Twice a day, Addison needs a therapy to jiggle his lungs. If someone were to walk in on us, it would look like I was beating up on the child. In a matter of forty minutes, he laughs his head off and then eventually cries and screams. But, we always start first with the laughs.

I always wondered what I do if I got one of those “things.” The big C. Or the heart attack; or the tumor; or the……..Well here we are. We got that THING. One of those dreaded words. Researching the underlying problem Addison has called pulmonary heart disease could throw me under a bus. My goodness reading the prognosis of this THING was more terrifying than jumping off a cliff into a gorge with a pack of wolves waiting for me. No one does well with this condition. It’s not curable; It’s a life long burden. Says who?

Then, I remembered I’d been through this before. After Addison’s surgery after birth, we discovered he had two cysts on his liver ducts. (And how did we live before Internet searches??!!) First I had to figure out what the heck the bile ducts were. These tiny cysts existed on two little tubes that drain the toxins the liver expels directly into the colon. I didn’t even know we had these parts were let alone that they could develop cysts. The doctors said: another surgery in four months. If we didn’t take them out, CANCER was guaranteed. There’s one of THOSE words again.

You’ll have to read about the whole account here, but in a nutshell, the cysts went away all by themselves. Perhaps I helped with diet. I have no idea what happened except that the doctor’s said they’d never in their life seen a case like this before. All cysts, they said, had to be removed surgically. Or they would become cancerous.

I do remember back then, in the time of cysts, we laughed a lot. Norman Cousins wrote a book called Anatomy of an Illness. This was a writer, peace advocate, and professor wrought with health issues. According to his write-up:

Cousins received the Albert Schweitzer Prize in 1990. He died of heart failure on November 30, 1990, having survived years longer than his doctors predicted: 10 years after his first heart attack, 16 years after his collagen (arthritic) illness, and 36 years after his doctors first diagnosed his heart disease.

I remember hearing about this book years and years ago. One of the main principles was that Cousin’s believed human emotions were the key to affecting health. He applied laughter as one of his main medicines. I applied nothing of this wisdom when I struggled through my surgeries and illnesses years ago. For some reason, though I hadn’t seen the book in years, the idea re-popped back into my head when “THAT D” word was mentioned in the hospital about Addison.

So before I begin the “beating on the chest therapy” I always start with a good laugh. Blowing on Addison’s round belly gets him going; then we move on to the ticklish crook of his neck; and round out the laughter with nuzzling my nose into his ribs. When he gets to that super silly part, I ask him to sit up and then ask: More? He nods and says more. And so it goes on.

We try to carry this philosophy of at least smiling, throughout the day. My brother is a pro at making goofy faces. A talent I learned from him. And I know I fail more than I succeed. I’m the first to snip at my daughter or swear when Addison’s diaper contents have just smeared all over my favorite pants and belt and shirt. Yet, I even managed to dance in the hospital to High-Five, about the only highlight of mine and Addison’s day. And it is contagious, for one day the nurse walked in and though conservative and timid in her laughter, she started singing and even did a little hand jive.

I am no longer falling off a cliff. Instead I live as though I am always free-falling through the air. I took the leap and now must walk the talk to stay afloat and not let the wolves get me in the end.

The photo above was taken a few months before we found out the cysts had disappeared.

Addison was about five months old.

Addison caught a cold. What kid doesn’t? Two months later, Addison’s cold has manifested into bronchitis. All was slowly, very slowly, clearing up, but a week ago it took a turn back to where we started. Plus, since the windy season has started in Costa Rica, we’re all breathing in dust, pollen, and goodness knows what else. Addison doesn’t deal with the dust well. When he finally goes to bed at night he has not been able to breath through his nose. When he breaths, he coughs. When he doesn’t cough, he can’t breath. It sounds like he’s drowning.

Keeping up with these pesky chronic illness gets tiring. Regular-old doctors offer little help. Even if I did submit to this drug or that drug, which I have in the past, a child can only take them so long and let’s face it, do they really work? I mean really get to the root of the problem. Down Syndrome children are “supposed” to have smaller tubes in their ears and nose. This may complicate the problem, but I know I’m not alone on this pesky adenoid problem because I’ve been on the Web.

One of the things I love about the Internet is that it is this growing, living collection of brain cells, coming together to share ideas. I sat down to research, again, and found a site I’d never seen before: Earth Clinic. Low and behold there were people from all over the world sharing their experiences with Western drugs and old fashioned cures like tablespoons of apple cider vinegar (ACV for those in the know), hydrogen peroxide, baking soda, banana peels, and something called oil pulling, which I have no idea what that is. Over the days I read. And read.

The funny thing is…I don’t have a deep fear of sickness. I know this has driven me to surgically remove body parts in the past such as tonsils and cysts, but this new information coupled with the amazing resilience of children, has enlightened me to take a lot more control over our family’s health. Heck, with just a little bit of information, Addison got rid of two (supposedly) incurable, cancer-causing cysts. My daughter conquered Scarlett fever without a single anti-biotic. I still go to the emergency room. Addison has allergic reactions to things, and thank goodness for all those smart people there. But, for the day-to-day illnesses, I’m loaded for bear and on the warpath to health.

Little Addison just has to tolerate me and some of my foibles. We both hated the raw onion hanging in the bedroom, and the honey and lemon didn’t do the trick this time. We’re on to onion/honey, baking soda, peppermint oil, eucolyptis oil, ginger, tumeric tea, apple cider vinegar, grapefruit seed extract, and there’s a few more I’m forgetting right now. It’s amazing he doesn’t scream when I come near him. No, he only smiles.

And so the story goes….

(too see the first part of this story go to Miracles Make Things Go Away).

