Day in the Life of Caleb

Blessed

Exhausted

Rejuvenated

Scared

As I reflect on the last few weeks, those are the words that came to mind.

Blessed: I feel blessed that I was able to voice what I need and follow through with it. But it didn’t come without a few meltdowns to recognize I needed a reset.

The first was while I was at Nationwide Children’s Hospital in Columbus, Ohio with Dunky for doctor appointments. We flew in Monday for a Cardiac MRI on Tuesday and a full day of seeing all the specialists on Wednesday before flying home that night. On Monday night I got Dunky to bed in our hotel room and then slithered out of bed to work until late into the night, until my eyes wouldn’t stay open anymore. On Tuesday, I rushed back to the hotel after the Cardiac MRI to jump on a call with a client. I agreed to take Dunky to the zoo but could only fit it in between the emails I had to get out and the client call I had at 6 pm. We went, and it was fun, but it was rushed and I was preoccupied. How was I going to take my client call and make sure Dunky got dinner? I’ll figure it out, I always do, somehow. We were back at the hotel and I’m prepping for my client call and then the results started flooding in through My Chart. I was waiting for the results of the Cardiac MRI as the ejection fraction (EF) is the true indicator of heart failure and the MRI would give us this result. His baseline one year ago was 53%. In Duchenne, we pray for stability, typically not improvement. The results coming through were lab results that they took when they were doing the Cardiac MRI. Naturally, I started studying them, focusing on the red (abnormal) markers and quickly trying to determine if they were abnormal last time. Then pivoting to compare them to Caleb’s to understand if Dunky is worse off than his older brother in these areas. Wait, but what do these even mean? Do we care that they are abnormal? Troponin levels are abnormally high. I sure don’t remember seeing that before. Google. Quick. Before my meeting. F. The tears start streaming. The heart starts beating. Elevated troponin levels = heart damage. This isn’t really new news. I know that Dunky’s heart is ridden with Cardiomyopathy (scar tissue), in fact it takes up more than 50% of that cute little heart. But this was another way of confirming this and another reminder that this disease is running through my sweet, little, Dunky. Crap. My meeting. I wipe the tears, I set up Dunky with his iPad, tell him to not talk for an hour and log into Zoom. How will I get through this? I’ll figure it out, I always do, somehow.

But this doesn’t seem right. I want to cry to my husband, I want to call the Cardiologist, I want to work through my feelings and mostly, I want to focus on being present with Dunky But then I get through my meeting, those feelings get swept under the rug, and I carry on, until it happens again. Despite Dunky’s ask for sushi, we end up at hotel restaurant for dinner because now it’s past dinner time and closing in on bed time. I get Dunky to sleep and stay up late into the night again, but this time it’s to recap Dunky’s health from head to toe and list out all my questions in one big document that I send to his care team prior to our arrival the next day. Wish I would have prioritized this a few days ago so they would have time to digest it, but I didn’t.

Fast forward a few weeks, it happened again. I was heading to a work conference where I was going to be gone for 3 nights. I took the last flight out so I could help with the boys as much as possible because two wheelchair bound boys is no joke. This meant a very late arrival, and I knew I would be exhausted, but it’s what my mom heart wanted to do. But then I get to the gate and it’s delayed, and then delayed again. And the tears start flowing and don’t stop. How will I get through this? I’ll figure it out, I always do, somehow.

But that was the break-down that catapulted conversations. I was not impressed with myself and my decisions. I was prioritizing work over my own well-being and my boys. I feel blessed I was able to recognize my needs and take some action.

Exhausted: Caregiving is exhausting and being a special needs mom when you are home is also exhausting. It is constant asks, things that most kids that are 10 and 11 can do themselves, that Caleb and Dunky can not.

“Mom, I have to pee.”

“Mom, I have to poo.”

“Mom, I need a tissue.”

“Mom, I need my iPad.”

“Mom, I need a snack.”

“Mom, the remote fell.”

“Mom, sit me up.”

“Mom, scratch my head.”

“Mom, scratch my back.”

“Mom, fix my shirt.”

“Mom, I need a bandaid.”

“Mom, I need socks on.”

“Mom, I need a blanket on me.”

“Mom, brush my hair.” Okay, that’s a stretch. Fun fact, Dan is the hair guy. He would never let them leave the house without their hair brushed. He’s quick to spray and brush upon waking up. Me? I don’t think I’ve ever brushed their hair. I don’t even notice it. It’s like when I wonder how Dan doesn’t notice the socks in the middle of the floor, he wonders why I don’t notice the disaster of their unbrushed hair.

I love my kids, so deeply, but man is it exhausting to adhere to their needs.

Rejuvenated: My heart was so full by spending time with my boys. The joy I felt when they would ask, “do you have calls today?” and I got to say “no” was amazing. These boys fill my cup like nothing else can. And my life coach tells me when I fill my cup, I will be able to better support them and others. One day I was able to attend Vacation Bible Camp with them (they always need a bathroom helper) and I left it tears. It was so special and rejuvenating and I’m so glad for our Our Lady of Peace community. Caleb and Dunky help me realize that life is short, so it’s important to live to the fullest and live in the moment.

My favorite thing we do is go on walks. We walk to the coffee shop, to the beach, to Target and to many of our favorite local restaurants. And we are a scene. Two kids in power chairs, usually blasting Eminem, with a mom trying to keep up. We often get stared at with “under the breath” comments. Just today when Caleb and I were at Target I overheard someone say, “Look at that kid, why is he driving?” I heard it, but I didn’t know if Caleb did. Then I heard him respond, “Kid, I don’t like your attitude.” It was an odd response, but it was an odd comment. The more typical one we get is “Cool wheelchair, I wish I had that.” I’m positive you don’t wish you had that.

But we also get smiles, so many smiles. I’m rejuvenated by those smiles and that is what I’m going to take with me.

Scared: One amazing thing about not working for 2 weeks was the added time I got with the boys that I don’t usually have. Yes, I am blessed, exhausted and rejuvenated from that time, but I am equally scared. What I got to witness are small progressions of the disease that I don’t often see when I’m preoccupied with work. To name a few, I noticed:

Caleb has to lift his leg with his arm to get it on his wheelchair foot pedal.

Caleb has to use his fork so close to the tines that it’s almost a shovel.

Caleb asks for plastic silverware, that is lighter and easier to maneuver.

Caleb’s feet are naturally caving in. I’m constantly nagging him to straighten his foot.

Although Caleb is getting too heavy to lift, the muscles under his armpits make it next to impossible to lift him without equipment, even if I wanted to.

Although Dunky is still fairly easy to lift, the muscles under his armpits are also starting to go.

Dunky now needs to be sat up when he is laying in a reclined position.

Dunky’s heel cords are so tight that he can’t get even close to getting his feet flat.

I’m scared because this disease is taking them. I feel it and I see it. But I’m also scared that I’ll go back to work, like this leave never happened, and nothing will have changed. I’ll agree to do things I don’t want to do or don’t have time to do, I’ll prioritize work over my family and myself, I’ll chase the next promotion and I’ll fall back into the grind. And then I’ll look back when my kids are gone and think, “what the f was I doing?”

So I’m just not. I’m committed to being present and intentional. I will say no when I need to and look at it as a skill vs feeling guilty about potentially not pleasing someone. I will say yes to watching the most ridiculous You Tubers with my kids. I will say yes to the walk to Dairy Queen with my kids. I will say yes to playing Roblox with my kids. I will say yes to learning about all of their skins in Brawl Stars.

And I will continue to say yes to Duchenne advocacy efforts to help move the needle on this disease so that other parents don’t have to watch this disease run through their kids like I have to.

No one can possibly relay what being a mother is really like, until you are in it. Yes, people tell you how amazing it is and they may sprinkle in a few of the trials and tribulations along the way.  But, until the day of birth, it’s only conversations or words that we may or may not listen to and that we may or may not understand.

About 13 years ago, Dan and I had our first date at the Doolittles in Golden Valley after my golf lesson and talked and talked. We both had something each other needed to know before we decided if there was going to be a second date.

Dan had two little boys, AJ and Ben, who were about 7 and 8 years old at the time. He showed me pictures that melted my heart. He didn’t explicitly say this, but his point was, those kids were his life and if another person entered his life, it was imperative that person embraced those boys just the same.

I wanted kids. I was up for the task of step-mom, but I knew I wanted to also have kids of my own. For those of you that know me, it may not surprise you to know that I did say this very explicitly. If he wasn’t open to having more kids at some point, there didn’t need to be a second date.

But there was a second date, and many more after that. While integrating into AJ and Ben’s life seemed difficult at the time, I look back and have complete respect for Dan cautiously bringing me into their lives. Dan and I would golf or hang out or go on dates, but only on the days that he didn’t have the boys. I didn’t fully understand at the time because I didn’t have kids of my own, but now I get it. As a parent, you will do anything to protect your kids and if there wasn’t going to be Sarah around for the long term, there was not going to be the integration of Sarah and AJ and Ben.

Fast forward a few years and those two very precious boys, AJ and Ben, got to be a part of our wedding ceremony. I’m so lucky to be blessed with these two boys that gave me a sneak preview into motherhood.

