Emma has been communicating with the help of an IPad. Just the most basic apps have open up this whole new world between the two of us. She is answering questions and communicating her needs for the first time in her life. We will soon start working with more complex applications in hopes of having continued success.
There has been some pretty exciting news on the research front. Clinical trials will be starting soon on an FDA approved drug that reversed some Angelman Syndrome symptoms in mice. We found out this week that another scientist has found a compound that will turn on the maternal UBE3 gene that is silenced in Emma's brain. This would be a potential cure for Angleman Syndrome.
Several AS parents were having a discussion recently about their opinion of a cure and clinical trials. I was pretty surprised to find such a difference in opinions. Since Emma's diagnosis, I have dreamed of a cure. This summer, my dreams and what if's became more realistic. For the first time ever, I had reason to believe that it was possible. I guess I didn't realize that others looked at things differently. These parents, regardless of opinions, are warriors in their own right. They are all fighting a battle. Some are choosing to fight for a life of acceptance for their child despite having Angelman Syndrome. They are facing the future head on knowing the challenges that they will face. Others, are choosing to fight for a cure or treatment for their child. They are letting faith and hope lead the way. One thing that they all share, they want the absolute best for their child.
I don't know what a cure will look like for Emma. I know that there are risk. Putting a child on a new drug is a scary thing. There is also the chance that my dreams of a cure won't be all that I imagine them to be. What will it be like if these meds don't work. These are all risk I am willing to take. Today, I have hope.
Hope
by Emily Dickenson
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
