A Moment

                          "Nothing valuable can be lost by taking time." ~Abraham Lincoln


Before my Stiff Person Syndrome diagnosis, I savored life as a super-sized--fries with that please--get it to go bagged rush. Hope they remembered ketchup; did I ask? I enjoyed life from the fast lane of juggling work, children, home with bites of vacation, make time for a book, stolen minutes of solitude. The future beckoned with slower paced promise, "the" time to enjoy life more than I already did.

Diagnosis was a brick wall crash splintering my windshield view of all the envisioned good times, crumpling my hectic now...gone in a moment. I could only look with grief through the intact rear view window of "what was." Crawling from my life's wreckage, busyness became surviving a day of symptoms, escalating doctor appointments, a future destiny of joy became deflated tires going nowhere.

It would be so easy to stay in a Comfort Inn in defeated complacency. I still had a little Daytona in my engine. I began to see possibility in overlooked slowtrotting, harnessed my wagon to a bony nag and began my rut-jarring life journey in unchartered territory. I did not expect the wonders of seeing the world through a slower pace of disabled challenge.

Time. What I have learned--an hour is an hour, frenzied sprint or savored stroll. A second is an eternity when twisted in painful spasm or a wonder when looking at a twinkling summer sky. My biggest regret? Rushing through life before my diagnosis and letting all the possibilities of a moment slip through my fingers because I did not take the time.

This summer I was traveling along an interstate. A road sign advertised "scenic overlook" ahead. Years of speeding by numerous scenic overlooks convicted me. I pulled over. I grabbed my camera, hiking pole, & surrogate wheeled backpack, "Rocky." I managed the slight downward graveled incline and took a moment to enjoy the view of the scenic picture heading this post.

A moment.

To realize the value of ONE YEAR, ask a student who has failed a grade.
To realize the value of ONE MONTH, ask a mother who has given birth to a premature baby.
To realize the value of ONE WEEK, ask an editor of a weekly newspaper.
To realize the value of ONE DAY, ask a daily wage labourer who has kids to feed.
To realize the value of ONE HOUR, ask the bride who is waiting to meet her groom.
To realize the value of ONE MINUTE, ask a person who has missed the train.
To realize the value of ONE SECOND, ask a person who has avoided an accident.
To realize the value of ONE MILLISECOND, ask the person who has won a silver medal in the Olympics.

~Unknown

Copyright © 2012

Five Tips for Living Well with Chronic Illness

Five Tips for Living Well with Chronic Illness

I Am Alive!

“Every man dies - Not every man really lives.” ~William Ross Wallace

“No one ever finds life worth living - one has to make it worth living.” ~Unknown

"A life worth reliving."

Occasionally I will take a community class--fun, social, learn a new skill (?), mind expansion. A few years ago, the instructor of my chosen class gave us five minutes to write our epitaph. I pulled the above caption from the sincerity of my heart "in spite of" some of the cards fate had dealt me in life.

Watching my second child succumb to the cruelty of a terminal genetic neurological disorder, my Stiff Person Syndrome diagnosis was a mind-numbing moment due to the horrendous enormity of what I was facing, yet again. "Sudden Death" was a possible grim prognosis on the papers submitted to insurance for approval of treatment. In 1994, not having Internet access to some of the stark information about SPS did not further fuel the consuming burn of fear charring my spirit.

Love is a strong motivator, my family. Determination, prayer, and coming to terms struggled with the severity of my symptoms. In the stillness of the night, sleep eluded me as the reality of my diagnosis taunted the fears of my mind while my body ached with relentless pain. In an archaic medical article, I read a passage my heart embraced with hope. "The course is slowly progressive or indolent." I envisioned the lazy river of my childhood, a peaceful escape for me. It was during this time a truth relevant to every living person focused with clarity for me...

Tomorrow is never a guarantee for anyone. Today, this moment, is all anyone has. With good health, mortality, my presumed longevity, was so casually taken for granted. With a chronic illness, I came face-to-face with my immortality. I had two choices: 1) Live each day as execution day on death row. 2) Deeply appreciate and live for the moment. I chose the second option.

Years later, my prognosis of "Sudden Death" is still on paper in one of my medical record boxes. With the band aid fix of treatment and medication, my symptoms have improved. The Grim Reaper is still an ankle-biter keeping me grounded. In 2007 I had a near respiratory arrest in an emotional confrontation. I have had a few unexpected falls along with a couple episodes of full-body spasms, vicious reminders.