Now recall that first date, I wanted kids of my own. But what no one tells you is that when you say you want to be a mom, you sign up for whatever comes with that. You sign up for trying with no success, you sign up miscarriages, you sign up for whatever child is born on the day of birth and you sign up for whatever that child may endure along their own life journey. There is no turning back.

But truth be told, motherhood looks completely different for me than I thought it would.

When we found out I was pregnant and it was a boy, we were ecstatic. I never went to birthing classes, I never had a birth plan, I never toured the hospital and never really did all the things I was told to do. All I remember is making a short list of the things I wanted when I was in the hospital, my bright pink Sarah robe and my bright green Lulu Lemon legwarmers…….and maybe a small bottle of champagne. Instead, I just relished the fact that I was growing a baby and I was going to be a mom. Having AJ and Ben around solidified the deal, those kids were amazing, and I knew I could do it, we could do it.

But my start to motherhood was nothing I had imagined. I imagined my water breaking at my house in the middle of the night. What I did not imagine is driving myself to the hospital because a feeling of my baby not moving turned into an emergency c-section. I imagined my husband driving me to the hospital, what I did not imagine is him at a golf event getting there right in time for the delivery. I imagined my baby being laid on my chest after delivery, what I did not imagine is my baby being whisked away because he was blue and needed to be intubated immediately. I imagined going home the next day, what I did not imagine is living in the hospital for 2 weeks and relying on family, friends, and services like the Ronald McDonald house to get us through the time in the NICU.

And then we got pregnant again, and we nearly fell off our chair, it was another boy.

I wanted at least one girl. I had conversations with myself that I would keep having kids until I had a girl. It was all I knew with having a sister and I knew I was already blessed with two amazing step-boys, AJ and Ben. I had visions of my little girl in gymnastics and following my footsteps as a cheerleader. I had visions that I would instill in her my love for running and watch her crush the 400m and the 4x400m. I would explain to her that it’s the best race to be good at, because no one else ever wants to run it! I had visions of her sharing my love for math and going into accounting or finance or actuary science. Well one might say I was a bit naïve.

Motherhood was hard. I have vivid memories of surviving a weekend when Dan was at the cabin and I was home with both kids. No one told me that it’s next to impossible to have an 18-month-old that moves/scoots, a newborn, and a mama that needs to pump every 4 hours (my babies did not like my boobs). But I did it, because moms are like superhumans. We take on more than we should and we are pretty damn good at all the things.

Caleb landed himself in the NICU when he was born because he had a heart condition called Wolff Parkinson White. It’s a condition that causes the heart to go into tachycardia at any given moment due to an extra electrical pathway. We managed that with medication but it wasn’t without difficulties. The medicine had to be administered every 8 hours, 10 am, 6 pm, 2 am. No matter how we revised the schedule, we were waking up in the middle of the night to administer meds. We did that for 4 years and got used to that. This minimized his episodes but we still found ourselves in the ED at least 2x/year when his heart rate would rise and nothing we did helped. I did not sign up for regular ED visits in motherhood, but the good news is the tachycardia always prioritized us so the Kasner Family never waited in the ED lobby (THE WORST) ……searching for the bright side here.

At about two years of age, Caleb was diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy. He missed milestones, his gait wasn’t typical and he was falling all the time. A few brain MRIs suggested (with hesitation) mild cerebral palsy. We were brought to our knees. This was not the motherhood I was talking about at that first date. My child has a disability that will cause him to have a physical impairment for life? What about running and hockey and all the athletic-related things I wanted him to do?  Oh well. I embraced the new normal with sadness but acceptance of this physical disability. At least I have a child. That’s what I wanted after all, right?

But 3/28/18 is Diagnosis-day (D-day) for us. This is the day that Caleb was diagnosed with Muscular Dystrophy. Nope, this is NOT what I signed up for with motherhood. A life limiting disease that will cause my child to lose the ability to walk, eat and ultimately breathe that will take his life in the upcoming years, could be 8 years, could be 20 years. Nope, no thanks. But I don’t want turn back…. I don’t think. I told you this would be real and raw.

Six weeks later, Dunky’s D-day. Oh hell no. For sure not what I signed up for. Brought me to my knees and I could not get up for days, maybe weeks. I stared at Dunky many times after Caleb was diagnosed, convinced he did not also have this disease, but looking back, I was clearly just hanging onto some normalcy. Clinging to what I have envisioned as a mother.

But the real and raw truth of motherhood is that you sign up for what you get, and it’s hard. It’s hard with typical kids, and one may argue even harder for kids with special needs. But it’s a true test of commitment and patience to be given the title of mother to watch kids suffer through a disease knowing you will likely have to lay them to rest for eternity before you.

I can’t say I wouldn’t change a thing, because I would take Duchenne away from my kids in a heartbeat, but I learned that being a mom to all of these boys has allowed me to view life from a different lens. It’s created purpose and meaning for me that I may not have found otherwise, no matter how hard it is.

So to all the mom’s out there, you are amazing. To the mom’s out there with kids with special needs, you are not alone. Let yourself grieve the mom life that you thought you would get to have, and then embrace the beauty that you have. And know, you are one strong human, and your kid(s) are so damn lucky to have you!

May 29, 2025

It’s funny how I was so ready to be done with 2024, but at the same time am not ready to take on 2025. But turns out the days keep coming whether I am ready for them or not so I finally decided to sit down and reflect on 2024.

There were many hard times, but the joy of the good outweighs all of the difficulty. And that is by choice. I’ve always been taught that we get to choose how we approach our days. I don’t pretend that it’s easy, but rather I acknowledge the hard and then let it go. The practice of yoga has greatly helped me with this approach long before I had kids with a terminal disease. It’s why I still make sure I make it to my mat many times a week. It’s my sanctuary, my safe space, my escape.

My math brain likes to be methodical as I evaluate 2024. So by month, here is the hard and the amazing.

Jan Hard: 1) Traded in Dan’s car (Just like his dad, he has always loved his cars) for a handicap accessible mini-van. 2) Dunky and I flew to Iowa and drove through the worst ice storm for a clinical trial screening. After difficult activities over multiple days, he was dismissed as he could not get up off the floor fast enough to qualify.

Jan Joy: 1) As hard as it was, this handicap van is life-changing! 2) Dunky CRUSHED his math assessment.

Feb Hard: 1) Caleb and I flew to Utah for a clinical trial for 4 days. After many difficult activities, he was dismissed as they found out his growth hormone he was on (we have since stopped) made him ineligible.

Feb Joy: 1) Dunky is still confidently standing!!!

March Hard: 1) A stairlift is installed as we can no longer get the boys safely down the stairs for baths.

March Joy: 1) Caleb and I take on DC for the PPMD Advocacy Conference with some dear friends. 2) Seeing Caleb kneel at Mass. He couldn’t get back up but that’s beside the point.

April Hard: 1) Disney was so epic that it took every ounce of walking out of Dunky. When we arrived home, he had decided that he was done walking, it was just too hard.

April Joy: 1) Dunky’s Make a Wish to Give Kids the World at Disney World. The boys discovered their love for thrill rides and were spoiled beyond belief to make this Disney experience one we will never forget. 2) Dunky and I saw Olivia Rodrigo in Boston, thanks to a dear friend, Molly Brickson. It was the most epic experience and such an easy city and venue for a wheelchair.

May Hard: 1) Track and Field day at school brought so many people to tears. We know it will be better next year, but gosh it sucked this year. 2) Stander for Caleb….more equipment.

May Joy: 1) Caleb and I saw Boy w/ Uke in Atlanta with VIP status. It was absolutely amazing. 2) Caleb’s Make A Wish reveal of his game room. Our wish grantors, Erin and Kayla were an absolute blast and such a delight to work with for both boys.

June Hard: Summer only brings Joy in Minnesota!

June Joy: 1) Last day of 3rd and 4th grade. 2) KKD Gravel Ride. Dan and I took on 40+ miles of gravel. It was so fun to do something so hard together. We are so grateful for our neighbors putting this event on and all the volunteers that make this one of my favorite days of the year. 3) PPMD Annual conference in Orlando with the fam and our community!

July Hard: Summers in Minnesota only bring Joy!

July Joy: Cousins visit from Seattle

August Hard: 1) Camping. We made Dunky’s wish come true of camping in a camper van. It was incredible, but hard. Carrying Dunky in and out of the RV was a huge feat. Getting him in the loft to sleep, an even bigger feat. The things we do to bring joy to our kids. 2) New power wheelchairs for both kids. These things are beasts weighing 450 lbs but allowing them to find more independence.

August Joy: 1) Caleb and I traveled to Seattle to see his cousins. It was an absolute blast. 2) Dan and I celebrate 11 years of marriage! 3) Caleb and Dunky’s first Lemonade stand is a total success.

Sept Hard and Joy: 1) First day of 4th and 5th grade. New years bring on new challenges as the boys needs increase and school becomes more challenging. 2) First day of 4th and 5th grade. Finally the kids are out of the house!!!!!

October Hard: 1) Caleb lands himself in the hospital with pneumonia.

October Joy: 1) Twin Cities 10 mile 2) Columbus half marathon with one of my besties, Michelle Johnson. Truly the best race out there with meaning in every step. 3) Dan and I get a weekend away in Bonita Springs!

November Hard: 1) Dunky insisted on staying in the top bunk while on vacation. Enough said.

