Lessons

Awhile back, I posted about the fight that we'd had with the PA at Nicholas's neurosurgeon to get a prescription for a cranial band. And that we'd seen such success with it.

When Mike had had his appointment with the PA, he had been told that because of the severity of Nicholas's hydrocephalus, the best thing we could do for him as parents was to take him home and make him as comfortable as possible for however long he would have. We had already seen progress from him at that point and refused to believe that we had reached the end of the progress. While we weren't going to fight that fight with the neurosurgeon's PA, we didn't plan on not moving forward with the therapies that he was responding so well to.

Last week, Nicholas had his first follow up appointment at the neurosurgeon's office since that fight. And he was scheduled to see the PA that had originally denied us.

Mike brought Nicholas (and Emily!) to the appointment. When the PA walked into the office, Mike had Nicholas sitting up on the table - independently. The PA walked in and was shocked the Nicholas was sitting up on his own and mentioned it. Mike nodded and waited for the measurements to begin. Nicholas's asymmetry was at 4 mm. The PA re-measured and looked at Mike. He was in awe. He said, "It worked. It actually worked." He couldn't believe it.

During the course of the appointment, Mike found out that the PA had truly believed that Nicholas would be severely disabled and that we would likely not see much development out of him. As it turns out, the majority of the fluid from the ventricles was pooled in the front of his brain during gestation and had caused damage to the frontal lobes. The frontal lobes are primarily responsible for gross motor skills (such as sitting, crawling, walking), as well as the swallow function. It makes perfect sense, then, that Nicholas has difficulty swallowing without aspirating and also that he is delayed with his gross motor function. But he's catching up. He probably won't walk before he's 2, but he very well may crawl. He's sitting up, completely unassisted, for 30 minutes to an hour now, where previously we were lucky if he sat unassisted for more than 5 minutes.

The PA told Mike that he was wrong. And that he is amazed in the development he's seeing in Nicholas. That it is completely obvious that the brain is regenerating itself and that nobody can tell what Nicholas can or will achieve. He credited us for fighting back in every area that we could. For being Nicholas's advocate against even him (the PA). The PA ate some humble pie that day, and for future patients of his, I am eternally grateful that he had the self-awareness to realize he had misjudged and that he could learn from his mistake. I felt a tiny stab of retribution too, of course, but mostly I'm just glad that he could reflect on his analysis and realize that perhaps he doesn't have all the answers. For the rest of his career, he will think of the little boy who surprised him when talking to parents. The little boy who refuses to stop.

Success!

I remember getting the call. Mike was on the other line and he was so upset that his voice was shaking. Since he was just leaving a check up at the neurosurgeon's office, I instantly went on high alert.

"What's wrong?"
"The PA is refusing to prescribe a helmet for Nicholas."
"WHY?"
"He said he doesn't think enough fluid has left his brain. That there's not enough brain matter yet for a helmet to work."
"Turn around."

We had spoken to Nicholas's pediatrician. He had agreed that it was time for cranial band therapy. We had spoken to all of his therapists. They agreed it was time for cranial band therapy. Why would the neurosurgeon's PA disagree with everyone else? And what had he said that had reduced my normally even keeled husband to shake with anger and defeat? I told Mike that I was coming to the office and to wait there for me. He faltered - told me the appointment was over and it was probably too late - except that our next followup wasn't scheduled until after Nicholas was over a year old and by then it would be too late to start the therapy. I told Mike if I had to follow the PA or the neurosurgeon to their cars when their days were over I would sit and wait for them. I suspected that an upset mother is the last thing the physician wants in his waiting room full of patients, so we would be brought back pretty quickly.

I spoke to the receptionist and the office manager quickly came out to ask me why I needed to see the PA. I firmly told her that he was refusing to prescribe a helmet for my son and we needed to discuss his reasons. Not surprisingly, we were brought into a room fairly quickly and the PA walked in shortly thereafter. I asked him point blank why he felt that a helmet wasn't the answer for our son.

He gave reasons. Some of them were probably valid. I trust my son's neurosurgeon and his staff immensely. The neurosurgeon has literally been inside my son's brain, and the likelihood that he'll be there again before Nicholas ages out of pediatric neurosurgery is high. But they don't live our life. They get to go home and leave brain surgeries and other related issues behind them. They get to sit down to dinner and talk about things like school and the new HOA rules and what they're doing this weekend. So while the office is staffed with amazing people, their passion will never equal ours. It simply can't. I understand that. So while I have literally trusted them with my son's life, I was not going to sit by and let them make a decision lightly that had the potential to impact Nicholas's life forever.

