BDSRA Conference Reflections: Writing a Better Story for Children With Batten Disease

Published: August 3, 2018 ~ 0

By Nicole McEwen

In July, I had the amazing opportunity to go to the Batten Disease Support and Research Association (BDSRA) annual conference, attended by affected families, clinical experts, members of industry, researchers and others. Families come for support and to learn more about the fight against Batten disease and resources for their children. For many families, the conference also serves as their yearly vacation, as they are allowed to bring their children who have Batten disease, as well as their siblings. Experts come to teach, gather data and promote their work.

This year’s conference was a neat opportunity for Taylor’s Tale, as Vice President Laura King Edwards got to speak about her upcoming book and blindfolded half marathon, while she and President Sharon King also networked with key contacts to continue advancing Taylor’s Tale’s important work in research and rare disease advocacy.

So, what was my role in all this?

In addition to supporting Laura, Sharon and Taylor’s Tale, I primarily helped BDSRA with childcare, both for healthy siblings and affected children. I could never quite decide how I felt about the term “affected.” On one hand, it’s true: Batten disease has affected these children, chipping away at some of them so much that it’s difficult to see past their illness. But to me, this word also seems to diminish them, taking away from the fact that they are real people and, in most cases, still kids that have thoughts and feelings, even if they aren’t always expressed in the traditional way.

Regardless of labels, I loved working with those who have Batten disease. We had fun doing a variety of activities, and some of them were so creative that they taught me another way of looking at the world. They came up with new ways to play, or they showed bravery as they barreled through the cluttered room, even though they couldn’t quite see everything. And if they fell down, they got right back up and kept playing.

I connected with siblings, too. Siblings as young as 6 can come on these group outings to fun places. The thing I really liked about this program was that some of the older siblings were in charge of how it ran and where the kids went. I got put in charge of five 6-to-9-year-olds for a trip to the Nashville Zoo.

These were the best behaved 6-to-9-year-olds I have ever encountered. On the bus, we mostly talked about their siblings and why I was coming along. It was really neat for me, as a future Child Life Specialist, to hear what it was like to have a sibling with Batten disease. Since the disease is genetic, each of siblings had also gone through testing to see if they would eventually become affected. It was awesome to hear these kids be so vulnerable: how affectionate they are toward their siblings, but also how scared they were to be tested.

Some of these siblings and their parents were at the conference for the first time, and I couldn’t help but think back to the “affected kids” session, and how hard it must be for families to see their future in that room. Some newly diagnosed kids seemed normal, other than the fact that they had to hold toys right up to their face or ask what they were touching. Others were already using wheelchairs, couldn’t speak and ate through feeding tubes. I could only imagine what it would feel like to recognize that that is what is coming for my sibling or child.

During our time at the zoo, the siblings wanted to see every animal, and we ran through the exhibits to make it back in time for dinner. At the end of the day, the zoo closed down so that we could ride the rides without any lines. This was a fun and special experience for the siblings. My group did everything, even if they were scared, because they live with an example of how to conquer fear every day.

The affected kids had music therapy the following day, and that was something else! In a lot of ways, music can reach everyone, because whether you are moving and dancing to it, singing or just listening, it brings a smile or at least ease of familiarity. Music is everywhere, from commercials and elevators to the grocery store. People use music to get pumped up to run or excited to buy something or able to cry after a breakup.

The music therapist working with the group understood the power of music and left an instrument on everyone’s seat but also encouraged them to move or sing if they wanted. She took requests that ranged from Frozen and Moana to Happy by Pharrell. We sang popular new songs and old songs and danced around the whole room. One girl sang as if she was in an opera the whole time. And the best part? These children, and some adults, were allowed to just let loose and be however they needed to be in that moment.

The BDSRA conference always includes a banquet dinner on Saturday night. The affected children are escorted in by siblings or other volunteers as they are announced by an emcee.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about this event and struggled with mixed emotions until I was in the middle of it. I had the honor of pushing the wheelchair of an older boy with Batten disease. I managed to get him in the room and lined up with the others on the dance floor before I really looked around. I had been fine when I was just in a room with the affected kids or out with the healthy siblings, but something about seeing these family members side by side, recognizing the love and the loss on each of the kids’ faces (not to mention those of their parents), will stay with me forever.