November Joy: 1) We spent Thanksgiving in Duluth for something different. Grateful for a Thanksgiving meal gifted to us by Crescent Cove, Keller-Williams and the Gopher Football Team to allow us to spend time together vs cooking. 2) I spent a night in NYC with new friends that feel like life-time friends at the PPMD 30-year celebration.

December Hard: 1) Housing renovation starts to incorporate an elevator into our home. While we have main floor living for the boys, it was infringing on my living space with all of the equipment that has started to enter our house.

December Joy: 1) Dan and I get a night away in NYC! We are SO grateful for our niece and nephew, Maggie and Cole, that learned the tricks of the trade and took on watching Caleb and Dunky for the weekend. We realize at this stage in the game of Duchenne, we need to take up people on offers to help and lean into those that are willing. These breaks are how we find we are able to keep going and serve as full-time caregivers for the boys. 2) We spend Christmas in Florida, our favorite place to be!

With that, we will take on 2025 and look forward to you being a part of that. We love our village and community and know we can not do this alone. So thank you for your support and love.

1-26-25

It was about a year and a half ago that Caleb was about the age that we thought he could tolerate a Cardiac MRI without sedation. He did amazing, partly because of him, but also because of the amazing staff that helped him to not be scared. That was on a Tuesday. On Wednesday we spent all morning at our typical coordinated clinic where he sees all of the specialists. The results of the MRI were not yet available. The appointments were difficult for Caleb as things become tougher for him and we grappled with a fairly invasive foot surgery. But what we didn’t know we found out through My Chart at 5:30 am the next morning while I was laying in bed back in Minnesota.

"There is delayed myocardial enhancement starting at the level of the base and extending into the mid chamber noted in the inferior and infero-lateral segments and extending into the antero-lateral segments. There is greater than 50% myocardial involvement."

I broke. I didn’t have much idea of what it meant, but I knew that any cardiac issues at 9 years old, is just far too young. And while I didn’t know the significance of the results, the “greater than 50%” part hit me hard. I knew it wasn’t good.

While I appreciate the immediate gratification of My Chart test results, I was once again left with these results and google until I could talk to our cardiologist. I read things like:

Death of the heart cells

Myocardial involvement is one of the main factors for mortality

Heart failure

And I googled things like:

Life expectancy for a 9-year-old with greater than 50% myocardial involvement

Quality of life with heart failure

Then I got smart and stopped the downward spiral and reached out to our Cardiologist. It’s been extremely important to me that our clinical care team is more than just a group of physicians that we see a few times a year. That is why we endure long travel days to Ohio from Minnesota, so that we can continue the relationships that we have built for so many years. So I texted our Cardiologist and within minutes had a call back. More than that, she was on a morning beach stroll with her husband while on vacation. I will always make sure we have the right people on our care team, people I know will have my back, and more importantly, Caleb and Dunky’s back.

This conversation was extremely beneficial, not because she said, “it’s okay” or “he’ll be okay” or “it’s no big deal” but because it was a conversation of her first listening to me cry, but then she said things like, “I’m so sorry”, “it’s a terrible disease” and “we will start more heart meds now”.

So here we sit a little over one year later with more data for both kids. Caleb has since had 2 more MRIs, he’s moved from watching Disney movies while getting his MRI to listening to Eminem. They are both now on 3 different heart medications (lisinopril, eplerenone and carvedilol) and we are increasing doses periodically as they grow. Caleb’s results are stable, hoping that the meds are helping to not have additional cardiac issues, at least for now. Stable is winning in Duchenne.

Dunky has had one MRI and his initial results were not good either. In fact, his Left Ventricular Ejection Fraction (LVEF) was worse than Caleb’s initial MRI. It read things like “low-normal” instead of “normal” and “approaching 50% myocardial thickness”. Still scary words and scary stuff, but data is power, and I was ready for this news. Thank you, Caleb, for paving the way so I could take this news better. I still cried, I still yelled, I still grieved this news, but I was able to recover a bit sooner. These results caused the Cardiologist to put Dunky on all the same heart meds as Caleb. He will have another MRI in about 6 months. We pray for stabilization in the LVEF (current state was 53%).

I’m grateful for technology, for EMR systems that talk to each other and for access to information. Duchenne is an interesting disease. I feel like we live in a community focused on data, especially with so many clinical trials in place for Duchenne. However, at the same time I feel like we live in a place of ignorance because there is still so much we don’t know about Duchenne. Like the Cardiologist told me while strolling that white sand beach, “there can be a kid with Duchenne in heart failure that stays at that level for years” but I can’t help but think about the 12-year-old with Duchenne that died of heart failure.

Yes, 12-years-old. Caleb turns 11 in two days. This is the unknown. People love to talk about adults with Duchenne that lived into their 30’s, but it seems that there are still far too many kiddos with Duchenne not making it to their 20’s. There is so much we truly don’t know. I went so far to ask at our last appointments “how much longer do you think we have?” and that question couldn’t be answered. They don’t know.

So what do we do with this data, with this power, with this ignorance and with this bliss? We embrace it. We use what data we have to make guided decisions on medications and how we spend our time. We use the unknown to treat life as if we may not get tomorrow. We stand back up when we feel so kicked down. We ask for help, we spoil them, we live our lives in a way that we won’t have regret.

Thank you to this village that helps us on this journey.

10/26/24

We are approaching six years of Caleb and Dunky being diagnosed with Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy. The hope that emerged during conversations with other families, clinicians and scientists was promising. I wasn’t guaranteed anything, but I was told from many different people that Duchenne will look different for my boys due to the advancements in treatments that were surfacing. It was never said but the sentiment was “If you have to live with Duchenne, now is the best time for this diagnosis."

However, six years later, Caleb (10) is now nearly 100% wheelchair bound and Dunky (8) is slowing down by the minute. Don’t get me wrong, some of those treatments that were surfacing have been FDA approved, have hopes for label expansion or are close to approval. But there is so much we didn’t know six years ago, that we do know now……..none of those treatments will benefit my boys in the near term. Dunky and Caleb have a rare mutation (deletion of exons 6 – 17) which we were told early on may mean they have less impact on their cognitive ability. While that might be true, it is now thought to have an increased impact on their heart.

We are so happy for all of those that are benefitting form promising exon skipping drugs or gene therapy, but we, unfortunately, continue to watch Duchenne rob my boys of their ability to function as normal kids.

Earlier this week, Dunky was screened for a clinical trial. It wasn’t a life-changing treatment, but it was a drug that is thought to slow the progression and keep boys ambulatory for longer. There is more to being ambulatory than a badge of honor, though it feels that way sometimes. Keeping these boys ambulatory helps them burn calories and keeps organs moving that otherwise get lethargic when wheelchair bound. This journey started nearly 9 months ago when both boys were deemed eligible for a screening of this trial. One cohort, to the next cohort and then evaluating BMIs. Dan and I had already decided we wouldn’t put up Caleb as a candidate. It’s really hard to choose when you have multiple children but you evaluate their current state and what they might be able to handle and make decisions. You will never know if they are the right decisions, but you have to go with it and be confident.

In May of 2023 when this trial first came up, Caleb was slowing down at a rapid pace. He was falling a significant amount and we were seriously considering an invasive foot surgery to straighten out his right foot. Due to these factors, we passed on Caleb and he underwent surgery in the summer of 2023. We embarked on a risky surgery as we knew we could get his foot in a good position, but we didn’t know if it would help him walk. We will never know if it helped or hurt, but what we do know is his foot is straight to help with standing and transfers and we have decreased his falls risk to nearly zero given his walking is now minimal if not non-existent.

Back to Dunky, he was deemed ineligible due to his BMI for the cohort at hand. I seriously considered dramatically decreasing his food intake and giving him healthy doses of Miralax prior to the trial screening, just to help him pass. But then I prayed for clarity and answers and realized how ridiculous my plans were. So while the trial worked to eliminate the BMI requirement for future cohorts, we declined the screening.

Fast forward to a future cohort where the BMI was eliminated and we were invited for a screening. Funny enough, the BMI is no longer an issue for Dunky as we have moved him to weekend steroids and that has helped with his physique. Some believe weekend steroids may slow the kiddos down, but there is not data to support that. Regardless, high BMI slows them down anyways, so we decided to make that change. Enough time has passed since initial discussions that this disease has taken so much of my little Dunky. But here we go anyways, we had to give it a shot.

Our little guy was so brave. He reluctantly signed his name agreeing to do all of the things the trial asked of him, and it was a lot. Physical tests that would be no big deal to a typical kiddo, but causes stress on these boys that struggle so much and get exhausted so fast. There were many appointments, blood draws, heart scans, etc but he said he would do it.

And so it began. Things were going well, until the blood draw. You would think he’s had them enough that it would be no big deal, but he screamed bloody murder “you guys….I quit” over and over. It hurt my mom heart. But then it was over and he said it wasn’t so bad.

Time passes with more tests while I wait in the lobby for my brave boy and then it happened. They pulled me into the room and I knew right away based on their faces. Dunky just couldn’t complete one of the two timed tests in the allotted time, it was to get off the ground to standing. What he could do fairly easily just six months ago, had become extremely difficult and nearly impossible.

I sobbed and Dunky asked over and over why I was sad. All I could tell him was how proud I was of him for being so brave, for giving it his all. But what I didn’t tell him is I’m so damn sad that this disease is taking so much from him in what feels like such a short amount of time. I wasn’t sad that he failed, I was sad because it was yet another reminder that Duchenne is winning their bodies over.

