This was my tree last year.
I name this post for the subject of my post. Her name is Petra and has a son, Lennon, who is loveable, kind, gentle, loving, and just the best son ever…. except when his ammonia levels skyrocket. When this happens, he becomes very aggressive, disoriented, incoherent and has been described as appearing to be a bit crazy. In other words, he becomes a totally different child. Normal ammonia levels are 50-60. I do believe I read that Lennon’s had gotten as high as in the 300’s. Lennon is of preschool age. He has already had two liver transplants. Lennon has Urea Cycle Disorder. Please check out the link for this genetic disease. Can you imagine this happening to your child? I am sitting here doing just that. I cannot imagine myself living through, and witnessing what my friend has witnessed happening to her son. All I can think of is that I have a hard time when my preschooler gets a cut, let alone going through life saving surgery and the gory details that go along with it… just to NOT get graphic about it. Just to think of their little perfect bodies enduring what seems impossible… becomes a reality. It’s a hard reality for mothers to come to grips with; and at the same time, no one should have to experience.
I’m not writing Petra’s whole story here, but if you’re interested, you can find it here. The reason for my writing is that I want to get her story out. She is not asking for donations; but as it happens, she does have an Etsy shop, HERE. She does wonderful work with beads and pyrography, or, wood burning.
I don’t make it a practice to advertise for other people, but I was moved to, today. I figure, “Hey, it’s the Holiday season and maybe someone is out there shopping around for gifts.” A part of me felt powerless until I thought of writing about her. After being paired with Petra in a beading swap, we corresponded ourselves into a friendship that has survived a few long spells of not corresponding. She made me a beautiful bracelet that rests so pretty on my wrist. It doesn’t happen often, that I will just love something that wasn’t made by me. She seems to know what I like.