To my right, one of the older siblings had tears streaming down his face. His sister was probably in her 20s and in a wheelchair in front of him. In that moment, I recognized that he knew what was in store for her, and that there was nothing he could do about it. It took everything I had to hold back the rushing waves of water that wanted to explode down my face. I hurt for every single family in that room at that moment. It was the kind of pain that did not, and probably will not, go away.

The Sibling Dollar dance brought sweet relief after the kids went back to their families and everyone ate dinner. During this annual dance, people donate money to dance with the siblings. I didn’t have high expectations, as it felt like a lot of people in the room were families, but sure enough, most people brought up at least one dollar. In fact, the siblings raised more than $2,000 in the span of a few songs. Even better? Those from my outing group didn’t leave the dance floor. Instead, they kept dancing and smiling and encouraging their families to dance with them. They requested songs, and their parents recorded them. Some parents jumped in on the slow songs and swayed like it was the first time they had held each other in a long time.

There was such beauty and calm in those moments, and finally, I had to go back to my room and sit with my thoughts for a bit. Emotions like those I felt at the BDSRA conference are what will keep me employed on my journey as a Child Life Specialist. Sitting in my empty room after the dance on the final night, I understood my own greatest lesson from the conference: from the creativity and strength of the affected kids, to the energy and perseverance of their siblings, to my own pain of knowing what families will go through as they all stand together, I understand more clearly than ever that all kids and families touched by Batten disease deserve a better story, and we need to do something about it.

Why Batten Disease Awareness Matters

Published: June 2, 2017 ~ 0

By Judy Mayer

Each year during the first weekend in June, the Batten Disease Support and Research Association (BDSRA) and other patient organizations recognize Batten Disease Awareness Weekend. This Saturday, June 3 and Sunday, June 4 are dedicated to sharing the need for critical research and support for affected families.

My First Known Encounter With a Rare Disease

I still remember the day 20 years ago when a rare disease first attracted my attention.

I was attending a young friend’s soccer game when the father of another player arrived at the field in a wheelchair. Previously the picture of health, this 40-something man and his pretty, petite wife once walked to the playing field, cheerfully talking to other spectators and looking forward to a good game.

Now the wife struggled to push the enormous wheelchair of her clearly disabled husband. Now they hated to look forward at all.

I subsequently learned that this man had ALS, also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease. In an instant, one visit to the family doctor and one diagnosis had irrevocably changed his life and shattered his family’s emotional security.

Over the next few years, I saw this man at other games, school plays and moving-up ceremonies…the milestones great and small that create a life. Each time I saw him, the disease had taken away more of his capabilities. His family, though dedicated to involving him in their activities to the extent possible, increasingly showed the signs of stress that result from bravery in the face of overwhelming odds.

After his passing, this man’s story stayed with me – a reminder that life is a succession of surprises, some awesome and others awful.

Batten Disease Enters My World

I immediately recalled this man and his battle with ALS when my friend, Sharon King, called to ask me to serve on the board of Taylor’s Tale, founded in the name of her precious daughter who has infantile Batten disease.

Another life, and another family devastated by the diagnosis of a rare disease. But this time the news was a bit closer, within my circle of friends.

Of course, I responded. I would do whatever I could to help. That’s what friends do for each other. And perhaps along the way, I would support a worthwhile contribution to humanity.

While my actions were commendable, there remained a certain detachment. And in truth, a sense of relief that I was helping their family, supporting their efforts to deal with a rare disease.

Rare Disease Hits Even Closer to Home

After I’d been involved with Taylor’s Tale for some time, my adult daughter called to tell me she had health issues that could possibly be attributable to a rare disease.

I was shocked. Even with experience as a rare disease advocate, I was totally unprepared for the wave of fear that swept over me.

Another diagnosis, another life threatened and another family facing the unthinkable. My previous detachment crumbled, replaced by sheer terror. This time it was my family.