We recovered at the hotel with chocolate milk and prosecco and thoroughly enjoyed the rest of our stay. It was traumatic for me, but Dunky only remembers all the chocolate milk I let him have and the sushi we had that night. These boys are so brave and resilient.

While we continue to notice things they can’t do, we are committed to not letting Duchenne win their spirits. As always, we are thankful for all of the love and support as we navigate unchartered territory with this disease. We know we can’t do this alone!

1-22-24

There is no shame in realizing you need a mental pause or re-set. It took me months to finally “cave” and admit I needed some time for myself. I was afraid that people at work would think I was weak-minded. I was afraid it meant a step back in my career and that my project teams and clients would think I am not accountable. I was afraid that people who knew I was on leave without an actual physical injury, would deem me crazy. I was afraid I would receive pity. However, what I learned is that I didn’t “cave” at all. In fact, what I did was an action of power. I listened to my body and did what it needed, what I needed.

Whether you are a parent to a special needs child, are a caregiver to a parent or a fur baby, have a relationship that is hard or are single with all the stress that life brings, listen to your body and your mind and fuel it with what you need. Be true to yourself and forget about what other people will think.

We have always had a family laptop, but I bought a personal laptop that is easily transportable and will allow me to close down my work computer and easily fire up my cute, little ThinkPad to do personal tasks without the distraction of work in the background. I think this is the best thing I did during my leave for my future self and I’m so excited about it. Also, a touch screen is life changing!

I learned what I needed for a re-set and it wasn’t extravagant or over the top. It was two weeks without working hanging over my head. Completely disconnected. I literally moved my work email icon from the main ribbon of my iPhone to the last screen. It currently reads 458 emails and grows by the minute, but I haven’t opened it once. It’s probably what some people give themselves on an annual basis, but I do not. I pride myself on being plugged in and being responsive, no matter what. But that isn’t something to be prideful about, that’s actually doing more harm than good. This allowed me to give myself the ability to focus on my personal life and to focus on things I was either intentionally or unintentionally shoving under the rug. Some of my focus were tasks I was neglecting for various reasons and some of the focus was allowing myself to feel the feels, more on that below.

I allowed myself to feel my feelings. I often hear this phrase, “I’m sure work provides you with a nice distraction from reality.” I heard it enough that I started to believe it’s what it should be, and I became an expert at shifting from what would have been extreme grief to work, on a moment’s notice. I never gave myself the chance to be present with the feelings that were happening. But what I’ve found is that embracing the beauty of our reality is exactly what I need to do in order to live in the present moment. Finding ways to distract my mind isn’t doing justice to what I have, and what I have is four beautiful boys that are gorgeous and happy and perfect as they are today. My reality is that two of them are in the throws of dealing with a progressive and terminal disease. My reality is that the time I have with my boys, all four of them, is precious.

My leave was such a perfect mix of doing and relaxing, individual time and together time, tears of grief and tears of joy. A few of the things I was able to do during this leave:

Brought my boys to and from school nearly every single day.

Took post school swims on those 100 degree days.

Created a reward chart to help Caleb walk – prize stakes may bankrupt me as I let him dictate

Created September’s visual calendar…..on time!

Spent 4 amazing days with my husband

Played golf

Figured out how to get 2 wheelchairs in the back of my SUV (grateful for weather tech pet ramps)

Drank plenty of tequila high noon’s, my new favorite

Spent mid-mornings at new coffee shops

Set up my new laptop that I’m in love with

Planned play dates for my kids

Logged into a website for my kids school that I never have before (we are going on year 4) to discover report cards!

Went down waterslides, many times

Attended 7 different medical appointments

Prayed, a lot

Wrote, a lot

Went on a private flight with my hubby to WI for coffee and a hike

Went back to yoga, so good for the body and the soul

Ran many miles, such a good way for me to escape the real world

Biked many miles, mostly towing a child in our trusty Burley

Found apps to manage our medical care so others can help and follow along

Fought for wheelchairs (battle not yet won)

Picked out mulch for our newly paved sidewalk and provided encouragement for Dan to lay it down

Cleaned my personal email inbox (feels so good)

Decided to take the plunge on an accessible mini-van (swallowed my ego and am doing what I know is right for the boys and our family)

1:1 dates with my boys

And now I sit at one of my favorite establishments to finish up my leave. Thank you to Carbones for always taking in our family and accepting us as we come on that day, as every day looks different for our family. One day it feels we are singing praises and the next we have been hit with bad news.

I’ve learned so much in just two short weeks and know I will need more quality time with myself in the future. Upon my “return to work” appointment with my PCP a few days ago, my wonderful doctor looked at me and said, “you are radiant, you are living, you are smiling. And this is what we are figuring out how to keep up in the future.” So I will go back to work with my eyes wide open, allowing myself to feel the feels and take breaks when I need them. I will not feel shame in what I need, but rather feel pride in the ability to know my body and my mind.

Thank you to our village for your unwavering support.

Sarah Kasner - 9-10-23

https://www.kasnerskickduchenne.org

Although I’m not completely fulfilling my 2023 goal of monthly blogs, I’m giving myself grace and not grief. This is a phrase that I have come to grow and love and accept, that I learned from my kids school, Our Lady of Peace a few years back. Mr. Paul Berry used these words as we navigated the COVID school years. It just works, doesn’t it? Give Grace, Not Grief. I have found this helpful as I encounter feelings of frustration daily. This ranges from watching my boys lose the ability to do things they could do the day before to countless fights with insurance to feeling unequipped to have two boys that will be wheelchair bound in the not-so-distant future (barring any life-altering treatments that they would need almost immediately).

However, I have found it equally helpful, if not more helpful, for me to apply it to myself. Duchenne has a way of pulling me in so many directions, and it’s so exhausting. I recall upon diagnosis about 5 years ago that I declared I would do ANYTHING to help my boys stay ambulatory and stay alive. I would move across the country, I would move to a different country, I would quit my job, I would sell everything I owned, I would advocate, I would prioritize them and what they need above my own needs, always. While some of that is still true, it’s also not practical as a human with a job, a husband, 2 other kids, a home I love, and family and friends that I adore and need to see. It’s also been so evident that unless I place some of my own needs above my boys, I will not be able to give them the love, support and physical assistance that they need. So here I am, 5 years later, giving myself grace, not grief for allowing myself to prioritize my own needs at times.

Where I have struggled the most is with the to do’s for the boys. It truly is a list that never ends and I’ve recently realized, I just can’t do it all. We, as a family, just can’t do it all. And so I’ve allowed myself to give us grace, and not grief. I’ll share some examples for those that may be able to relate.

 -  Caleb has headgear that he was instructed to wear nightly before getting his braces. Caleb didn’t like falling asleep with his headgear, so this required us to attempt to wake him up before we went to bed, trying to pry open his mouth, get rubber bands on what seemed like the smallest hooks in the world, while hoping he didn’t chomp down and then attaching this contraption to the front of his head. Then telling him to go back to sleep. I found myself stressed every night as this time approached or pushing out my bed time so that I wouldn’t have to execute the headgear routine. Nope! I’m not letting headgear add stress to my already stressful life. So we did it on our time. Some weeks it was every other night, other weeks it was not at all. Sometimes we negotiated with him that he needed either his nighttime braces (on his feet) or his headgear, and let him choose. Yes, this meant more weeks overall, but it eased stress for all involved.  Give grace, not grief.

 -   Nighttime braces are another pain point. Both boys are supposed to wear their nighttime braces every single night. While they tolerate them (mostly) they beg to have nights without them. So we have an agreed upon wear pattern for Caleb (right leg, both legs, none) that we felt like was a good compromise. Meanwhile Dunky, who has a mind of his own, will not go to sleep with them on at all. So I was to go in before I go to bed and try to put on his braces while he is sleeping. This is no easy task and I started to dread it and get more stressed as my bedtime became near. Nope! Not letting nighttime braces add stress to my already stressful life. So I found my own cadence. I do one foot each night and sometimes I allow myself to do none and that’s okay! Give grace, not grief.

 -   New medications are also a stressor. We were advised to start Caleb on growth hormone therapy nearly one year ago. I knew this would be an insurance fight that I just wasn’t ready to embark on as I was already fighting other medications with insurance. So I didn’t. Six months went by and during our check-in with endocrinology and asking about why we hadn’t yet started, I allowed myself grace instead of beating myself up. I simply said, “I didn’t have the time or energy to focus on it.” I NEVER would have imagined allowing myself to say that upon diagnosis. I would do everything promptly and as I was told, but the reality is I am human with so many demands and competing priorities, and sometimes I just get to choose. Give grace, not grief.

 -   Dunky struggles with his eyes. Ophthalmology is a specialty all Duchenne kiddos see as cataracts are yet another side effect of those lovely steroids. But Dunky has extra complexities as something called exotropia, meaning the outward drifting of his eyes. Unfortunately, he thinks he looks “stupid” in his glasses and refuses to wear them despite the truth that they are so flipping adorable. Watch out world because his next request was if he has pink glasses, he will wear them. I didn’t realize we were one year late for his next Ophthalmology appointment until an annual well visit reminded us his eyes are bad. In my defense (although I don’t need defense when I have grace), no one called me to schedule this appointment. Apparently, I’m just supposed to remember or be organized enough to know to schedule the appointment. Dunky will likely need surgery and of course we can’t get an appt until September. I started to beat myself up, but then I stopped and paused, and gave myself grace. Stay tuned for updates on next steps.