His reasons included that there's little literature or research on hydrocephalus patients and cranial band therapy success. That it would likely be unsuccessful because the shunt was still working on the tedious job of draining his overfilled ventricles. That, sure, we would move the skull but liquid moves a lot easier than brain matter and so it would probably just move back. That he just didn't think it would work.

I looked this PA in the eye and asked him if it would hurt Nicholas. If it could hurt him. He said no, of course not. So I asked him why not just try? He said we could try when he's older and his ventricles are drained back to normal sizes. That he could have a cranial reconstruction surgery at that point. And, haha, he just happened to know a great neurosurgeon. We stared at him. I asked him why we shouldn't try something that didn't require surgery and that Nicholas would never remember and instead jump directly to a surgical procedure, further recovery time, and possibly something that would traumatize him as he's older.

Obviously you've all seen the pictures, so you know that we walked out of that office that day with a prescription in hand. That the next fight was with the insurance company to get coverage. That we won that battle too and that Nicholas's skull has been gradually been re-shaped by the helmet and a dedicated orthotist who shaves out pieces of the helmet and adds pads to help Nicholas's head become less flat and more symmetrical.

I previously posted that Nicholas was at 26 mm asymmetry when this journey started. That his was the worst case that the orthotist had ever seen. That the challenge of taking on a hydrocephalus patient was almost too overwhelming. And that it's working. The helmet is reshaping Nicholas's head to be less asymmetrical. While some of our goal was to fix his head for vanity reasons, the vast majority was that he was having developmental difficulties because of the head shape. He was having a hard time sitting up because one side of his head was heavier than the other. He was having trouble rolling over because he had a giant cone in the back impeding him. Last month's measurements showed Nicholas at 9 mm asymmetry.

Nicholas met with his orthotist today and measurements happened. Accounting for some human error, Nicholas's head now sits at 5-6 mm of asymmetry. A head is considered to be within "normal" ranges of asymmetry when it's under 5 mm. It worked. It worked exactly like we hoped it would. And without surgery. Without a traumatic procedure. Sure, he had to wear his helmet a little longer than the average therapy length of 3 months, but so what? He'll never remember that time. Clearly this was a fight worth fighting.

Hydrocephalus Awareness Month Post 5: It IS Brain Surgery

What happens when a shunt is placed?

Shunt placement surgery IS brain surgery. It is among the most common surgery that neurosurgeons perform - upwards of 40,000 surgeries annually. As I've talked about multiple times on this blog, Nicholas was 2 days old when he had his surgery. Because of his age when the surgery happened it was actually an easier surgery (the only time in his life he's had an easier road!). Typically the neurosurgeon has to drill through the patient's skull in order to place the shunt. Since Nicholas was so young, the neurosurgeon was able to go in through his soft spot and place it. As a result, his recovery was easier and the surgery was shorter than typical. 

Shunt placement surgery is typically around 90 minutes and is performed under general anesthesia. Because the surgery team has to go inside the head, the area where they will be placing the shunt is shaved.

A tiny incision is made in the head (older patients get a hole drilled into their skull at this point also), and a catheter is threaded into the brain. The other end of the catheter is then snaked under the skin around the ear, down the neck, and into the area that it's being placed in (most commonly the abdominal cavity). An incision is also made in the abdomen to guide the catheter to the right place (such as not behind the bowels or taking up space the stomach needs). The neurosurgeon then attaches the pump or valve to the catheter to tell the shunt when to drain the CSF from the ventricles. We were warned that a third incision may be needed behind the ear to help guide the catheter around that curve but Nicholas's surgery team ended up being able to guide it without another incision. 

Once the surgery is done, the patient remains in the hospital for recovery. Children are usually required to lay flat for 24 hours after the surgery. Older children and adults may be ready for discharge as early as the day after surgery if there are no complications. Nicholas's neurosurgeon felt comfortable with him being cleared from a neurosurgery standpoint 7 days after his surgery. His extended NICU stint was a result of his feeding issues, not his brain surgery ironically. 