Ultimately, my daughter’s health issues were determined not to be the result of a rare disease. But while I am eternally grateful, I will also never forget the sense of helplessness and despair created by even the possibility.

The truth is that rare disease is closer to all of us than we want to acknowledge. One in every 10 Americans has visited the family doctor thinking that a random symptom will be cured by a wonder drug or possibly surgery, only to learn that getting a rare disease diagnosis is challenging, treatments are not assured, and cures are too often years in the future – maybe not in time for them.

The other tragic truth about rare disease is that rare diseases are not at all rare. But the encouraging fact is that each of us can bring real hope for a better future by supporting organizations like Taylor’s Tale and BDSRA – organizations that are truly improving the prospects for rare disease patients. To do so, we have to be present 365 days a year, not just for a single weekend in June.

Rare disease patients are our neighbors, colleagues, parents, spouses, children…ourselves. Detachment from the reality of rare disease creates an illusion of safety and normalcy that is but one diagnosis from vanishing.

No one ever seeks to join the rare disease community, but we are all members nonetheless.

Global Genes Summit Unites Rare Disease Voices

Published: September 28, 2016 ~ 0

By Judy Mayer

You might assume that a summit dedicated to rare disease would be a negative experience, perhaps even bordering on tragic. You would be wrong.

The Global Genes RARE Patient Advocacy Summit held in Huntington Beach, California, on September 24-25 illustrates the positive energy that defines the rare disease community. Some people showed up in wheelchairs, while others had masks across their mouths and noses. One teenage girl brought her service dog, and one woman brought her oxygen tank.

While rare diseases create a seemingly endless variety of challenges, the summit participants all share the determination to help others and to leave no stone unturned to improve the lives of rare disease patients. continue reading →

Jasper’s Legacy

Published: July 5, 2016 ~ 2

By Laura King Edwards

Early this morning, I learned of the death of Jasper Duinstra in the Netherlands. When I saw the news on Facebook, my eyes misted and my legs went numb and my heart caught in my throat. But I’m supposed to be strong, so I wiped my eyes and shook out my legs and swallowed the knot, and I stood up at my desk and walked to a meeting.

Jasper’s family is Dutch but briefly lived in the U.S., where they formed fast friendships with other families fighting Batten disease. Jasper’s parents, Bou and Pip, believed in approaching the challenges of Batten disease in the same spirit as their young son’s approach to life – a spirit of enthusiasm and commitment. They established a fund, Jasper Against Batten, to support potentially lifesaving research. continue reading →

Ten Years of Pain

Published: June 30, 2016 ~ 2

By Laura King Edwards

I’ll never forget my first Batten disease conference.

I was 25 that summer, still young and naive and supremely confident. My sister, not quite 9, had some of her vision and legs that worked and a smile that could light up a room. She could talk and sing and she didn’t have seizures. We’d known about her illness for almost a year, but I just couldn’t picture her getting as sick as the kids whose photos I’d seen on the Batten association site. continue reading →

Running for Taylor in 50 States: Pennsylvania

Published: December 7, 2015 ~ 0

By Laura King Edwards

When I crossed the finish line of Charlotte’s Thunder Road Half Marathon blindfolded in November 2013, I knew the race would be a tough act to follow. But I didn’t intend to stop running for my sister, Taylor, and our fight against Batten disease and other rare diseases. That’s why I’m running a race in all 50 states – a feat not as rare as running 13.1 miles blind but one that I hope will help me spread our story far and wide.

When Taylor was diagnosed with infantile Batten disease in 2006, the doctor advised my parents to take her home and love her. “There’s nothing you can do,” he said.

But giving up wasn’t good enough for them or anyone in my family, least of all Taylor. continue reading →

World Rare Disease Day 2013

Published: February 28, 2013 ~ 0

By Laura Edwards

This morning, about 80 people joined Taylor’s Tale as we recognized World Rare Disease Day and made an exciting announcement about the fight against Batten disease.

I shared our family’s journey and introduced our featured guest. Following is a modified version of my comments.

My “little” sister is 14. We’re the same height.