I must say embracing this phrase has been empowering for me. I’m not going to beat myself up over everything that I’m not doing. I’m going to celebrate all of the things that I am doing, both for myself and my family. It’s allowed me to recalibrate my priorities so that the most important things become the focus. The most important things are not nightly headgear or wearing nighttime braces on both feet, but it’s seeing the smiles in my boys faces when they make a request and I simply say “yes.”

On July 26th, Caleb will be going into surgery for a tendon transfer in his right foot in hopes he gets a bit more time on his feet before he is wheelchair bound. We are nervous but know that we have done all we can to weigh the options and have consulted with the best of the best. We feel so blessed to have our boys under the care of the best providers that are more than a clinical care team, they are a large part of our boys’ lives that we have grown to love over the years. We will keep you updated on the surgery and would welcome love and support during this time and the recovery after.

Duchenne is a beast. It is sad, terrifying, frustrating and exhausting, just to name a few. Everyday their needs get greater and I wonder how I will be able to continue to help them. Just recently I had someone say, “you still pick them up?”  Yes! I do, because I don’t have a choice! I tell my boys every single day, “I will always be here to help you, no matter what!”

January 4, 2023

2023 Goal….write more. I love writing, but I never make enough time for it. I’m not even sure I’m that good at it, I just know it’s therapeutic for me and often provides me and my family with support that I never know I even needed. I have a goal in 2023 to have a blog post at least once a month, so stay tuned!

So today, it is Wednesday night, the first Wednesday of 2023. We are almost 5 years into the diagnosis of Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy for both Caleb and Dunky. Here I sit at 9 pm in the Ronald McDonald House (RMH) across the street from Nationwide Children’s with Caleb sleeping, who is exhausted from the past few days, but also likely exhausted from just living with this disease.

Our flight plans were perfect, leave on Tuesday at 1 pm from Minneapolis, appts on Wednesday, leave on Thursday. But mother nature had other plans with inclement weather, so we changed flights to leave Monday night, only to be faced with delay after delay. We finally got to our hotel in Columbus at 3 am. I booked a hotel and arranged for a late check out so we could sleep and go swimming at the indoor pool before heading to the RMH. Caleb lasted 13 seconds in the pool because it was too cold for him. I’d like to think my ability to brush that off is due to my obsession with yoga, accompanied with parenting kids with special needs, cause deep down I wanted to force him to swim since that’s why we were there. Kudos to me.

Doctor appointments were hard. I wrote a 3-page paper and sent it ahead of time just to be able to document my thoughts related to Caleb and this disease. I did this so I didn’t have to continuously talk about his failing body in front of him and to avoid the tears that accompany those discussions. It discussed things like his increased struggles to get off the floor, his muscles that fatigue faster than I would ever imagine, the depression and anxiety that he expresses in his words and actions.

Caleb is 9, the age where you start to see disease progression. It used to be 7 or 8, but with steroids, it is more like 9 or 10. He’s also brilliant. I watched him look at the older kids in the lobby of the waiting room and could see the anxiety and wonder on his face if that is what is to come. Yes buddy, that is what is to come. But instead, I flipped that stroller around and engaged him in the Paw Patrol show that was playing on the other side of the lobby. We don’t try to hide anything from our boys, but sometimes, it’s even too much for me.

This visit I strategically needed a coffee while Caleb did his PT, which involves the Northstar Ambulation Assessment. I typically accompany him and help him along, but I knew his physical decline would be too much for me to watch. It’s so sad to see a 9-year-old be asked to jump or take a step, and they aren’t able to do that. Thankfully, Nationwide has the best clinical team that they jumped in and took Caleb without missing a beat.

It was just two weeks ago that I was doing this same thing with Dunky. Travel, flights, overnights and days of doctor appointments. I still find it hard to believe that both my kids have a terminal disease that require so much clinical interventions. It’s already exhausting and it’s just the beginning.

In a nutshell, this disease is the worst. It can get the best of you if you let it, but I continuously do things to ensure it does not, because life is too short for a typical person, and it’s certainly too short for a little boy with Duchenne. So we saddle up, make the best of every day, travel, smile, create memories, spend too much money on ridiculous things that make them happy, advocate, ensure they have the best clinical care and put our trust in God that their lives will be filled, joyous and plentiful while they are here on Earth.

Thank you to all that are on this journey with us, you know who you are! It’s all of you that ask how you can help, it’s all of you that show up at my doorstep with treats for the boys or coffee for us, it’s all of you that continuously donate to Kasners Kick Duchenne or the Flanigan Lab that fuels the Duchenne research, it’s all of you that invite us out, knowing it may not be what you expected, it’s all of you that join me in the Columbus marathon, it’s all of you that rode the KKD Gravel and can’t wait to do it again, and much more. We are forever grateful.

Love, the Kasner Family

1/4/23

It’s funny that it’s been 11 months since I’ve officially posted a blog. I learned through my boys being diagnosed with Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy that writing is therapeutic for me. So I have been writing, however through other forums than this blog.  It’s been a few bullets in my notebook about my current stressors or why I hate Duchene or what I’m grieving.  It’s also a mean email I want to send that I write out and then send to myself or delete.  Today I was mad, like really mad, because my kids were being the ultimate brats. Crying over stuffed animals, Dunky promising Caleb a trade that he never intended on following through with, threatening each other to break their favorite toy, or throw their ipad at each other. I took an envelope off the counter that I intended to slam down on the granite as hard as I could because I knew it would be loud and get the attention of my kids. I should have paused and written about how annoyed I was with my emotional children, because the envelope move back-fired.  I caught my knuckle on the counter instead and ended up with a black and blue, swollen finger and tears myself.  So when in doubt……turn to writing.

Today I want to write about this inaccessible world we live in and challenge our society to do better. What if we lived in a world where you assumed the worst so that we met people at the appropriate level?  What if we assumed people couldn’t hear, speak or walk? This sounds hard, I know. I imagine we would approach people with a large smile and figure out what they need from us in conversation.  I imagine we would give people the benefit of the doubt.

If people gave me the benefit of the doubt, I bet the following would happen:     

-  People wouldn’t stop to tell me my double stroller is too large to fit in their small restaurant or not permissible in the airport.

-  People wouldn’t look at my 6- and 8-year-old in a stroller and say “Are you 4?” bur rather look at my beautiful boys and say “How old are you?”

-  People would fix their broken handicap accessible doors that make entry into their establishment otherwise impossible.

-  People would install a handicap parking spot at our favorite local establishments when we ask.

-  People would give grace when a full on fight breaks out between my boys because take a corticosteroid EVERY SINGLE DAY that is enough to make one go bat-$hit crazy after just a few days.

-  Medical appointments would be accompanied with Social Workers to help me and my boys when they tell us hard news.

-  People would assume any additional ask of me or my kids is the last straw before a major break down.

-  People would assume we are juggling more than is feasible so when a deadline is missed, it’s forgivable.

Wouldn’t it be amazing if people Gave Grace and not Grief?  That doesn’t mean you can’t voice concerns, but it means you assume that everyone is doing the best they can and instead approach any problem from a space of love and kindness.  There is SO much more room for love in our world.

It’s amazing to think we have been waiting for more than 6 months for the school district to fulfill the role of a Special Ed Assistant (SEA) for Caleb and Dunky. We have been going the ENTIRE school year with an IEP that is not fulfilled.  I listened to a podcast recently that said, “Just get it written into the IEP, because then they are legally bound to do it.”  Apparently, that doesn’t matter because our SEA minutes are written into our IEPs, but we have no coverage.  Thank the Lord for wonderful and committed staff at Our Lady of Peace for going above and beyond to fill the gap because they care, because they know what my kids need to be safe in school.  But that isn’t the right solution, nor a long-term solution.  We can do better, can’t we?  

I’m nervous for the next few months.  We have so many activities, some good, some hard, but all things that are needed to ensure my boys have the best life possible.  Major “highlights” include:

-   Nearly 2 straight weeks of work travel for me with much more on the horizon

-   A special day with mommy due to Caleb and Dunky’s school ski trip that they can not attend

-   A week with Minnie and Papa in warm weather

-  Dunky’s 7th birthday

-  Dunky at Neuromuscular appts at the U of M

-  Caleb at Cardiology appts in MN

-  2 separate trips to Nationwide for Neuromuscular at Nationwide Children’s (Columbus, OH) including psychiatry for Dunky and Growth Hormone testing for Caleb along with Neuromuscular appts

-  Caleb in numerous Orthodontist appts

-  Duchenne Community Conferences

It’s not all bad, it’s just a lot.  So many stressors and upon every outing we experience numerous encounters where I think our world can do better. I think if we were given the benefit of the doubt, it could save tears and emotions.

We are thankful for our abled bodies to take care of our kids that need our help.  It is my life mission to help this world embrace people with varied abilities. It’s hard, but I’m glad God put me on earth to help with this mission.