Because the shunt is a mechanical object it is not only common for it to fail, it is pretty much expected to. We were warned of symptoms of shunt failure because leaving a shunt failure untreated can lead to brain damage and even death. Shunts fail more frequently in infants and children than adults. The current average lifespan for an infant's shunt is two years. Older children and adults have a current average lifespan of 8 years. That's a new brain surgery called a revision. Every time a shunt fails.

Hydrocephalus Awareness Month Post 4: What does a shunt feel like?

The other day I read a post in one of my hydrocephalus Facebook groups that made me sad and also made me wonder. It was posted, "Does anyone wonder what it's like to not have a device in your head and tubing running down your neck and into your abdomen?" It made me sad because it makes me wonder if Nicholas will feel that way one day (maybe a cure will come in his lifetime!), but it also made me wonder what it actually feels like to have a shunt.

Obviously I can't ask Nicholas yet what it feels like to live with a shunt on a daily basis so I turned to the hydrocephalus community to ask them what it's like to have a shunt. I have a small community of people I know in real life with shunts but am a member of several hydrocephalus groups on Facebook and on Babycenter and they provided me with some insight.

The first thing I was told was that the side effects of having a shunt were far preferable to living with the pressure in your head from having untreated hydrocephalus. That having excess CSF was painful, caused nausea and also made you dizzy. That you experienced things like double vision and just overall felt terrible. Obviously left untreated, hydrocephalus can also lead to brain damage and death, so having a shunt is preferable to that.

Also, I heard very different things from people I asked. Some experienced nothing out of the ordinary that they were aware of and some experienced all of these things - so like hydrocephalus itself, having a shunt feels different for each individual person who has one.

The main things I heard were being able to "hear" the shunt. When a shunt turns on, most people say that they are aware. They can hear it buzzing, clicking, popping, or gurgling inside their heads. This depends on the placement of the shunt (the closer it is to the ear canal the easier it is to hear) and it appears to also depend on the type of shunt (programmable, non-programmable, maker, etc.). Shunts are not always on, they turn on when the pressure in the head indicates they should be. The newer
programmable shunts detect the level of pressure in the head and turn on when the pressure exceeds what the shunt has been programmed to maintain. Older, non-programmable shunts, were on levels of high, medium, or low pressure and would detect when the brain reached the threshold that each shunt was set for. The bad news with non-programmable shunts is that if the shunt is over or under draining, the shunt must be replaced with surgery. Nicholas has a programmable shunt which means if we determine (and we have, several times) that his shunt is under draining, it's an office visit and a strong magnet is used to reset the shunt to a better level.

Another complaint is that when the shunt is draining, if the tubing is placed close enough to the ear, it can mess with a person's equilibrium. Because there is fluid running through a tube near the eustachian tube it can make people feel dizzy. This doesn't appear to be a common side effect, but has been mentioned in the community.

Most neurosurgeons leave a large amount of tubing curled up in the abdomen when treating children (Nicholas's did for this exact reason) so that as the child grows, the tubing can stretch and revisions (more brain surgery) are not necessary as long as the shunt continues to function properly. I have been told that as the child grows, it is typical to feel some tightening or tugging as the shunt tubing breaks loose of adhesions under the skin that were formerly created and lengthen under the skin. I imagine that must be fairly uncomfortable.

Weather is a big one. Most surgeons will tell you that weather has very little to do with the pressure inside the head, but almost every single person I've talked to who has hydrocephalus and is treated with a shunt has said that when the weather changes, they get headaches. It's apparently a big debate within the hydrocephalus community. We have seen it first hand with Nicholas. If a big storm is rolling in, he becomes very uncomfortable and cries. If we give him Tylenol, it seems to relieve and relax him. I've been told by my co-worker with hydro that if it's very hot, she gets headaches. She has found that wearing hats helps to reduce the headaches.


Abdominal discomfort is another common complaint. It seems that the CSF draining into the abdominal cavity creates acid reflux in a significant number of hydrocephalus patients.

While not every person who has a shunt experiences all of these, these complaints come up time and again. And again, every person I talked to said that this is clearly preferable to living with hydrocephalus untreated and obviously better than facing death so they take their side effects with a grain of salt, some ibuprofen, and maybe some Tums.

Hydrocephalus Awareness Month Post 2: What is a shunt? Is it really brain surgery?

Once we've explained what hydrocephalus is (and we are more than happy to do so - we like getting the knowledge and awareness out there!), the next question is, if they can't do surgery to remove the blockage, what is the treatment?