But I still remember the day she came home from the hospital. I raced my then-best friend and now-husband up the stairs to peer over her crib (he got there first).

I remember how my sister learned to read as a toddler.

I remember 5-year-old Taylor. She seemed perfect. Beautiful. Intelligent. Healthy. Spunky. She kept our brother on his toes. The world – and Stephen – were hers to conquer.

But 6-year-old Taylor couldn’t handle first grade math. Addition and subtraction left her in tears.

Seven-year-old Taylor couldn’t find her way in dim places.

Just three weeks before my sister’s eighth birthday, a monster called Batten disease burst into our world and shattered it into a thousand little pieces.

Batten disease is a rare, inherited disorder that affects mainly children. To get it, kids have to inherit a “bad copy” of the gene from each of their parents. I got one good copy and one bad copy, so I’m a carrier; that means that I’m healthy but could pass the gene on to my children. My brother is a carrier, too.

Taylor got two bad copies.

With one roll of the genetic dice, our little sister got a fatal disease.

Fourteen-year-old Taylor lives in a world that’s always dark. She can’t learn like other kids. She has seizures. She loves to sing, but soon, Batten disease will steal her speech. Even now, she only has a few words. I can ask my sister if she had a good day at school, but we can’t talk about it.

Taylor ran two 5K races with the help of a sighted running buddy through the Girls on the Run program at her school. But that was four long years ago. Soon, my sister will be in a wheelchair.

Batten disease steals the lives of children.

It upsets the natural order of things.

Children aren’t supposed to have their dreams snatched away from them by a monster like Batten disease.

They aren’t supposed to die.

Taylor was diagnosed with infantile Batten disease on July 24, 2006.

I still remember the long moment we all shared in the floor of my parents’ dark bedroom; wrapped in each others’ arms; soaked in each others’ tears.

The doctor who delivered that news told my parents to take her home and make happy memories.

We don’t have anything against happy memories. But while Batten disease is in our DNA, going down without a fight is NOT.

Every day with Batten disease is a hard day. Still, in the near-seven years since the day our lives changed forever, we followed the doctor’s orders. We made our fair share of happy memories.

But we made time for fighting, too.

With the help of good friends, we founded a non-profit organization. We raised nearly half a million dollars for potentially life-saving research and promoted awareness of Batten disease. We advocated for increased support for the rare disease community.

We partnered with other groups that share our mission; American organizations such as the Batten Disease Support & Research Association and EveryLife Foundation for Rare Diseases, and international organizations such as the Global Genes Project.

And along the way, we met MANY families like ours.

One in 10 Americans suffers from a rare disease.

Chances are, you know someone fighting his or her own battle.

To borrow words from my mom, diseases like Batten are rare…but hope should not be.

That’s why I’m pleased to share reason for new hope with you today.

On behalf of Taylor’s Tale, I’m excited to announce that we’ve joined an international coalition of organizations founded by families like ours – families that refused to go down without a fight.

Together, we’ll fund gene therapy for two forms of Batten disease. This revolutionary work will take place right here in our home state at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. The goal of this study is to pave the way for a human clinical trial.

I’ve watched this disease try to rob Taylor of EVERYTHING. I’ve prepared myself for the reality that I will likely outlive my little sister.

Bottom line – I HATE Batten disease. But in seven difficult, painful years, I’ve witnessed great progress. I’ve NEVER stopped believing.

And I believe in the ability of THIS project at UNC to help save the lives of children like Taylor.

Its leader is an expert in AAV vector design and gene therapy. He graduated from Auburn University and earned a PhD from Vanderbilt University. He completed a postdoctoral fellowship at UNC, specializing in central nervous system gene therapy. His work focuses on the development of treatments for neurological diseases. He’s been published in multiple journals and mentioned in high-profile publications and blogs. His work is chronicled on the pages of a 2012 book that explores gene therapy as the next frontier through the stories of real patients and families. The doors of his lab are decorated with photos of the children for whom he and his colleagues go to work every day.

The leader of the Global Gene Transfer for Batten Disease project is Steven Gray, PhD.

To learn more about this exciting initiative, click here.

