It’s a common notion that children and teenagers are inherently self-absorbed, and perhaps it’s a natural phase of growth, learning, and self-discovery. As youngsters, we readily share the details of our school day with our parents, often without reciprocating the question about their own experiences. I confess, in my younger years, my parents seemed like unwavering pillars, their well-being a given, their lives a constant backdrop to my own. However, the passage of time has shifted my perspective. Now, as I navigate my own aging journey, a profound concern for my parents has taken root. I find myself genuinely invested in their lives, eager to hear their stories, their reflections, and their aspirations. Their happiness has become a central wish, and a tinge of regret lingers for the youthful days when listening took a backseat to talking.
My mother often shares cherished memories of her childhood in Loganville, Pennsylvania, a place where her grandparents resided. Visiting Loganville with her is always a special occasion, a journey into her past that has now become significant to our shared history. Our tradition includes a delightful lunch at Brown’s Orchards, followed by a leisurely exploration of their charming market. No trip is complete without indulging in old-fashioned ice cream at Carman’s Ice Cream shop, a local gem. Each time we’re in Loganville, my mother makes sure to point out the house where her grandparents once lived. In this place, I feel a tangible connection to family members I never had the chance to meet, their presence woven into the very fabric of Loganville.
Discovering the Branches of Our Family Health Tree
On one particular visit to Loganville, April 8, 2010, Mom and I embarked on an unplanned detour that led us to a cemetery, the final resting place for many of our relatives who succumbed to Polycystic Kidney Disease (PKD). The experience was deeply moving, a blend of chills, emotions, and inspiration as I watched my mother navigate through the tombstones of our family. She recounted the lives of each person, detailing our familial connections. It was a day that affirmed life’s preciousness and the importance of understanding our heritage, our own “royal family tree” of health and history.
We traced the origins of PKD in our family back to my mother’s grandfather, Kervin, who passed away at the age of 60. Kervin and his wife had ten children, and among them was my maternal grandmother, who inherited PKD. Tragically, many of my mother’s aunts, uncles, and cousins also carried the gene. At the cemetery, we paid our respects to these ancestors on that poignant spring day in Loganville, Pennsylvania, acknowledging their place in our “royal family tree” of PKD.
The Impact of PKD Across Generations
PKD claimed the lives of my mother’s half-brother, Jack, at 60, and her sister, Donna, at just 48. My interaction with Donna was brief, a week-long visit when I was 15. I remember her in kidney failure, surrounded by medication, having made the difficult decision against dialysis. Even as a teenager, I sensed the weight of her choice, a decision I respect but struggle to comprehend. I wished she had chosen to fight, to extend her time, to continue her branch on our family tree.
My grandmother, Pauline, affectionately known as “Mickey,” faced a formidable battle with PKD. She was a warrior, enduring much before passing away before I was born. I regret never meeting this woman whose strength was evident in creating my mother. Pauline’s health declined in her mid-40s, and she passed at 53. She underwent dialysis for eight years, the prospect of a transplant daunting to her. Sadly, she never reached that stage. Her cysts continued to grow, causing significant abdominal enlargement. Both of her kidneys were removed, but complications arose seven weeks post-surgery when her bowels ruptured. Despite bowel surgery, she succumbed a month later, her cause of death attributed to bleeding from PKD complications – a tragic chapter in our family history.
Hope and Resilience in Our Family Narrative
My mother, Pam, 57, received her PKD diagnosis in her early 20s and has managed high blood pressure since 30. Remarkably, her original kidneys are still functioning well. She has avoided cyst bleeds and experiences only occasional pain. Her relatively stable health is a source of immense gratitude. My brother, Brandon, 36, also has PKD, and his eldest son, Branson, has inherited the condition as well. I was diagnosed at age 10, experiencing severe PKD symptoms younger than anyone else in our family and becoming the first to receive a kidney transplant.
This is the story of our family tree, deeply rooted in the legacy of PKD. Standing amidst the tombstones with my mother in April 2010, many questions lingered. Why did they pass so young? What were their lives truly like? Sadness mingled with gratitude as I felt my mother’s embrace, heard her voice, and saw her smile – living proof that our individual paths within our “royal family tree” of health might diverge from those of our ancestors. I urge you to be inquisitive, to ask questions, and to delve into your own family tree of PKD, or any inherited condition, while you have the opportunity. Understanding your “royal family tree” of health can be a powerful step in navigating your own well-being and future.
What does your family tree of health reveal? What stories are waiting to be unearthed within your own “royal family tree”?
