It’s a common sentiment, isn’t it? Childhood often revolves around oneself. As children and teenagers, our worlds are intensely personal as we navigate growth, learning, and self-discovery. Recounting our school day to our parents feels natural, but the reverse? In retrospect, inquiring about their day-to-day experiences rarely crossed my mind.
Youth lends itself to a sense of parental invincibility. Concerns about their well-being were distant. However, as time marches on, perspectives shift. A growing awareness of my parents’ aging has blossomed within me. Now, I find myself genuinely interested in the intricacies of their lives, their health, and their stories. Listening to tales from their younger years, understanding their current feelings and aspirations, and simply wanting their happiness has become paramount. I often wish I had cultivated these listening skills and curbed my youthful talkativeness much sooner.
My mother frequently shares cherished memories of her childhood in Loganville, Pennsylvania, the hometown of her grandparents. Accompanying her to Loganville is always a joy, knowing its special place in her heart and now, in ours. Our visits often include a delightful lunch and a leisurely walk through the charming market at Brown’s Orchards. Following this, we indulge in old-fashioned ice cream at a local gem, Carman’s Ice Cream shop. Each time we are in Loganville, my mom makes sure to point out the house where her grandparents once lived. Being in Loganville fosters a profound connection to family members I never had the chance to meet, weaving me into the fabric of our family tree.
During one particular visit to Loganville on April 8, 2010, Mom and I took an unplanned detour to a cemetery. This wasn’t just any cemetery; it was the resting place of numerous family members who succumbed to Polycystic Kidney Disease (PKD). The experience was deeply moving – a blend of chills, emotion, and inspiration as I watched my mom walk amongst the tombstones of our ancestors. She shared stories of each person, clarifying my relationship to them within our family tree. That day in the cemetery, surrounded by the echoes of our family history, felt profoundly life-affirming.
We traced the origins of PKD in our family tree back to my mom’s grandfather, Kervin, who passed away at the age of 60. Kervin and his wife had ten children, and tragically, my mom’s mother was among those who inherited PKD. Subsequently, many of my mom’s aunts, uncles, and cousins also lived with PKD. In that poignant spring day in Loganville, we paid our respects at the tombstones of these individuals, honoring their place in our family tree.
My mother also lost a half-brother and a sister to PKD. Jack, her half-brother, passed away at 60 due to PKD, and her sister, Donna, died at 48 from the same disease. My memories of Donna are from a single week-long visit when I was 15. She was in kidney failure, and I vividly recall seeing her in our spare bedroom, curlers in her hair, surrounded by plastic bags filled with medication. Unbeknownst to me at the time, she had made the difficult decision to forgo dialysis and let the disease take its course. That visit, though tinged with sadness, remains a treasured memory. While I respect her choice, I’ve always struggled to understand it, wishing she had chosen to fight longer.
Pauline, my mom’s mother, affectionately known as “Mickey,” faced a significant battle with PKD. She was a true warrior. Sadly, she passed away before I was born. I deeply regret never having the opportunity to meet this remarkable woman. Her strength and resilience are evident in the wonderful person my mother is. Mickey’s health issues began in her mid-40s, and she passed away at 53. She endured dialysis for eight years but was fearful of a transplant. Unfortunately, she never reached that stage. Her kidney cysts continued to grow, causing significant abdominal enlargement. Eventually, both of her kidneys were removed. Tragically, seven weeks after this intense bilateral nephrectomy, her bowels ruptured. Bowel surgery was performed, but it was unsuccessful. She passed away a month later, the cause of death being hemorrhage due to complications from PKD. A truly heartbreaking story within our family tree.
My mom, Pam, is now 57 and was diagnosed with PKD in her early 20s. She has been managing high blood pressure since the age of 30. Remarkably, her original kidneys are still functioning well. She has avoided cyst bleeds and experiences only occasional pain. I am profoundly grateful for her relatively good health. My brother, Brandon, is 36 and also has PKD. He has four children and knows that his eldest son, Branson, has inherited the condition. I was diagnosed at age 10 and, within our family tree, am the youngest to experience severe PKD symptoms and the first to receive a kidney transplant.
This is our family tree intertwined with PKD. On that poignant day in April 2010, standing beside my mom amidst our family’s tombstones, many questions lingered. We yearned to understand more – why they passed away, and why so young. Sadness was present, yet I also felt immense gratitude. I could reach out and feel my mom’s warm embrace, hear her voice, and see her beautiful smile. My life is a testament that we are not always destined to follow the exact health trajectory of our ancestors within our family tree. I encourage everyone to be inquisitive, to ask questions, and to learn as much as possible about your own family tree and health history while you have the chance.
What does your family tree reveal about your health and heritage?