I am a 'brittle' diabetic. Diabetes is one of the syndrome's best friends, possibly lover. Yesterday I went from normal readings to a 457 before bed to wake to a sweating 37 at 3:30. I walked down the hall in a familiar nocturnal kitchen raid for my mini candy bars and a toddler grape juice. I woke this morning to sunshine, a rested body and gratitude. My sugar ranges are like the Wall Street Stock Exchange on crack. I am considering making my glucose readings a Vegas bet. But...

I am a well-loved woman, close to my family, have amazing grandchildren and loving friends. Blessed with imagination and a sense of humor, I laugh often. Life is joyful. Inquisitive, there is so much to learn, see, experience. When my meds peak, I make good use of my allotted time of 'functional' disability! Grateful, I embrace the comfort and blessings God continually gifts to me.

Recently, I enjoyed the freedom of a solo road trip. Cranking up a mix of tunes, my thoughts soared, my heart sang and the diversity of roadside beauty distracted my white line vigilance for a few seconds of rapt appreciation.

I am alive!


“I would rather live my life as if there is a God and die to find out there isn't, than live my life as if there isn't and die to find out there is.” ~Albert Camus



Copyright © 2012

Stepping Out With Rambo & Rocky

John J. Rambo: "…There isn't one of us that doesn’t want to be someplace else. But this is what we do, who we are. Live for nothing, or die for something..." live for nothing, or die for something."

[
Rocky Balboa: "The world ain't all sunshine and rainbows. It is a very mean and nasty place It will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. You, me or nobody is going to hit as hard as life. But it ain't about how hard you hit, it is about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward, how much can you take and keep moving forward. That's how winning is done!”

During the 80's I was enthralled by Sylvestor Stallone's cinematic underdog heroes, John Rambo and Rocky Balboa. Gutsy determination fueled by "a burning heart" were characteristics of both men challenged with insurmountable obstacles in facing formidable adversaries. (Add my female appreciation for Sly's rippling male muscles.)

Diagnosed with Stiff Person Syndrome, my life became a grueling challenge in facing an undefeatable foe. Appreciation for rippling muscles has become a paralyzing dread. SPS can hijack my body in uncontrollable waves of painful muscle spasm. "You, me or nobody is going to hit as hard as life." My life is a war, each day a boxing match--Rambo and Rocky, symbolic of living with Stiff Person Syndrome. "It is about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward."

With a typical female mindset, I have a wardrobe of gait aids to accessorize activity with ability. Rocky and Rambo are my two machismo escorts. Rambo, aptly decked in camouflage, is my battle comrade for the mall, our war zone. With my SPS hijacked perceptions, Rambo helps guide me through the minefield of syndrome angst camouflaged as a "normal" shopper. Packing my artillery of emergency medications, I anticipate possible sniper fire. (Trigger-induced stimulus for symptom attack.)

Rocky is my caddy, companion, and gait aid. He fits in when I go to the gym carrying my "life support" of medication, cell phone, emergency contact info, snacks for sugar hypos, & glucometer...a Rambo camouflage. Within the familiar boundaries of the gym, I have become lax in my agoraphobic training of walking "out there."

Stiff Person Syndrome continually holds my perceptions hostage, creating a possible red alert reaction of symptom overdrive...an Exorcist muscle implosion of Twist & Shout. A survival mode of fear and avoidance kicks in, further surrendering me to SPS. Time to reschedule workout training for solo walking against Stiff Person Syndrome assault.

For my first match...

1) Understand my weaknesses. With a malfunctioning neurological circuit breaker, my perceptions are on continual stimulus overload. I am possessed with a deranged hyper-sensitivity to a breeze, the cracks in the asphalt, a barking dog, the child on an erratic bike, oncoming walkers, traffic, outside noise, speed, all sucking me into a frenzied vortex of consuming syndrome awareness..."scared stiff." Dazed, SPS will deliver a strong upper cut, (spasm), trapped against the ropes or knocking me to the ground. Olay is no match for stitches, injuries or bruises.