There are three different treatments for hydrocephalus, a shunt, an endoscopic third ventriculostomy (ETV), and an endoscopic third ventriculostomy with choroid plexus cauterization (ETV/CPC). ETV/CPC is only available to infants. The decision to treat the hydrocephalus with any of these methods is determined on a case by case basis, and also within a timeline of a patient's life. It is perfectly acceptable to be treated with one method and later in life attempt the other.  

The ETV requires no shunting so some people prefer this method as there is less likelihood of mechanical failure, but if this method fails a shunt is required. The success rate depends on a lot of

individual factors including age of the patient, cause of hydrocephalus, and amount of scar tissue in the third ventricle. It is not recommended typically for infants because their bodies are so dynamic and quickly changing that it frequently fails. Basically, a neurosurgeon goes into the brain and makes a puncture in the floor of the third ventricle so that CSF is allowed to flow through. It effectively bypasses the blockage if there is one. The third treatment option is very similar to this except it includes cauterizing the choroid plexus which reduces the amount of CSF being generated. There are complications to this method including closure and/or infection of the surgically created pathway, short term memory loss as this procedure may affect the hypothalamus, and potentially endocrinologic irregularities since the third ventricle is responsible for some hormonal function. For individuals that this works for, however, the success rate can be up to 90%.

The shunt method involves a surgical implantation of a shunt. A shunt is a tube that diverts CSF into another region of the body, most typically the abdominal cavity, where it is absorbed and removed. A valve inside the shunt helps maintain normal pressures within the ventricles. The shunt that drains into the abdominal cavity is called a VP shunt (ventriculoperitoneal). The other type of shunt is a VA (ventriculoatrial) shunt which drains into the right atrium of the heart. This is not a preferred placement and is only tried after there have been several malfunctions of a VP shunt. There are

several complications with a shunt system, the most frequent being shunt malfunction. Shunt malfunction is most often caused by a blockage that stops the shunt from being able to function properly. Blood cells, tissue, or bacteria can all create a blockage. Shunts can also malfunction because it is a mechanical device or because it becomes dislodged from its original placement. Shunts can become infected, though this typically occurs within 6 months of the placement. In any of these instances, the patient must have another brain surgery to get a new shunt placed. This is called a shunt revision.

Other shunt complications include under or over draining. This can usually be treated by changing the pressure on the shunt. Abdominal and/or heart complications can also occur depending on where the shunt drains into. Obviously abdominal complications are less severe than heart complications.

Nicholas had a shunt placed on the second day of his life. His neurosurgeon prefers to shunt children

and considering he has the highest success rate of hydrocephalus treatment in the southeast, we trusted his judgement. His goal is to place a shunt once in a child's life and have it last until the child is at least 18. He is successful in that goal in 40% of his patients. Nicholas's surgery was fairly uncomplicated and quick. The neurosurgeon told us that it's easier in babies in that they have a soft spot to go in through, whereas in adults he has to drill through the skull. Nicholas has a scar on his head where the shunt was placed and then also a scar in his belly where the end of the shunt was placed. Most people think that his shunt drains into his stomach, but it doesn't. It drains into the area around his stomach and is absorbed and removed by his intestines. Nicholas has not yet (knocking on wood) had a shunt malfunction but he has had some abdominal complications that involved a hospital stay and several x-rays and ultrasounds. He has had the pressure reset multiple times on his shunt as his neurosurgeon tried to drain the massive amount of fluid he was born with and then to normalize the pressure in his head to remove the optimal amount of CSF.

It is not uncommon for patients to have multiple surgeries with hydrocephalus. There are people who have had hundreds of surgeries and then there are some who have lived with the same shunt for decades. There is no rhyme or reason to why shunts fail multiple times in some people and work like a dream for others. We hope that Nicholas is in the latter group, but the honest answer is we just don't know. We are asked frequently if he is done having surgery and we just don't know. We hope so, but the likelihood is that he will have brain surgery again at some point in his life. Maybe more than once.

On This Road

There's no way to describe the way you feel when the doctor tells you, "We see something wrong," while looking at an ultrasound. Your heart drops. You grasp your husband's hand, you stare at the grainy images they're showing you, trying to make sense of light and shadows. When those words "We see something wrong" includes the word brain, it gets really scary. A big long name for a condition we had never heard of. Hydrocephalus. Prognosis is typcially good. You cling to the word typically but live in fear of the atypical. Of the outliers. Of the ones who don't have a good prognosis. You vow to help him fight, to help him live the best life he can.

