CCSVI and the perfect storm

For about a week, I cautiously hoped that a new procedure might help my MS. A friend who does medical PR told me that a local vascular physician was following research on a theory that has turned the MS community on its head: CCSVI.

The CCSVI or chronic cerebrospinal venous insufficiency theory was developed by Italian doctor Paulo Zamboni a few years ago. It posits that people with MS have blockages in their neck veins that force blood back into the brain, leaving iron deposits which eventually become MS. Called the Liberation Procedure by MSers, a balloon angioplasty could open up the neck veins, "liberating" the individual from the scourge of MS.

That's the theory anyway and the wealth of unfiltered information on the internet set the online MS community on fire. Suddenly, there was hope for a better life, a different future than that envisioned by most of us -- a gradual loss of all our bodily functions.  That's the kind of scary thought that wakes you up at 3 a.m. and causes you to contemplate the options for nursing homes in the area. 

The impact of all this information on CCSVI was immediate.  Patients traveled to other countries to have the procedure done; before-and-after videos appeared on YouTube showing miraculous results; some unscrupulous doctors made piles of money off of desperate people. All this happened before the theory had a chance to be tested by the medical community.

Wheelchair Kamikaze

What little data that is available shows that some people have great results from the procedure, while others see no change. Marc, an MSer who writes a blog called Wheelchair Kamikaze, has followed all the research and written some extremely insightful posts on CCSVI.

In my case, an ultrasound showed a significant blockage in my left neck vein, so I immediately leapt to the conclusion that the vein could be unblocked by a balloon angioplasty and soon I too could be on YouTube, running downstairs with a smile on my face.

A candid talk with an extremely forthcoming surgeon Tuesday brought me back to reality. The surgeon was willing to perform the procedure, but, since it isn't covered by insurance, he said he would hate to see us spend an inordinate amount of money on a untested procedure (there are a few ethical physicians around). My further internet research confirmed what he said: CCSVI might have some credence but it's really too early to tell.

The Perfect Storm

To me, the mystery of MS seems to be caused by a perfect storm: a genetic flaw (such as misshapen neck veins that become blocked) combines with an environmental stigma (such as the shortage of the "sunlight vitamin" D) then the disease is triggered by a virus (such as herpes or Epstein Barr). New research findings are coming out almost daily and I believe we are not far from understanding what causes MS.

In the meantime, I remember that life is not about a miracle cure (even even though heaven knows I would like one). Instead joy comes from the things that God has blessed me with -- a loving husband, beautiful children, thoughtful friends, nature, ease. Even though I have a disease, He loves me, because I am his child. There is great comfort in that certainty.

Why we have no bunnies in our backyard

Last year we had a whole family of bunnies in our backyard. The babies hid among our lilies and assumed they couldn't be seen. They were so cute -- I hope they survived!

This year is  different. We haven't seen any babies (although our neighbor said he saw a bunch of dead ones), but an adult rabbit took up residence under our lilac bush during a rainstorm recently. He and his mate did some hopping around but I haven't even seen them lately (guess bunnies don't like cicadas).

The other day I spotted what may be the reason rabbits no longer frequent the McDonald backyard...

Our neighbor's cat

Oh no, not a minivan!

The Soccer Mom minivan

I swore I'd never have another minivan. I drove these vehicles for years when the kids were little and even I had to admit they were perfect for hauling around the girls and their friends.

Once the kids were grown up and out of the house with no more soccer games or sleepovers, I traded the minivan for a sleek black Volkswagen Passat, a cool-looking car that had so much pep I

A cool-looking car

ended up with 2 speeding tickets in 2 days (the last one in Iowa with my mom sitting bemusedly beside me wondering what that nice young man could possibly be doing).  The car was great, but was plagued with so many problems, not the least of which was it always looked dirty, that after a few years I traded it in.

I still loved Passats, but this time I was smarter about color choices, opting for a light blue station wagon. This turned out to be perfect, with a storage area big enough to haul my (disassembled) scooter and a left-foot accelerator so that I was able to drive, even though my right leg has become pretty useless.

So why would I want to get rid of this sporty little car? Well, first off, my balance has gotten so bad that I'm scared I'll fall each time I get up from the driver's seat to get my rollator out of the back. The picture I imagine of me sprawled in the middle of the Shop and Save parking lot is not a pretty one.

In addition, having a van would allow me to take a scooter in my vehicle without taking it apart. There's a wonderful animation here showing how it works. If I needed to go shopping, I'd simply ride my scooter to my van, hit the remote and voila the side door would open, then the ramp would fold down as the van "kneels" to get even lower to the ground.  After riding up the ramp, parking my scooter and transferring to the driver's seat, I would hit the remote again, folding up the ramp and closing the door.  Amazing -- yes -- but amazement with a pretty hefty price tag.