2) Plan an offensive. To minimize perception distractions, I chose a serene "out there" arena. I would face my adversary when medication was at peak performance, my body in a co-operative mode. In my ringside corner, I had a prayerful pep talk with my Heavenly Coach.

3) Commit. Life with SPS is war, every endeavor a staggering boxing match. Solo walking, "out there" in an asphalt arena is my chosen challenge. I strap Rocky into Rambo, my muses, and open the front door... There's no easy way out...


Copyright © 2012

Finding Someone Like Me

The Mobility Project approached NORD regarding the mobility challenges of a rare disease for their ezine. It was an honor and a privilege to share my mobility challenges with Stiff Person Syndrome.

Finding Someone Like Me.
Understanding and Coping With the Challenges of Rare Diseases
By Cindy Horbrook May 01, 2012

I wish to thank Cindy Horbrook for a well-written article and NORD for their referral.  (Steph, you are the best.)

I am very impressed with the scope of all the helpful resources made available by the Mobility Project. Please check out their site. As always, I have a deep gratitude for NORD and their continuing efforts to bring awareness of rare disease to patients, society and the medical community. In 1994, NORD was my first contact for information about my diagnosis.

Copyright © 2012

Gymspastics - I've Got A Secret

"So I said to the gym instructor: 'Can you teach me to do the splits?' He said: 'How flexible are you?' I said: I can't make Tuesdays.'" ~Tim Vine

Two years ago, my physical ability started to slightly decline again with increased angst. I reinstated my 'out there' walking, armed with two hiking poles for balance creating a normal illusion of incorporating an upper body workout with walking. Sometimes I would struggle-shuffle only to kick-butt power walk at others depending on syndrome whim.

I joined a gym. Undetected ripples and tightened back muscles were undetected by other grunting patrons as I willed myself to do a very slow 3-speed mile on the elliptical. As an obvious gym newbie, nobody knew I am neurologically challenged. SPS, I've got a secret.

Two years later, because of hard work, determination and dedication, I can kick out an impressive 3-mile on the elliptical to the questioning awe of two young women 20 years younger than me. Unnoticed by them are the wheeled backpack with contracted hiking pole I drag around the gym as a surrogate walker--my secret.

I manage some light weight machines after concentrated focus to cross aisles toting my surrogate walker. I am complimented on my toned muscles, watched with envy or appreciation from people who do not know the extra effort required of me, my secret.

I work my core. Anything involving my back muscles is a no-go. The forward crunch is a favorite stomach-tightening, back-stretching combo for me. The crossover to the arm weights is an obstacle. Breathe, focus, step. My secret is safe.

These are my good days. Not part of paid membership, my gymspatics...

Two days after my last infusion, I could not leave my car to enter the gym. (Infusion hangover.) My back was rigid, tightening more with contemplation. My workout was a forfeit, one of several. Sugar plummets have also interrupted sessions when SPS was behaving, a double whammy.

Having a good day on the elliptical, I got off to have my body do a lock-down where I could not take a step or let go of the treadmill in front of me. A kind man got off and asked me to sit while he continued his run across the aisle on a different machine.

Trying not to be intrusive, he kept asking me if I was alright. I had a death grip on the treadmill as I chomped some medication. My body was quaking in continual mini spasms. Syndrome fear became a hairball in my throat I could not cough up. After waiting for my meds to kick in, I took my syndrome cue to leave.

Often after an impressive workout, I may need an escort to cross the road with me to my car. Many nice people are helpful, never invading my privacy. My SPS secret remains safe. I am normal, just having some balance issues after working out. Easily understood by gym regulars.

Why do I do it? It feels so good when my body has those periods of remembering how to work with normal efficiency. For a time I can almost pretend I do not have SPS. Through the window, I watch the brisk and fluid beauty of people walking through the parking lot as I do my suspended leg lifts. I marvel at the miracle of movement, grieve for my losses, deeply appreciate my sporadic abilities.

The severity of my symptoms following the years after my diagnosis are a continual haunting in my mind. I do not take anything for granted. Today can change in a second. Getting to where I am now is euphoric, even within the confines of SPS, my gymspastic secret.

Exercise helps my SPS, is a definite help for my diabetes, and great for my emotional well-being. I enjoy my workouts when my physical planets align, not a secret.

I like the following quotation because it fits for me.

