Faith Journey, Medical, Opsoclonus Myoclonus Syndrome

What You Don’t See – Life Today with OMS

What You Don’t See – Life Today with OMS

These days, life looks different than it did during the thick of H’s treatments. We’re no longer spending weeks on end in the hospital, juggling chemo, IVIG, ACTH, and emergency room visits. But just because we’re out of that season doesn’t mean the journey is over.

Life today is still challenging.
It’s just a different kind of hard.


👀 What You Don’t See

From the outside looking in, especially when he’s asleep, H looks like a typical 11-year-old boy.
He’s tall for his age. Handsome. Bright-eyed. A full head of hair. If you didn’t know him, you might never guess what he’s been through. He loves to ride his bike, play legos, listen to music, and look through books.

But then you see him around his peers—and it becomes clear that things are different.


🧠 Behind and Brilliant

H is significantly behind both academically and behaviorally. He struggles to connect with kids his age because… well, he’s never really had the chance to be “just a kid.” If you think about it, he spent a good chunk of his early life in hospitals and in isolation due to COVID-19.

He relates beautifully with younger children and older adults. It makes sense—he was raised around adults. His closest sibling in age is 8 years older and his oldest sibling is 18 years older. His world has always been full of people far ahead of him in life.

It’s no wonder he doesn’t fit into the traditional mold.


🍽️ What You Might Notice

Watch him try to eat a meal and you’ll see:

  • He might hold his fork differently.

  • Sometimes, he switches to a spoon when his tremors are worse.

  • He brings his mouth closer to his plate to avoid spills.

These aren’t bad habits. These are adaptations—skills he’s taught himself to compensate for what his body can’t always do.

He has had to relearn everything:
Sitting. Standing. Walking. Running. Jumping. Talking. Feeding himself.
Even sleeping.

That kind of restart at three years old?
That’s massive.


💪 He’s Worked So Hard

He’s had years of physical therapy, occupational therapy, and speech therapy.
And every ounce of progress has been fought for.

But even now, tremors in his hands affect his fine motor skills. Writing, buttoning, tying shoes—these are not simple tasks for him.


🏊‍♂️ And Then There’s Vitiligo

When you see H swimming, you might notice patches of skin that look lighter than others. That’s called vitiligo—a condition where the body stops producing pigment in certain areas of the skin. It’s harmless, but it makes him look a little different.

And for a kid who already feels different, every stare can feel loud.


🧨 Big Emotions, Big Triggers

H also lives with behavioral challenges linked to medical trauma, neurological inflammation, and life experiences no child should have to endure.

  • His coping skills are still developing.

  • His emotions sometimes erupt unexpectedly.

  • And between OMS moments, puberty, and trauma, things can get spicy around here.

We’re working on it. Therapy. Daily conversations. Emotional tools. So much prayer.


🤧 When Sick Isn’t Just Sick

One of the hardest ongoing realities of OMS is that when H gets sick—it’s not just a cold.

A mild virus can send him backward.
He might lose his speech for a time.
Or he loses his ability to walk.
And often, he’ll need steroids to get back to his baseline.

Once, he had the flu and couldn’t walk. Another time, a cold took his speech away.
These are not exaggerations—they are real, terrifying parts of our life.

This is why we are so careful. So protective. So hypervigilant.

We avoid crowded places during flu season.
>We sanitize. We plan.
>We protect him—not out of fear, but out of wisdom born from experience.


🙌 A Hidden Mercy

Oddly enough, H doesn’t get sick very often.

Is it the protocol we followed?
Is it because we’ve been so cautious all these years?

I don’t know.
But I do know this: I’m thankful.
Every healthy day is a mercy I don’t take for granted.


“The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in Him, and He helps me.”
— Psalm 28:7


💛 Heartbeat Moment

He’s made it through things most adults will never face.
He’s braver than he knows, and stronger than most people realize.

So the next time you see a kid struggling to eat, or a boy who’s acting “young for his age,” or a mama who looks tired and guarded—pause.

What you’re seeing is just a glimpse.

The full story is deeper. Sacred. Hard. Holy.

H’s life may look different—but it is beautiful.
And he is doing amazing.

💛 If you’re navigating life’s hard places and need a safe space to heal, grow, or just breathe—Circle of Hope Counseling Services is here for you.