I recently had a two-hour conversation with a friend I haven’t talked to in too long.  So much has happened in life since we talked last that just the question “What’s going on?” or “How are you?” felt like a daunting task to figure out where to start.  We decided we would start conversations differently, “What doesn’t suck?”

So while I could unleash on all the things that are so hard right now, I will choose to bring up the things that don’t suck first:

 Caleb and Dunky’s infectious smiles.  We have so many days as parents filled with tears, but then we get one glance at our kids and are quickly reminded that they are happy and filled with joy.

1:1 time with each kid.  Caleb and Dunky are the epitome of the phrase “you can’t live with them, you can’t live without them.”  They fight a lot when they are together, but they also can play so nicely.  Dan and I don’t often split up the kids, because then the other parent doesn’t get a break, so the kids are used to being together ALL THE TIME.  So when this idea of me taking each kid separately to Florida was brought up, they were skeptical.  But we did it and found so much joy in spending quality time with just one kid. For once, they got undivided attention from one of us.  There was no yelling, fighting, screaming, melt downs, there was just beautiful and special time.  Most importantly, the kids got to do what they wanted to do, not what the other person wanted. Dan and I would exchange pictures during this time and it was so on point.  Caleb spent time playing school and teaching his minions math, while Dunky played in the rain, begged for starbucks everyday, ate ice cream and swam for hours.

Caleb’s play date.  We have found the best school for Caleb.  They have welcomed Caleb for exactly who he is and have embraced the Kasner family, while learning about Duchenne along the way.  And Caleb had a play date….at a friends house…….without me there.  That’s no big deal for most 7 year olds. But for Caleb, that’s a first.  His face lit up when I told him his buddy wanted him to play. I never thought we would do it. Not because he wouldn’t be asked, but because Caleb’s body is so fragile and I always worry about this safety, I didn’t think I would feel comfortable. But this family is so kind, the friend is as nice as could be, the parents both have learned about Duchenne and they were willing to make it happen. So it did.  I provided Caleb’s cliff notes, brought him over with some of his favorite stuffies and after a few hours I got to hear about the joy he experienced on a playdate without his helicopter mom.  

Swimming. We were at a pool party with other families that have kids with Duchenne. We were fairly new to diagnosis. But I watched a boy with Duchenne get up out if his wheelchair, take a few steps and jump into the pool and swim, independently, with the biggest smile on his face.  I was in awe and thought that…..I want that for my boys. So we’ve been doing just that, investing in swimming and it’s been so rewarding.  We have gone from two boys that were afraid to put their toes in the water to two boys that would now choose the water over land.

So there are some things that don’t suck.  But there are plenty of things that are hard right now, physically and emotionally. Duchenne is no joke.  While we live in the moment, I still find it hard to not look at my kids and be slapped in the face with this disease.  I share these hard things not so that you feel bad, but so that you can send love and prayers our way, in particular for Caleb. We always feels the love and it makes the difficult times a bit easier.  

Caleb is going into surgery on Friday.  His gait is so imbalanced that he was close to being off his feet but yet is still fairly strong.  We will see if it buys Caleb time on his feet.

Caleb was advised to get 6 teeth pulled! Six!  Is that even a thing?  Oh and a lifetime max of $1,000 for orthodontia treatment.  Is that even coverage? Does that even put one brace on one tooth?

Caleb is shopping for adaptive equipment to help with his mobility, I can barely say a wheelchair.  I can barely admit he needs that.  But we have started that process because we see Caleb struggle and we know he needs help. He currently uses his orange little jog stroller that swallows him up and is hard to get in and out of.  I hope the freedom he feels with this new equipment will bring a smile to his face and a joy in his heart that takes the pain away from me.

Caleb needs wheels to help him be independent.  I always thought I would be 100% prepared, emotionally and logistically for when this time comes.  Nope, not one bit.  We live in S Mpls and have multiple stairs to all 3 different entrances into our house.

Caleb has to go pee, ALL the time.  So imagine every 30-ish minutes you have to go to the bathroom but yet getting there, maybe even the thought of getting there, is fatiguing.  This has been such a struggle, more for us then him.  We just carry around lots of extra clothes and never make him feel bad for what we know he can’t fully control.

Caleb’s disease is progressing.  I see it when I look at him, I see it when I watch him toe walk on his right, I see it when Dunky gives him one little push and he falls to the ground, I see it when I watch him play outside and he can’t do things he used to be able to do, I hear it when he says, “Mommy, can you carry me to bed?”, I even feel it when I pick him up because his muscles in his armpits are weakening.  

All of that with Caleb, meanwhile we watch Dunky’s stronger than normal body struggle through anxiety issues.  But I believe in COVID blessings, because COVID allows Dunky to hang out all day, everyday, with the best kindergarten “teacher” he could ever have, his daddy.  It would be remiss of me to not recognize how wonderful his “real” kindergarten teacher is, but Dan is right there with Dunky to help him through his day, every, single, day.  It’s the most special bond and time they would never had together if it wasn’t for COVID.

So that is why I write, to put my feelings on my sleeve.  To discuss the good and the stuff that sucks  There is so much good, but Duchenne sucks.  We could not do this alone, but together we can #kickduchenne.

Thanks for supporting Caleb, Dunky and our family.  We love you!

As much as we say we will not let Duchenne define us and our lives, I’m starting to think that is an unrealistic goal and moreover, almost a selfish goal.  What if instead we embraced Duchenne for what it is and all that comes with it (which is more than you could ever imagine) and just lived in the present moment no matter what that brings.

Most think of Muscular Dystrophy and think of the muscles and if you know about Duchenne, you think of those young boys whose muscles start to deteriorate at such a young age. It is true, it’s a neuromuscular disease, that effects the muscles, that gives light to this disease from an outsider, especially as the disease progresses.

At Dunky’s age (4), it’s very few outsiders that would notice something isn’t quite right as his physical differences are nominal.  He may run a bit different, he may slide down stairs on his butt (even in public), he may ask to be carried more often than normal and he may drop his drawers anywhere to go pee because he knows his body can’t make it to a bathroom.  But, he “looks” like a typical 4-year-old.  At Caleb’s age (6), most notice something is different, but they can’t quite tell what.  He’s shorter than most (due to daily steroids), he uses a manual scooter to get around (like a razor), he can’t quite participate in activities like others can, he is self-conscious, he would prefer a pull-up vs underwear, he falls a lot, he can’t climb, he can’t navigate a staircase, he tires as if he has just ran a marathon ALL THE TIME.  Think how hard that is for these kids, and then think how hard it is on those parents who must watch this disease progress and navigate the challenges with them.

Dan is out of town this weekend and while yesterday was a good day, I bet if any other parent or person was along side us for our day, they would not agree with that statement. It started at 6:08 am with Caleb calling for mommy and me negotiating with him to stay in bed until 6:30. Not unlike most kids, but the difference is, he needs our help to get out of bed. So, there is no such thing as helping yourself to a screen for a few minutes so mommy can sleep for a bit longer.  There was constant bickering, screaming and meltdowns between Caleb and Dunky about nothing of importance. Literally about how many stuffed animals the other one has, what color their toothbrush was the night before, what level of some game they are on, what time it is, what day it is, what year it is, anything.  I’m in tears and they are in tears.  So, we write a schedule for the day and decide the goal of the day is to make mommy cry less.

We go about our day and it’s great, but it involves pulling over while in route to various activities to let one pee outside of the car and then 5 minutes later, doing the same for the other.  You see stopping somewhere to go pee in a bathroom with two kids is hard enough with making them wait, getting them both in and out of a car seat and then fighting over who gets to use it first in what is typically just one stall.  You add their disease in the mix, and it’s even harder.  So, we stopped trying, we think we’re pretty good about being incognito, but care less about if someone sees us.

The boys watch their brother play hockey, they cheer on their brother while using me as a jungle gym, while other little kids have the time of their lives running up and down the stairs and around the rink meeting new friends that can do the same.  Nope, not my kids.

We get home and the balmy weather (40 here in Minneapolis) excites Caleb and he wants to put his snow gear on and play outside. Dunky (who fears everything due to anxiety), doesn’t want to put any snow gear on, but wants to stay outside.  They decide to take their scooters and go on a walk around the block. A hard task for boys with Duchenne, but I let them try to accomplish what they have their hearts set on doing. A quarter of the way through, I give my gloves to Dunky since he’s freezing. Half-way through, I have one rolling on the ground saying they can’t walk anymore and the other one begging for me to hold them.  I have no gloves and two scooters, and I honestly stop and think, I’m not sure how we are going to get home.  We decided to take turns.  So, I carry one from Point A to Point B, go back and get the next kid and do the same, go back and get the scooters and do the same. At one point I suggested they just wait there on the corner of the street and I’ll run back and get the sled.  Caleb was convinced someone would kidnap him so that didn’t fly.  A part of me wanted to tell him, “just tell them you have Duchenne and while you are cute, you come with very high needs and super expensive medical bills”, but I refrained.  We continued the Point A to Point B strategy all the way home.  I saved my boys legs, and I got in a work-out.

Since diagnosis, the physical part of Duchenne has been the focus. Just understanding what it looks like, the limitations they have, what they can and can’t do and coming to terms with how awful this disease is to their physical bodies.  But as of late, we’ve shifted into the cognitive part of Duchenne more.