“The resistance that you fight physically in the gym and the resistance that you fight in life can only build a strong character.” ~Arnold Schwarzenegger

(Arnold exercised poor judgement resisting in life?)

**For my personal safety, one of the gym's employees is aware of my condition and where in my surrogate I keep my meds and sugar tablets. My cell phone has emergency contact information in it.

Copyright © 2012

Introducing Myself?

"Do you think I could buy back my introduction to you?" ~Groucho Marx

"This above all; to thine own self be true."
~William Shakespeare



Sitting at a luncheon table with a new group from church, I was asked, "What do you do?" (Try to stay upright, appear normal, and support the medical community?) In a brief moment of panic I replied, "I have a back problem and am retired." The sometimes misused "bad back" immediately gives a questionable first impression. My answer was not a topic of substance to build a conversation and was dismissed.

During the last two years, I get out more, mingle with the socially-accepted well or healthy. For years my social circle was limited to a few close friends, family, church, and the SPS community. I did not need an introduction involving SPS. Angry at myself at my lame response, I went home and wondered how do I introduce myself in various social situations?

It is difficult to live with the 24/7 consumption of my physical boundaries dependent on managing my medication, sugar levels, and ability for the day. The rarity of Stiff Person Syndrome is challenging to explain to those close to me, but to a newly introduced individual, it is an uncomfortable struggle possibly leading to an undesired first impression. There is so much more to me than being a career patient. I dislike conversation to be dominated about SPS but it is a part of my life.

Because of having SPS, I became an advocate, web mistress, and first-time published author. I have met so many amazing people and participated in a research study. To deny having SPS is to deny the wonderful people in my life and the accomplishments of my life with the syndrome. To deny SPS is to deny what God has done with my life. SPS is not my identity, but it is a major controlling factor in my life.

My friend wondered at my lame response. Troubled, I called to discuss it over the phone after lunch. I received some great feedback. For a casual one-time encounter if I ask assistance to walk across the parking lot, "I have back issues that compromise my balance," is simple and easily understood.

With individuals I will develop some sort of social network over time, I will succinctly say, "I was diagnosed with a rare neurological disorder in 1994," followed by a brief synopsis if asked which disorder. If the individual is interested and questions further, I can give them one of my business cards that has my website with an explanation of Stiff Person Syndrome with some of my personal experiences in a journal.

Conversation will not be dominated by SPS, giving me the freedom to discuss my many interests and to focus on others.

I am normal in a subterranean sense. I live underground with the physically-challenged and chronically-ill, the unseen. Planned respites give me a few moments topside where I am a "poser," blending in with the normal. Both levels bless my life.

SPS - "one in a million"...me. I gotta be me--all of me. (Keeping it real.) Let me introduce myself.

"I've always tried to stay true to my authentic self." ~Katie Couric

Copyright © 2012

Making An Entrance

“Everybody loves you when you're easy. . .Everybody hates when you're a bore. . .Everyone is waiting for your entrance, so don't disappoint them.” ~Sarah McLachlan

In a conversation with an SPS friend, their spouse had developed anxiety issues when out of caring range for my afflicted friend. It had become a comfortable routine for this individual. A future solo trip for my friend triggered some anxiety-induced health issues for the spouse.

The topic of this conversation turned toward Stiff Person Syndrome, the various triggers, the security and comfort of routine. I had been experiencing some increasing anxiety when leaving my home. I had been aware of opting for the serenity and calm of home more frequently than I had in the past. I decided it was time to reinstate more frequent "out there" experiences beyond my new normal routine.

Wanting to visit different churches on occasion, I thought Sunday would be a good time. I could not locate choice #1 so settled for choice #2. Walking well with my surrogate walker aides, I made it to the front door...unscathed.

Unprepared for the step up into the sanctuary, I did a first-in-awhile SPS fall into the foyer. Luckily I was able to catch myself with extended arms instead of the "tin man" fall with full impact on the head.

Worried about a possible tear in my dress jeans, I look up from my on-my-knees vantage to the group gathered in the foyer. Fear, astonishment, and dismay were frozen expressions on all the faces. I smile from my crawl (prayer?) position, smile and tell them I am alright.

Managing to stand, I extend my arms and say, "I had to make an entrance." The humor melted the cold horror into warm welcoming smiles. Looking at the small group in the sanctuary compared to the large number of cars in the parking lot, I ask, "Is this all the people who come here?"