The day he's born. You barely see him before he's whisked off to be cared for by someone else. Your child being placed into someone else's arms. Someone else leaning in close and providing warmth. You're laying in a cold operating room with no answers. Your heart pounding, the worst case scenarios running through your head. Asking the doctors for answers and being told they have none yet. You'll get them they promise but not right now.

Standing in the NICU next to his bassinet and hearing "Not swallowing the way he's supposed to. Swallow reflex not working. Probably some damage to his brain. Hydrocephalus." Suddenly your vision of your future, and his, comes crashing down around you. The future you've always envisioned is raising happy children that leave and live lives with their own families, their own careers. Brain damage may change that future. Certainly you'll love him with everything you have forever, but that future may include him by your side for the rest of it. And what to do when your future ends but his keeps going? What happens then? Your resolve to fight slips a little. It's a scary time to hope, but what choice do you have? You start therapies. You agree to another surgery. You do everything the doctors and nurses tell you because it will help.

It's terrifying to go through. It breaks your heart because all you want is for your child to be happy. All you want your child to know is love and joy. And while you know that's not possible for his whole life, you'd really like to think it is possible in the first three weeks. And you feel guilty that your child has to know pain. And fear. And be poked and prodded. And x-rayed. And have ultrasounds. And have a PICC line placed. And you know that all of this is to help him. But he doesn't know that. He has no clue.

Then one day he does this.

And two days later he does this.

And you compare this.

And you start to feel sparks of true hope. And you start to allow yourself to consider that word typically again. Typically good prognosis. And you realize that what they told you in the NICU, "Nicholas hasn't written his story yet. He's writing it every day. There is nothing set in stone." is being proven to you by leaps and bounds. By a baby who doesn't know any better than to fight. And your resolve to help him fight that you thought you had lost? You realize it has been there the whole time and has become so ingrained that you don't have to think about it anymore. And you realize that nobody's future has been written yet and it is never never wrong to cling to hope.

After Brain Surgery

We waited to hear that Nicholas had been moved back to the NICU so Mike could go see him. Zachary sat next to me in my hospital bed playing with the remote for the TV in the room. I held Emily, nursed her, pumped for Nicholas.

Finally, Mike's cell phone rang. Nicholas was back in the NICU. We could go see him if we wanted. Mike went up, I stayed in my room with Zachary and Emily. 

He was still intubated, which we were expecting. He had a small incision in the upper right part of his skull. The neurosurgeon had not needed to make the incision behind his ear, so the only other incision was in his belly where the neurosurgeon directed the end of the shunt catheter to drain. We were so thrilled that the pressure would start to reduce. 

Mike came back to the room with the news and pictures. At 2:45, we received a call from the NICU. Nicholas had woken up and started to fight his intubation. The respiratory therapist monitored his oxygen levels and decided to remove the intubation to see if he would be okay. And he was. His intubation that was supposed to be for two or three days ended up lasting less than 8 hours. It was then we knew we had a fighter on our hands. 

Brain Surgery

Two days after he was born, Nicholas was scheduled for his shunt placement. The neurosurgeon and his student came to my room before the surgery and made sure that I was aware of what would be happening.

To place the shunt, the neurosurgeon would go in through Nicholas's soft spot, place the shunt on the right side of his head, and then thread the catheter between the skull and skin behind his ear, down through his chest and end up floating in the abdominal cavity. The shunt was set for a certain pressure (started at 100 - which is fairly high), and would drain any cerebral spinal fluid that caused his brain to be above the set pressure and dump the extra fluid into his abdominal cavity where it would be absorbed by his intestines and urinated out. 

The neurosurgeon told us, as long as there where no complications, the surgery would be about 15 minutes. Nicholas would be intubated for up to three days depending on his recovery process. Mike and Zachary went to walk with Nicholas to the operating room and would be there when he got out. I could have been wheeled there too, but having Emily with me meant I should stay in my room with her. 

I don't remember just how much time passed, but eventually the neurosurgeon and his student reappeared in my room. They let us know the surgery was done and Nicholas had done very well. Now we had to wait and see if the surgery would do what we needed it to.