We spent all day in clinical appointments at Nationwide Children’s a few weeks ago. Much of the day was talking about the effects that Duchenne has on the brain. I held strong for most of the day, but this is the part that brought me to tears.  As if the physical aspects aren’t enough, pile on all the behavioral crap that comes with it. And what we talked about; I see in my kids. While Caleb holds more of the autism traits, Dunky holds more of the “everything else” traits.  It’s bizarre and while I used to chalk it up to steroids and better parenting tactics, some of it is just realizing that this is who they are and their bodies inside are a complete disaster, including their brains.  

I watch Caleb make rules, boss his brother around, do crazy math in his head, watch clocks to the second, recall memories with dates from years ago, place things in an exact order that only makes sense to him and cry like his feelings are crushed when something doesn’t go as planned or is out of order.  I watch him fill with worry if someone comes over that may disrupt what he thinks should happen.

I watch Dunky cling on to me for life when walking into a new environment, explaining he’s scared to do what many kids would be excited to do, say zero (literally ZERO) words at school in nearly two years, turn from quiet to this uncontrollable high-pitch scream in a second, bang things against his head and kick and hit and scream as I try to hold him to calm him down from a tantrum.

We are blessed to have clinicians in this field that are helping us to understand that while some of this may be there age, some of this may be the steroids, much of this is due to the lack of dystrophin in the brain, as dystrophin is expresses in brain neurons. Historically, I would dismiss discussions about cognitive ability mostly because Caleb could nearly be a Mensa Member. He literally figured out a math pattern while playing a game faster than me yesterday, and my skill set is math.

So, what does this mean and what are we doing about it?  It means that I used to think putting them in uncomfortable situations that make them act like that would be helpful so they would “get used to it”, but I’m realizing that isn’t a tactic that will be successful for them.  It means play dates are harder and take so much out of the boys and me. It means I don’t get to see my friends as often and it means my dreams that my friends’ kids will be friends with my kids, may not come true.

“How was Halloween?” My response, “Hard.” Just when you least expect it, Duchenne hits you in the face. My kids have had their Halloween costumes for a month and been wearing them almost every day.  They chose costumes from their favorite cartoon, PJ Masks. Caleb was Owlette and Dunky was Catboy.  They have been so excited for October 31st to come, but then it came. It was different than what I expected, and I think different than what they expected or remembered from previous years.

Our neighborhood is the best.  We are surrounded by wonderful neighbors that we love dearly that happen to have kids all between the ages of 2 and 5. It’s cold this night in Minnesota, but that won’t stop us. We all meet in our front yards to take on Halloween and collect candy until they can’t anymore. They first collect special Halloween gifts from the neighbor kids and then move on to the rest of the ‘hood. The first few houses are okay, but then Caleb and Dunky quickly realize that they can’t keep up. “It’s not fair mommy, they are so fast. I’ll never be able to get as much as they get.”  

My eyes swell with tears, but I hold them back and remind them that I’m with them, will not leave them and we will have fun no matter what. There is no fault or blame, these other kids have been dreaming about this same night running from house to house to collect as much candy as possible. I would expect nothing less, no different than what I did as a kid.

We visit a few houses and it’s going okay.  But it deteriorates quickly. It goes something like this:

1)    Caleb starts getting frustrated that he can’t see the candy well enough to pick what he wants through his Owlette mask.

2)    They both start to complain that they can’t pick up the candy with their PJ Masks gloves on, but refuse to take them off because without the gloves no one will know who they are.

3)    Owlette and Catboy start getting cold. They aren’t running like many of the other kids to keep them warm.

4)    The cold starts to stiffen their muscles and the whining starts.

5)    Mom swoops in with the double stroller to help save the day.  No need for those kiddos to walk! We WILL still get more candy, I can promise you that Owlette and Catboy!

6)    Every front door we encounter thereafter brings me closer to a complete meltdown.

You see the double stroller is practically part of our family.  We use it often, maybe even more than we use our cars. Our boys are compact, so they fit in this double jogger just perfectly, even at ages 4 and 6. It’s an apparatus we bring with us everywhere we go. Not because the boys can’t walk, but because if they don’t have another option, they could push themselves too far.  And with Duchenne, a progressive neuromuscular disease, pushing too far can be damaging to the bit of muscle that still remains.

But on Halloween, this double stroller being with us meant something different.  It meant Caleb and Dunky were sitting in the stroller, at the bottom of the stairs of the front doors, while I climbed the stairs to ring the doorbell and say “Trick or Treat” on behalf of my boys. And upon the homeowner answering I found myself saying “My boys have a muscle disease and they can’t climb the stairs, can I take your bowl of candy and bring it to them to pick a piece?”  It looked like this

But do you know how many times you can repeat that phrase before having a meltdown?  I know now and it isn’t many. Three, maybe four.

So the boys and I agree that it’s time to head home. They are freezing and I’m about to burst into tears. All the sudden that stroller is to thank, we get home swiftly. Dan greets us at the door with a smile. It’s that smile that kept me from bursting into tears. The boys are so happy to see daddy and show him all their candy. I continue to survey the room. Caleb and Dunky’s faces are lit with joy and their daddy is happy to embrace them bring them warmth, like only daddy’ can do. I smile and excuse myself to the fire outside at the neighbor’s house that is keeping the adults warm. We warm ourselves with the fire, cocktails and good conversation while Dan puts Owlette and Catboy to bed.

It feels like I’m torn inside out by Duchenne when I least expect it.  I did not expect Halloween to be a time that would remind me of the beast that Duchenne is.  It’s times like these that test my faith, test my perseverance, test my strength. I will not let Duchenne win. I come out stronger and pushing harder and faster for a cure so that one day they may be able to hand out Halloween candy to kids at their own front door.

Thank you to my husband, my kids and my beloved neighbors that lifted me up on Halloween night. It truly takes a village.

It’s been too long since I’ve sat down to write about my boys and all the feelings that come with those cute, little, adorable, naughty and hilarious stinkers that suffer from this awful progressive muscular disease.  It’s time, I can feel when it’s been too long. It’s almost like a tap on the shoulder that suggests I slow down and feel the feelings and live in the moment.  Sometimes it’s easier to just keep going, full speed ahead, but easier is not always the most beneficial. I’m living in this crazy, emotional state.  One day I’m sobbing in my car or after I get the boys to bed, just to wake up with a smile and live another day like the prior didn’t happen.  It’s bizarre.  How can you be so sad one day, yet dismiss those feelings the next? It’s what happens because there is no other option.  I’m overtaken with sadness but know my boys and my family need me to be positive and strong.

This week was hard. We are 7 weeks into school and Dunky will not talk. At all, like zero words. I sat through 90 minutes of an IEP meeting for Dunky (4) and listened to all the people around the table talk about their concerns regarding his perceived “inability” to speak.  They called it (not diagnosed) “selective mutism.” My Dunky, the crazy, silly, naughty, chatty, amazing little boy that flourishes amongst a comfortable environment.  But not school, no way, no how.  Is it his way of showing power?  Or is he overtaken with anxiety?  We think it’s the latter but will embark upon therapy to try to figure that out.

I’m holding back tears while we start to create solutions for helping him “speak” using visuals and hand gestures. For now, it’s the right thing to do to ensure that he can advocate for himself.  We talked about the concerns that being nonverbal while having Duchenne creates. Imagine his muscles are tired or cramped and he can’t take the stairs or struggles to get off the floor, but he is too scared to talk so he forces himself to take the stairs instead of the elevator and fights to stand up on his own, with no help.  Or imagine he has to go potty but is too scared to talk he doesn’t tell anyone and then spends the day holding his pee with slightly wet underpants.

We have come up with some strategies to try to help him and are seeking clinical care for his anxiety, but the truth is my heart breaks for my little Dunky hearing about his struggles. However, today, just two days after this IEP meeting, I receive the picture below.

What appears to be just a cute snapshot of our Dunky brought me instantly to tears, because it has so much meaning. Part of our discussion was that Dunky has yet to fully participate in gym (45 minutes of the 3 hours he is there) and instead chooses to sit on the bench where it’s comfortable because he doesn’t have to talk.  But one of our strategies is to have Caleb, Dunky and Daddy show up 10 minutes early and play together to get him engaged and playing and hope that it continues.  They did that yesterday and today, and this here is the result. This little stinker was riding a Strider bike and NOT sitting on the bench by himself!  There were still no words exchanged, but a small sign of comfort.

So tonight, we are celebrating the small wins.  

Yep, it’s true.  I, Sarah Kasner, am the one who gave Caleb & Duncan Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy.  I am the carrier, and I had no flipping idea.  Quick Genetics 101 lesson.  I am a female who has two X chromosomes, and one of my X chromosomes has a deletion of exons 6-17 in the dystrophin gene, unbeknownst to me.  I’m thankful I’m a woman, because my other X chromosome has stepped in to save the day.  When I conceived my children with my husband (I know, too much for social media), I passed along one of my two X chromosomes and Dan passed along either his X or his Y chromosome.  Upon conceiving both of our children, I passed along my mutated X chromosome (50/50 chance) and Dan passed along his Y chromosome (50/50 chance), making these children boy boys, with no back-up X chromosome.

Boys have one X and one Y chromosome.  If a boy has a mutated X chromosome, he does not have a back-up to step in and save the day like I have.  So those boys are forced to go through life with their mutated X chromosome.  Enter Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy in it’s truest and most severe form.  Enter Caleb & Duncan.