I was informed this was the Hispanic sanctuary and was given a partial escort to the main English sanctuary.

Without event, I take my seat and mentally assess injury. My neck and shoulder muscles were sore, most likely from being rigid during the fall. My knees ached a little but my favorite dress jeans were undamaged.

Relieved, amused, and thankful, I realized...I can fall in other languages!

Copyright © 2012

Risk To Bloom

"And the day came when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom." ~Annais Nin

Viciously gutted from my life was physical ability, independence, my identity and sense of worth with the diagnosis of Stiff Person Syndrome. Guilt consumed me at the burden I believed I had become. Damaged. I further erroded my worth by living to please, 'earning' undeserved love. This misguided self-perception was reinforced by relevant others.

Years passed. In the darkness of my silent apathy, a spark of Debbie ignited a few smoldering embers of forgotten self. I mattered. I have feelings. I have a life. Sharing an address is not sharing a life. I reclaimed me from imposed indebtedness. I took the risk to bloom.

I still live as a physical hostage to SPS, but there is such an inner freedom to live as Debbie, 'keeping it real.'

Not quite on my own.

"Nevertheless I am continually with You; You have taken hold of my right hand." ~Psalms 73:23




"The time will come when, with elation, you will greet yourself arriving at your own door, in your own mirror, and each will smile at the other's welcome and say, sit here. Eat. You will love again the stranger who was yourself. Give wine, Give bread. Give back your heart to itself, to the stranger who has loved you all your life. Whom you ignored for another, who knows you by heart."

Copyright © 2012

Rolling Over

When my firstborn made a wobbly surprise tummy to back roll in the crib, I whooped like a pro-football cheerleader. My infant's accomplishment then, my accomplishment now.

Last week I woke one morning, did a slow cat stretch then rolled onto my side for some thought and prayer while waiting for the mood to get up. I do not revisit the beginning syndrome devastation of my body very often. It tends to create future worry for me, unproductive and pointless. But this morning...

I remember how hard it was to get on my side, my body a painful quaking spasmodic mess. Pulling myself up on the headboard post, my neck popped in painful protest, my limited range arm screamed, and I concentrated to slowly get out of bed just to lower myself to the floor to crawl to the bathroom. The urge to stretch would be great, but would trigger full-body spasm to a body 'crack-of-the-whip' jerk.

It was with humbling gratitude I offered a prayer of thanksgiving to God for the simple luxury of a gentle stretch to roll on my side.

And in celebration, my spirit whooped like a pro-football cheerleader.

Copyright © 2012

Stroke Of Midnight

Cinderella: Why, it's like a dream. A wonderful dream come true.
Fairy Godmother: Yes, my child, but like all dreams, well, I'm afraid this can't last forever. You'll have only 'til midnight, and then...
Cinderella: Midnight? Oh, thank you.
Fairy Godmother: Oh, now, now, now, now, now, just a minute. You must understand, my dear: On the stroke of twelve, the spell will be broken, and everything will be as it was before.




Since my Stiff Person diagnosis in 1994, it has taken years for medication, immunosuppressant therapy, and life adjustments to achieve a fragile 'stability.' The early years of an inching painful shuffle while contorted in relentless spasm have eased into a relative comfort maneuvering within the familiar security of home, interrupted with occasional symptom reminders.

Part of my life adjustment strategies has been planning my 'out of home' activities to coincide with medication peaks--an estimated 3 hours of seemingly unhindered normalcy barring any unexpected SPS cameo appearances. My hiking pole does not denote disability like a cane. Pulling a backpack on wheels gives me an assumed perception of walker security while carrying miscellaneous items, freeing my overdrive nervous system from multitasking the simplicity of just entering a public building.

Three precious hours. If planned right, an activity may overlap times of medication dosage, giving me some extra oomph or a brief extension of pharmaceutical magic.

As always, medication peaks decline at the clanging stroke of midnight. My coach turns back into a pumpkin, horses into mice, gown into rags--Stifferella once again.

Laying in syndrome cinders, I bask in the glowing memory of the ball and I dream. My Prince Charming is a cure, riding in on a white steed with a glass slipper custom-fitted for me. We ride off at the stroke of midnight, no longer a clamoring end to medication magic but ringing in a new day, a new life.