I peeled off Addison’s clothes and laid him on an exam table. He looked like a doll in a dentist’s chair. The ultrasound doctor put a pile of scratchy paper towels over his penis because she was afraid he’d pee when the cold jelly was rubbed on his belly.

The last time we’d been in this room, we found out Addison had two cysts on the bile ducts (those little tubes that drain liver liquid into the colon). At one month, the surgeon said he’d another surgery at four months. We pushed the first look at the cysts to nine months. But the prognosis was gloom and doom: without surgery, Addison would get cancer.

The doctor moved the wand over Addison’s belly. She’d push under his ribs, then explored below the belly button and over to his sides. This went on for about ten minutes. Addison lay patiently, looking at me as if I’d handed him over to aliens for inspection. The words I feared the most echoed in the room, as if they’d stayed there awaiting our return: cancer, surgery, cysts do not go away on their own, cancer, cancer, cancer.

They’re not there,

said the doctor without looking away from the screen.

I pushed my tongue against the roof of my mouth to stop the tingle of tears and screams of joy.

I can’t find the cysts anywhere.

I dressed Addison. The doctor handed me the ultrasound printout. We left the building.

The pediatrician was overjoyed about the ultrasound. She told me the ultrasound doctor wanted to tip Addison upside down to see if the cysts were hiding somewhere she couldn’t see.

That’s what I always say about medicine, she said as we put Addison on the scale.
you just never know.

But I knew. I knew it all along. And, so did Addison. To us, this was nothing out of the ordinary.

It’s taken me awhile to write this story. What happens next was so miraculous, yet so usual; I needed a little distance to gain perspective.

Addison, as you know, was born with Down Syndrome. As we left the hospital, a year and ½ ago, the surgeon informed us he’d need a second surgery. During an ultrasound, the doctor found two cysts on his bile ducts. Left untreated, according to the doctors, Addison would develop cancer. (whenever the “C” word is mentioned in the same sentence as children, fear comes-a-callin’). Imagine my horror. They wanted to do the surgery in four months. Not exactly the news I wanted to hear as we were checking out from almost of month of neonatal hospital hell.

What are bile ducts? That’s exactly what I said. The surgeon drew me a diagram. Coming down from the liver is a “Y” – two tubes that drain fluids from the liver right into the colon. Those cysts sat right on the tiny, tiny little tubes draining from my less-than-a-month-old son. Look up bile ducts and there they are – thanks to the Internet, I could see exactly, and I mean exactly, what these cysts looked like.

Check-ups followed each month. And over and over again the pediatrician told me the same thing: Addison will need surgery, but we can put it off a few months. Maybe even a few years she said.

Are you sure we can’t get the cysts to go away? I said. Can’t we get them to just disappear?

No. Nope. No. No. No. No. Never Happens.

Is the reply I heard for months to come.

Meanwhile, back in my own bat cave on my own bat channel, I did some snooping. Down over yonder in another paradigm, there are folks who believe things like cancer- causing-cysts can just go away. I contacted a homeopathic doctor over the phone, and he said: If we can balance his interior bacteria – the good and the bad – the cysts can’t survive and will dissolve. He prescribed all sorts of foods and some supplements. I’m not big on vitamins, so I stuck with just balancing the good bacteria with “pro-biotics.”

See, during the hospital visit, Addison received several rounds of antibiotics, which probably killed off most of his ability to generate the billions of good bacteria we all need to live with health and vitality. We might survive without them, but it’s like living a life as a limp handshake rather than a firm grip. And, when you’re baby, you’ve been knocked down-and-out before the chance has even begun.

Ninth months went by and it was time to take a peak at those little tubes. We scheduled an ultrasound. (See Miracle, Part II for the rest of the story.)

As I lay on the bed, careful not to move so I wouldn’t disrupt the eight needles sticking in my chest and legs, my acupuncturist played his flute for the crowd in the waiting room. It had been awhile since I’d been pricked, but with my immune system a wreck and cysts growing on the back of my neck, I decided I better get re-adjusted.

The doctor’s flute playing has improved. The first time he played for me, I was visiting him for an intestinal virus that knocked me down and bowled me over. A few years before, I’d had the same virus and suffered for a week until a conventional doctor found a drug that would work. I wasn’t going through that again, and since I had discovered acupuncture through a problem with my daughter’s teeth, I figured why not?

True, it costs some time and then there is the approximately $20.00 a visit and then there’s the flute playing, but it seems a rational, logical, and simple option to dabble with. And if it works: BRAVO! Problem solved. And if not: the doctors are always ready and willing to dispense the proper drug. So, in my book, why not give it a go.

I’d rather ramble down the road less traveled for a trip of pain relief rather than run right down the highway to the big beast of conventional medicine. - I’m not crazy, I don’ want it to go away. In fact - thank goodness it’s there! My son wouldn’t be alive without it. But I like to save their wisdom for the few and far between.

Last week, I got several massages in my home to help alliviate a pinched nerve in my neck. The woman came right to my home. The cost: $10.00 for each visit. This woman was so considerate and concerned about my neck that alone may have dissipated some of the tension. About half way through the massage, she leaned over and whispered in my ear:

Do you want me to put a chair on your back?

I looked around our cluttered guest room and wondered which chair she wanted to put on my back and how exactly a chair would help in solving my pinched nerve problem.

I repeated the word chair:

A silla? (pronouned seee ya)

She bent over and whispered again:

Arcilla (pronounced ar seee ya)

I thought for awhile….where did I know that word from? Oh yes, I know! It means clay -
she wanted to put a clay wrap on my back. Of course, I said. Clay.

The kink in my neck is gone; my daughter’s teeth are coming along beautifully; even that intestinal virus went away (the next day, and I’m not kidding!); and the little cysts in my neck will most likely dissolve with just a few more melodies on the flute.