Caleb was diagnosed in April, 2018 and it never even occurred to me that he had this genetic disease because of me.  Spontaneous mutations are real and common.  But when Duncan was diagnosed, I knew I had no hope.  The chances of both of my boys having spontaneous mutated x chromosomes resulting in Duchenne, slim to none.  So here I am, the carrier of a fatal (to males) genetic disease that I had no idea I had. 

The questions that have gone through my head are insane, even though I would never want anything other than Caleb and Duncan in this world. I would NEVER change anything about my boys.  They are miracles and they are angels.  They are my saviors and my loves.  They are my night and shining armor that get me out of bed every single day.  And they make me thankful.  I gave a fatal disease to my two sons, but I’m still thankful, even though I'm saddened daily.

Because of me, these boys will have a life that is extraordinarily harder than everyone else around them.

Because of me, these boys may never play sports.

Because of me, these boys may never have kids.

Because of me, these boys may not outlive their mom and dad.

The list goes on and on, but all of that will just beat me down.

I’m thankful for these boys that may never play sports, have kids, outlive their parents and that are required to live a hard life just to survive.

Holidays are different now because we are fearful that our holidays won’t be what we want them to be in the future.  We let the sugar fairies enter and they eat more sugar than they should ever have.  We let them get a night off of bracing. We cherish the time we have together as a family.

So today I am thankful, for the family that I have. Dan, me, my step-boys (AJ & Ben), Caleb and Duncan. Isn't it better to have kids that will be with us for a period of time than none at all? No parent ever wants to think that way about their children, but that is our reality. But our family will continue to live in the moment and embrace the now.

Thank you for all that are allowing us to embrace the now and for supporting Kasners Kick Duchenne.  We couldn’t do this without you!

Celebrating birthdays for a child with Duchenne is bittersweet.  Caleb can’t wait to turn 5 tomorrow, October 28th.  He has been talking about it for months and he has this idea that you always get the same number of presents as the age you are.  He told me that Minnie is picking out 5 Lego sets for him. When I ask him if he wants an item for his birthday, he says “I already have 5 coming, maybe when I’m 6.”  He has memorized the birthdays of his classmates so that he knows the order of who comes next until it’s his birthday again.  He loves his birthday, the cake, the presents, the party, the attention and everything in between that comes with having a birthday. He says to me “So when I just wake up on Sunday, I get to be 5?” in disbelief.  I respond, “Yes baby, I can’t quite believe it either.”

I’ll let him eat more sugar than he should have and take a break from his braces. We will have a party and he will smile, laugh and show extraordinary amounts of joy. And we will smile and laugh with him, but deep down I feel so much pain because our time is too precious.  Parents, in particular mom’s, often talk about how sad it is to have their “babies” grow older.  But when your “baby” has a progressive muscle disease, the thought of your “baby” aging is real.  It’s not “I just don’t want them to grow up” but rather the opposite, “I just hope they get to grow up.”

We got to be the “lucky” ones the past year to talk about Caleb in the world of Duchenne because he is so young and mobile and relatively pain-free. But as the seconds, minutes, days, months pass, I cringe a little bit more each day.  I still stop and relish in the beauty of my boys and their happiness, but it feels like I have this crystal ball that shows me what their life is going to look like, but they know nothing about.  And each second, minute, day, month that passes, we are closer to what we have been told that life will look like. 

I want to freeze time and love the shit out of my “babies” until I go, not them.  But then I’m taken back to reality, I shake myself out of my dreams and pick up where I left off. I can do this, they can do this, we can do this. Happy Birthday Caleb, may your dreams come true. You deserve nothing less!

Yes, YOU! If you are reading this, you have likely supported the Kasners Kick Duchenne and the Kasner Family in some way or another and it's our time to step back and say THANK YOU to everyone.  It is nearly daily that one of us has a story to share about how we feel loved and supported with this community I'm not sure we knew we ever had. Whether it's the $1 we received from an elderly woman through an exhibit at the Uptown Art Fair, or the $100's we received from kids through a Lemonade Stand, a Hug Box (bomb org, BTW) or the U of M Spirit Squad committing to our family, or the strangers that read our story and just want to help or the generous donations we are receiving to help with expenses, it's all helping.  It's bringing smiles to our face and tears of joy to our eyes to know that we are not alone. 

I wanted to share a few ways that we are using some of the funds that are being generated because this part is real, and it won't go away:

Food, food and more food.  Our kids need to eat different, so our family is eating different.  It's organic, it's healthy, it's rewarding, but it's expensive!

PT items. Slant boards and special lights they get to entice them into their daily stretching routine).

New shoes.  With new AFO's come new shoes due to wear and to fit.

Strollers.  Turns out the strollers we thought we could retire soon are our new best friends.  I've always had a love affair with my Bob (my running stroller) but we needed different types of strollers to help us maneuver the airport and crowds to give their muscles a break when most kids don't need one.

Dates with Dan. The importance of connection while raising kids with special needs is real.

Family date nights. The convenience of a meal out for all 6 of us goes further than we ever thought. It always encourages some special family time.

Travel expenses.  The Duchenne experts are everywhere.

Drugs. The steroids my boys need are not yet available through insurance.

Attorney costs to set up Special Needs Trusts.

New trikes eventually motorized scooters so they can keep up with their friends and not always feel defeated.

Burleys. Dan and I love to bike so now we each tow a kid in a burley, and those Solo Burley's are comfortable and pricey! 

Vacations and memories. It will get harder and harder to travel, especially with two boys with this disease.  No better time than now to travel and make memories.

Vitamins and supplements. They know they get 7 "vitamins" a day, not including their steroid. What they don't know is I'm also shoving stuff into other things they eat.

Housing expenses. We are already thinking about how to adapt our home in hopes that we don't have to move from our loving and Kasner-customized South Minneapolis home. This includes everything from building an extra bedroom for Minnie or the babysitter to widening doorways, to re-doing bathrooms for accessibility (even if they were recently redone), to thinking about a small pool without interrupting our U of M Sport Court, to way to get in and out of the house easier.  It goes on and on.

Everyday I am overwhelmed by how much I want to do to help my boys and fight this disease, but it is very apparent that we can't do it alone.  Not me, not my family, not my extended family, not my friends, but truly this larger community that is stepping up and showing up. To say "let me know how I can help" is turning into "this is what we are doing to help."  That's commitment and that's love and that's helping!

We can't thank YOU enough. It all matters and unfortunately, this is just the beginning. Stay tuned for so many more ways YOU can help Kasners Kick Duchenne.

We recently finished our 6-week session of serial casting and Caleb killed it. It wasn’t easy for us as parents, but he adjusted like the strong-willed person that he is.  The first set was given on 1/3 and he chose blue and orange. We spent our weeks at the Kasner household thinking about what colors Caleb should get the next Wednesday he goes in to get the next set of casts at Physical Therapy (PT).

Caleb’s PT recommended an Orthotist come to one of this PT sessions to evaluate his movement with and without his brace he had for his right foot.  This resulted in additional observations and ultimately the recommendation to move forward with serial casting.  It was believed that this would improve his gait, specifically the ability to get his feet in a neutral position and allow him to heel strike and get his knees to bend over his toes when walking.  It was explained to me that a traditional gait is so important for complete body strength, which he currently didn’t have the opportunity to obtain with his current gait. I started to play defense and ask if we could accomplish this without the casting, but they explained that although an option, it would likely just lengthen the episode of care because the casting has a higher likelihood of working.

The appointments were long (from 1.5 – 2 hours) and they got easier each time.  The first time I left in tears as Caleb stopped in his tracks after getting his casts and cried “it’s too hard to walk mommy, help.”  They told me it typically takes the length of a football field for children to get used to it, but I saw no way this was ever going to work.  Well turns out a football field was optimistic, but after 3 days, he had found strategies for how to get around.

He found his favorite ABC movie to watch while getting his casts and what I thought would become a struggle each appointment, became just a routine that he excelled at. He had quite the combination of colors each week and never let anyone sign them, despite our request each week.

On February 7th we got our last set of casts off and moved into braces on both legs that require 23-hour wear.  Bracing has come with many aches and pains for both Caleb and us.  What shoes will fit? What socks are best? What will work inside (our solution is a future blog post)? What will work outside? But what brings us a smile is the way he walks when he has them on.

We took a trip to REI a few weekends ago where we played in the tree house for quite some time.  I was helping Caleb up the stairs when a girl said to me “you can’t be in here if you are taller than the bear” and then proceeded to say, “why does he have those and why do you have to help him.”  Shame on me for shooting this little girl a dirty look and ignoring her questions.  When I reflected on that moment, I started to realize it’s time for me to get help as a parent with special needs for how to appropriately respond to questions like that.  And more importantly, how do I equip Caleb with the right information so that he can also appropriately respond.

Dan and I haven’t worried much about Caleb having friends.  We are lucky to have 3 other boys right next to us in our neighborhood that are all the same age that are just good kids with great parents.  I think these kids will have his back and love that they will know exactly how to respond to these kid’s questions, because they will just do what is natural.

We celebrated our serial casting with a trip to Florida where Caleb smiled from ear to ear while swimming under the sunshine for hours on end and playing with his cousins. It was a well-deserved break from a different start to 2018.