Copyright © 2012

Lessons From Josey Wales

I watched Josey Wales the other night. From my SPS perspective, I vividly remember the date my normal life was violently destroyed by total Stiff Person assault. With diagnosis, I buried my former life in a daze of disbelief and grief, like Josey buried his slaughtered wife and son.

In a daily fight for some kind of life, I am an SPS outlaw. I can relate to being hunted down, ducking danger, and waging defensive counterattacks while continually planning survival strategies, yearning for my former peaceful normalcy.

With a satirical parallel to my life with SPS, some of Josey's quotations had significant lessons in coping as a chronic illness fugitive.

**********

Josey Wales: Now remember, when things look bad and it looks like you're not gonna make it, then you gotta get mean. I mean plumb, mad-dog mean. 'Cause if you lose your head and you give up then you neither live nor win. That's just the way it is.

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Josey Wales: Dyin' ain't much of a livin', boy.

**********

Carpetbagger: Your young friend could use some help.
[holds up a bottle of patent medicine]
Carpetbagger: This is it... one dollar a bottle. It works wonders on wounds.
Josey Wales: Works wonders on just about everything, eh?
Carpetbagger: It can do most anything.
Josey Wales: [spits tobacco juice on the carpetbagger's coat] How is it with stains?

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Quote #1 - Attitude. "If you give up or lose your head you neither live nor win." I need to focus, think with my mind not my emotions, & stay determined because "that is just the way it is!" :)

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Quote #2 - Perspective. The only guarantee life equally gives everyone is an unknown day of death. Fate dealt me a bum hand, but I choose to stay in the game. (Bluff?) Life is still a gift. To live each day like I am dying "ain't much of a livin'."

**********

Quote #3 - Humor & 'carpetbaggers.' Humor is vital to my well-being. I have a dark sense of humor about SPS that leaves some scratching their heads. Laughter diffuses the negative SPS grip on my life.

Carpetbaggers--opportunists who have a 'miracle' cure, whatever it may be? Really? I went to one of these miracle docs & deliberately messed with him a little. He became very angry at being exposed. How well do your pricey wonder bottles work on BS stains?

If only SPS would make peace with me like Fletcher did with Josey--just ride off to Mexico and quit stalking me. Until then, don't lose my head or give up.

The other evening, a body-jerking spasm gripped me in an unexpected assault. I fell against the patio wall, dropping some groceries, my hiking pole, but avoiding a tangled fall in my butterfly bush.

Shaken, I managed to regroup, leaning against the entryway as I shuffled the few remaining steps to the front door. Mentally I heard an appreciative chuckle whisper "whupped 'em again, Debbie."

Spitting dry fear out of my mouth, I acknowledged with "reckon so."

Copyright © 2012

The following movie trailer gives a brief idea of Josey Wales. While Josey was motivated by revenge, I am motivated by living.

Not Old Enough

"There must be a day or two in a man's life when he is the precise age for something important." ~Franklin P. Adams

Back in "my day," turning 18 was epic--old enough for emancipation from parental rule, to legally buy and drink 3.2 beer, and to vote. Twenty-one was eagerly anticipated by the 3.2 beer crowd wishing to try the harder things in life. Overachievers.

In my early 20s, talk of retirement seemed an eternity away and pointless. In retirement visions, I pictured myself tanned and stylin' on a tennis court with a handsome senior man, without wrinkles, firm, and athletic. Imposed early retirement was a brutal reality smack-down with my SPS diagnosis at 36. I lost my dream of the tennis court and celebration for turning 65 with a party from my co-workers, complete with presents.

The next milestone was qualifying for an AARP card and all of the membership advantages of turning 50--once again getting 'carded.' Deja vu, with beginning wrinkles.

I received some information in the mail about a very interesting social/intellectual/exercise program for individuals 55+...not quite 'old enough.' I am going to check into it anyway. Just a minor technicality, I turn 55 this year.

I am not old enough to be racking up the equivalent of cha-ching bonus points on a prescription card, watch older women walk effortlessly in a mall with envy, or have my social calender filled with doctor appointments. Nobody is.

Chronic illness or rare disease is non discriminating regardless of age, ethnicity, beliefs, or gender. NORD, (National Organization For Rare Disease), is our change.org.

Copyright © 2012