We offer trauma-informed, faith-filled therapy for individuals, couples, and families.

📞 Reach out today to schedule your first session (KY residents only) or learn more: Circle of Hope Counseling Services.

You don’t have to walk this journey alone. Hope starts here.

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Faith Journey, Medical, Opsoclonus Myoclonus Syndrome

Praising God in the Cold and the Storm

before the shaking began (8)

There’s this image I used to carry—me, my family, sitting around a cozy campfire, singing Kumbaya. Everything is warm, glowing, peaceful. That’s how life feels when everything’s running smoothly. When you’ve got that rhythm. That flow. Here I am, Praising God in the Cold and the Storm.

But what happens when the fire starts to die?


When the Fire Goes Out

You feel it—things shifting. The air gets colder. Your fire starts to fizzle. You frantically grab whatever you can find—scraps of paper, bits of old wood, anything to keep it alive.

Then, out of nowhere, a bird flies overhead and pees on your ember.
Gone. Just like that.

No flame, no light, and no heat.
You sit there… cold.
You think it can’t get worse.
But it can.

You realize you’ve eaten your last s’more.
>No heat. No light. No food.
It’s doable. It sucks. But it’s doable.

And then?

The monsoon hits.

Suddenly, you’re drowning in it. The weight. The grief. The fight. The diagnosis. The not-knowing. The knowing-too-much. The never-ending appointments. The medicine. The meltdowns. The rage. The silence. The fire feels like it will never come back.


This Past Year

That’s what this last year has felt like.

Once we received the official clinical diagnosis, everything changed.
And yet… nothing was fully certain.

There is no single test for Opsoclonus Myoclonus Syndrome (OMS). It’s not black and white. No MRI, LP, blood panel, EEG, or X-ray can definitively say: “This is what your child has.” It’s a combination of symptoms, observations, and the experience of doctors willing to say what others can’t.

It’s living in limbo with a name that doesn’t always behave like it’s supposed to.


Protocol After Protocol

We started the “standard” protocol.

  • High-dose steroids while hospitalized

  • Monthly IVIG

  • Four rounds of Rituximab (a type of chemo)

  • When that didn’t help, we added ACTH (daily high-dose steroid shots)

ACTH brought an unholy level of rage, insomnia, and OCD.
I watched my sweet boy disappear into something wild and constantly panicked.

He lived in fight or flight.
And so did I.


Second Opinions & the Blessing of Brutal Honesty

I got a second opinion—without permission. Because when you’re a mama in the storm, you do what you must.

This doctor was honest. Blunt. And honestly, I needed it.

She didn’t immediately see signs of OMS and she believed the progression was more aggressive. In the end, she suggested starting over—repeating all the tests.

We did.

And wouldn’t you know? While in the hospital, his ocular flutter returned.

She circled back and agreed: it most likely is OMS.

“Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life…”
— James 1:12


Zebra vs. Okapi

In the medical world, doctors are taught:
“When you hear hoofbeats, think horses—not zebras.”

A zebra means something rare. Something unlikely.
We were sure H was a zebra.

But we were wrong.

He’s not a zebra.
He’s an okapi.

Strange. Rare. Beautiful. Mysterious. And completely misunderstood.

And in some holy, divine humor—the okapi just so happens to be my all-time favorite animal.

Go figure.


💛 Heartbeat Moment

Praising God in the storm doesn’t always look like singing around a fire.
Sometimes it looks like sitting in the cold, soaked to the bone, whispering,
“God, I trust You,” even when your teeth are chattering and your heart is tired.

Sometimes praise is a whisper.
And sometimes it’s tears.
Sometimes it’s survival.

But it’s still praise.

Because even in the rain… even in the dark… even when the fire is out…

God is still God.

And the fire? It always comes back.

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you…”
— Isaiah 43:2

💛 If you’re navigating life’s hard places and need a safe space to heal, grow, or just breathe—Circle of Hope Counseling Services is here for you.

We offer trauma-informed, faith-filled therapy for individuals, couples, and families.

📞 Reach out today to schedule your first session (KY residents only) or learn more: Circle of Hope Counseling Services.

You don’t have to walk this journey alone. Hope starts here.

 

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