My freedom!

Unfortunately, a handicap conversion costs about $20,000 on top of the price of a vehicle, and sadly, only minivans and full-size vans can be converted.  For a long time I rejected the notion that after we shucked out over $30,000 all we'd have was a minivan. But in the end, I decided it was worth it.

Yes it's hard to make a change, but I'm optimistic that a van will make a huge difference in my independence and quality of life. I'm fortunate to live technological advances that make a disabled person's life easier. We pick out the van next Saturday and I can hardly wait!

Cicadas Part Deux

Cicadas on our house's foundation

The cicadas have now reached a new level of repulsiveness -- not only do their outgrown shells and living bodies litter the ground, the bugs fly slowly and clumsily through the air and their mating song overpowers the noise of air conditioners and rings through the summer nights and hot afternoons. 

The many squirrels in our subdivision think they're in heaven -- fat, juicy cicadas everywhere! Here's a short video of a squirrel munching on one in our front yard. Listen to the roar in the background -- cicadas. At least the squirrels and birds like them!

A Month of Cicadas

We knew they were coming -- they do every 13 years -- but somehow we hoped they wouldn't come here. No such luck.  The periodic cicadas are back with a vengeance. Not to be confused with regular cicadas that sing in the trees each summer, periodic cicadas are special insects -- 100 times more dense and 1000 times more obnoxious.

Our ramp is particularly appealing

My first encounter with these bugs (which can't survive the Iowa cold) was back in the spring of 1998 when Chelsea and I were out planting flowers in the front yard. Chelsea asked me what made the  2-inch holes in the ground. I didn't know then, but according to this article, the holes were dug by nymph cicadas that had been underground for 13 years, before emerging from the ground to shed their skins, mate and lay eggs.

The cicadas did indeed come up from below and a few weeks later, the big old pine tree in our front yard was writhing with layers of the inch-long bugs.  Ron took a shovel and scraped off the rancid-smelling insects, then stowed them in black trash bags.

Tree captured by cicadas

I had conveniently forgotten about the cicadas until this week, when I noticed that the robins were eating something off the ground and seemed inexplicably happy. The reason: they were feasting on cicadas. When Chelsea got home from work that day she ran inside, slammed the door and screamed  "Cicadas are everywhere!"

She wasn't exaggerating: these ugly bugs have crawled up tree trunks, cover house foundations, and seem partial to our wooden ramp and the deck. Everything in our subdivision is speckled with live cicadas or their skins.

So far the pine tree hasn't proven overly attractive to the bugs, so I'm hopeful we won't have a return to the horror movie of 13 years ago. It only takes a month or them to complete the cycle of mating and laying eggs, but what a month!

Blue Eyes

1953, Marion, Illinois. The young couple (the girl is 19 and the boy is 22) are agog with delight over their first child -- a baby boy with a winning smile and miraculous blue eyes that gaze luminously out of the black and white photos of the day. Like most first-time parents, they can't seems to take enough photos of their amazing child -- the beautiful offspring of a visually striking pair.

Blue-eyed people came from one common ancestor, a baby born with a gene mutation that gave him or her blue eyes in a world of brown-eyed humans. Imagine the surprise of the parents!

I admit, I'm fascinated  with people with blue eyes, an interest apparently shared by Elton John (and probably many others).

Blue eyes
Baby's got blue eyes
Like a deep blue sea
On a blue blue day


-- Elton John and Gary Osborne

Possum trot and chicken bristle

Country Corner by RT McDonald

About a half mile from our subdivision are two roads with unusual names: Possum Trot and Chicken Bristle. Maybe were named back when farmers had a say -- I'm not sure. These two wondrously named roads actually intersect though and Ron took a picture there yesterday -- pretty dramatic and certainly unlike what you usually see driving between the cornfields.

About 10 years ago when I was still running in the morning, I was heading down Possum Trot Road when I spied, at the bottom of the hill, a possum crossing the road. He was taking his sweet time -- maybe he was trotting?  I slowed way down to give him wide berth because his rat-like tail and sharp teeth gave me the creeps.

So the road is aptly named. Chicken Bristle Road, that's another story. My semi-exhaustive research did not turn up any part of the chicken called "bristle," although it might be the spur on the foot. This was never confirmed though.


It's a small, but memorable claim to fame, although we don't actually live on the roads, we still like to mention them!