist seeing his doctors. He doesn’t break safety rules.

He’s fallen into a basic teenage pattern. He is too busy with his social life to want to eat.

I spent his freshman year trying to find ways to incentivize and remind him to eat. But the more I thought about the sum total of what I just outlined above, the less sense it made to keep nagging him to eat.

The phrase we often use to comfort moms trying to accept tube feeding with babies crossed my mind. “Fed is best.” And I started to think, “Why not just ask if he wants to add in tube feeding?”

Of course, there were obstacles. Bolus feeding, where you use a syringe to give an entire carton of formula in just a few minutes, has always made him feel sick. That didn’t seem worth it. Gravity feeding, which we have used for hydration when he is sick, just ties him to a wall for an hour. So I found myself leaning towards a feeding pump . But I wasn’t sure if the doctors would agree to that for as little extra as he needed.

Then, I came across a new product at the Oley Foundation conference – an elastomeric feeding pump system called Mobility +. Kind of a step in-between gravity and pump feeding. There’s no electronic pump, so it’s lightweight and small. It fits inside a crossbody bag. (Fanny pack, for those of us who grew up in the 90’s.) Instead, inside the feeding bag is an elastic pouch that squeezes the formula out at a controlled rate. The tubing comes in different sizes that set the feeding rate. The tubing we use slows Patrick’s feeds down to about an hour, which is just the rate his gut needs to tolerate them.

The bags are pretty easy to use. I use a stopcock valve system to fill the bags in advance. Once that part’s done, we switch to a feeding set that attached to his g-tube extention. The rest is easy enough that Patrick can just come attach the bag, open the clamps, and start the feed himself. The only hiccups we’ve had are sleeping too late to allow time for the feed and occassionally forgetting to open the clamps to start the feed.

Because this is a brand new product, it was just barely approved by the FDA and entering the U.S. market. Patrick is one of the first patients using this feeding system. I wasn’t sure if we’d be able get access to it, but Rockfield Medical has been amazing to work with. We did several zoom calls to figure out the right bags to use and get me trained. They sent me samples to get started while I worked on getting it set up with my enteral supply company.

That took a few calls. At first, the company didn’t understand what the bags were and thought they might be too expensive to be worth the investment. However, Rockfield had already laid the groundwork and the product was available with several larger homecare companies, so my smaller company was willing to follow suit once I got through to the right person and they understood the benefits I was seeing.

It’s been a couple of weeks and it’s already routine.

Please note that this isn’t a sign that Patrick is unhealthy. He eats enough to maintain his weight. But his weight is low and keeping him eating has required constant behavioral support, what they call a “complex feeding program.” There is an emotional and mental health cost that comes with constant pressure to eat .

I have to say that it’s really nice to have the stress taken off of feeding. For example, Patrick got some vaccines this weekend and just hasn’t had an appetite. He took about ten bites of lunch today before abandoning it. In the past, I would have been pulling out timers and offering rewards to try to beg him to eat.

Instead, today, I said, “fine, we’ll put a bolus on.”

One of the first principles of working with an eating disorder is this.. the more anxious the parent is about the child’s eating, the less likely the child is to be willing to eat.

Instead, Patrick is super proud to own the hottest new gadget in tube feeding and can’t wait to set it up and put it on.

He’s excited to be fed.

And fed is best.

Thinking zebras

There’s a saying in medicine: “When you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras.” In other words, the most common answer is usually the correct one. This is good advice when googling your symptoms as well. 

But what do you do when it is a zebra?

The last day of February each year is National Rare Disease Day. (Thus encompassing leap day — a rare date for a rare day.) It’s a day to bring together people with rare diseases. 

A disease is considered rare when it affects fewer than 1 in 2,000 people. That can be pretty isolating. It means that you may be the only person anyone’s ever heard of with a condition. It may mean there’s not a doctor in your state or in your town familiar with your disease.  It may mean treatments that work for others won’t work for you. (But that doesn’t mean you won’t regularly be offered miracle cures by strangers who know nothing about your disease.)

There are 300 million people worldwide with rare diseases. Alone we are rare. Together we are many.

Patrick is rare. Gastroschisis affects 1 in just under 2,000 babies each year. However, Patrick experienced a complication so rare that I can’t find statistics about it. His bowel died, leaving him with Short Gut Syndrome. Short Gut itself only affects 30 of every million people. Only just about 100 intestine transplants are performed each year. Fewer than that are multivisceral. By the numbers, he’s rare.