Touchdown for Taylor: Five Years Later

Published: November 9, 2012 ~ 0

By Laura Edwards

Five years ago tonight, a small but determined group of women known as “Taylor’s Tale” threw a huge party in honor of my little sister and kids everywhere fighting Batten disease. We called it “Touchdown for Taylor.”

Touchdown for Taylor house

When guests arrived, Sir Purr, the Carolina Panthers mascot, greeted them on the steps of the beautiful home of our gracious hosts.

Inside, they mingled with former Batten Disease Support & Research Association director Lance Johnston and researcher Sandy Hofmann, MD, PhD, who had just gotten a $50,000 grant from Taylor’s Tale – the birth of a project of paramount importance in the fight against infantile Batten disease.

They heard a special message from NFL commissioner Roger Goodell and watched a slideshow of my then 9-year-old sister’s life that still chokes me up. They heard from my mom. They heard from me.

They heard a great band, enjoyed each other’s company and ate incredible food.

They gave my family, just a little more than a year removed from Taylor’s diagnosis, a fire for the fight that burns to this day. And at the end of the night, they gave Taylor’s Tale $40,000 for that fight, matching our first-ever event, “Chapter One,” nine months earlier. Just as importantly, though, they energized us. They energized me. They helped me believe in my own words when I told people we’d find a way to beat Batten disease.

Taylor is not the long golden-haired, sighted, chattering, singing fourth-grader my parents left at home with a babysitter on the night of Touchdown for Taylor. But she still has every ounce of courage she had back then.

And we’re still fighting.

Watch the Video Message from NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell

View More Photos from Touchdown for Taylor

Read My 2007 Blog Post about Touchdown for Taylor

Dance with Me

Published: July 22, 2012 ~ 0

By Laura Edwards

Five years ago, just days shy of the one-year anniversary of my little sister’s diagnosis, Mom and I flew to Rochester, NY for our first Batten Disease Support & Research Association annual conference. The airport shuttle dropped us off in a parking garage beneath the hotel, and we rode an escalator up to the lobby.

I will never forget the moment we stepped off that escalator into a sea of children strapped into wheelchairs with ugly IV bags and feeding tubes and beautiful yet broken eyes. Right then, standing in that lobby, more than 700 miles from my golden-haired, caramel-eyed sister with the sharp wit, sassy smile and broken gene, Mom turned, hid her face against my shoulder, willed herself not to cry and willed Taylor’s fate not to deliver on its horrible promise. That day, Mom vowed to never take Taylor to a BDSRA conference.

This year, the conference came to our hometown of Charlotte, NC. Affected children and their families and scientific and medical experts from all over the world spent four days in a hotel just a 10-minute drive from my parents’ neighborhood. But still, Mom held true to the vow she made in that hotel lobby in Rochester at the dawn of our journey.

The BDSRA conference always includes a Saturday night banquet that begins with a procession of affected children into the hotel’s ballroom followed by a dance (siblings dance to raise money for BDSRA, and others get in on the fun). I didn’t dance last night, even though I’m a sibling and my husband and dad joined Mom and me at the banquet. Instead, when I wasn’t working with a good friend there to film a video for Taylor’s Tale, I stood on the edge of the parquet dance floor and watched. I thought about how much Taylor, at home with a respite care worker, would have loved the dancing part of the banquet. I smiled at the memory of our friend Callie’s wedding in May, when Mom, Dad and Taylor ruled a small corner of the beach house’s dance floor, and smiled even more broadly at the image of my sister and my cousin Morgan in their matching flower girl dresses, twirling around the foyer of the Inn at Ragged Gardens at my own wedding exactly one month to the day before Taylor’s diagnosis.

As I watched, I noticed Emily, a beautiful, blonde angel of a little girl, ruling the dance floor much as Taylor did at her age. As my gaze followed Emily’s twirls and jumps and spins, it landed on her father, Tracy. In that moment, Tracy rocked to a much slower song than the one that played from the DJ’s speakers. He held Emily’s affected twin sister, Laine, in his arms.

I hate, hate, hate this disease.

That’s all.