Patrick and his Beads of Courage: each bead represents a procedure, test, or milestone

I’ve been feeling his uniqueness in other ways this month. Especially at school.

Patrick attends a very unique school, one designed for children with special needs, particularly those with autism. Although Patrick checks all the boxes for an autism and ADHD diagnosis, his diagnosis is not as simple as that. Patrick’s intellectual, memory, and sensory issues come largely from a brain injury he sustained during a cardiac arrest caused by a central line infection when he was a baby. That means that, while many of the things that help autistics help him, there are differences in the help he needs. Also, although he has anxiety, his anxiety isn’t founded in ordinary fears, but in the complex medical trauma that he experienced as a young child.

There is a reason we don’t domesticate zebras. They are in many ways quite like horses. Zebras eat almost the same things as horses. (Almost, but not exactly.) They behave in many of the same ways. But zebras are not the same as horses. And the differences are more than just the stripes.

Zebras are smaller but are very strong. They are not strong in the same ways that horses are; their bodies are not made for riders or for carrying burdens. They don’t run as fast as horses. They have evolved to survive as prey. They are skittish and easily startled, quick and agile, known for a bite and a strong kick. Zebras can be sassy, stubborn, smart, and sensitive.

Zebra keepers know that they need to spend extra time building trust. These animals don’t trust easily. Handlers need to be consistent and gentle. They make sure to feed their zebra personally so that it sees where the food comes from and develops trust. Patient handlers are rewarded with an extremely faithful bond.

But you won’t get there if you treat your zebra like a horse – or even like its closer cousin the donkey.

And this is where my frustration lies this month. I’ve heard teachers say that January and February are when most of the teaching happens in a school year. I don’t know if that’s the reason, but every year in January and February, it seems, we end up talking to teachers about the same thing. Patrick falls behind in these months. And I find myself explaining that he can’t be asked to do the same things as the other students if he’s only offered the same supports they are. His issues with motor skills, memory, spatial reasoning, attention, vision, and math require more. 

So we end up talking about IEP accommodations, whether there is sufficient staffing, whether he is too dependent, what is attention seeking or escape, whether staff understands his needs and accommodations, how to help them understand, whether he should have to ask for accommodation so receive them. And all of that leads to the question of whether or not he belongs in the classes he is in. Every few years, this one included, I get a bonus IEP team meeting out of it.

This year is better than some because I know that his teachers actually care and are genuinely trying to find ways to help. At least this year I’m not having to start by trying to convince them that his needs are real. But there is a reason people don’t ride zebras. And there is a reason we are always talking about where we can make compromises.

Patrick and Brian launching a blast car for his science fair project

Next year, Patrick moves into 9th grade. For him, that means moving into high school. And that has opened a whole new set of issues. Demands will be higher. Classes will be harder. It’s getting more and more painful to keep Patrick in grade-level classes without grade-level skills. Because classes are for credit, there are limits to modifications. And he likely will never have the executive skills and memory to handle it alone. The question is if we can find a way to give him enough help to handle it at all. And if doing so is worth it for what he’d get out of it.

So now we are talking about whether or not he should pursue a diploma. Whether he would benefit from some time in a functional skills class. What he will do after high school and what, if any classes, they offer that can help prepare him. And although I’ve known for a long time that Patrick wouldn’t likely get a traditional diploma, or go to college, or have many job options, my heart is having a hard time catching up with my head.

Patrick is a normal teenager in so many ways. He loves his friends. He’s girl crazy. He listens to his music too loud and wastes hours on YouTube. He’s obsessed with cars and can’t wait to own his own. At school with his handful of friends is the one place where I think he truly feels like he belongs and is accepted as himself. His advisory teacher is a keeper in both senses of the word.

Except that, even with a sense of belonging, Patrick doesn’t understand what’s going on a lot of the time and sometimes sits lost and without help for an entire class period. And the question is whether that’s actual belonging. (For Patrick, maybe?)

So here’s to Rare Disease Day, a day dedicated to belonging, even when you are rare.

They say that zebra’s stripes make it harder for a predator to pick an individual out. When many zebras stand together, their uniqueness combined protects the group.

That’s not actually true. Recent research shows the stripes protect against tsetse flies, who are so confused by the pattern that they abandon their attack and fly away. That’s probably more representative of how things work with rare disease zebras. We confuse everyone so much that they flee.

But I like the image of the herd of zebras standing together. So I’m going to stick with it.

Happy Rare Disease Day.