Friday, June 16, 2017

The Ghost Has A Name...RANBP2

I wrote a blog post not that long ago about fighting a ghost...well, I think we found the ghost...and it has a name...RANBPD2. This came out of left field for us last week at our long awaited genetics appointment. This post is long and detailed and as much for my own processing as anything else.

Tuesday 6-13-17, was our appointment with Dr. Muge Calikoglu, a brilliant geneticist who has been able to diagnosis incredibly complex medical cases. She recited to us a brief medical history of Oliver, perhaps more thorough than anyone else ever has and then she launched into what she found in an analysis of 146 of Oliver's genes. Before she started, she asked if she could clear off the exam table so she could draw on the tissue type paper on top of it. Andrew and I leaned in as she explained Oliver's very complex genetic situation and honestly, much of it went over our heads. When everything was finished over an hour later I delicately folded up that tissue paper and put it in my purse. Sometimes it felt like she was speaking a foreign language as she plowed through research studies she had printed out for us and her theory of what all this meant for Oliver. To say we didn't see this coming would be an understatement.

She said Oliver does not have MNGIE and only has secondary Mitochondrial Disease, caused by other issues we’ll elaborate on. She emphatically said Oliver is not “dying right now from Mito”, but he is also more medically fragile than we previously knew...what bittersweet news.

The most significant revelation on Oliver's genetic test was found on three genes. People typically have 8-10 disease gene variants among their 22,000 or so genes. Oliver has three of “unknown significance” (which means his variation has never been seen before, so they can only theorize how they affect his health) on RANBP2. There are a few reasons this is important:

1- RANBP2 happens to be on the mTOR Pathway, very close to Tuberous Sclerosis (very interesting)
2- RANBP2 is a gene that helps control the pores in your cells (Here is a link to an article you can understand about how important your pores are). It also is involved in your energy maintenance and protein import and export.
3-  Oliver has one copy of RANBP2, if he had two, he’d be in much worse shape. The question is, how does having one variation interact with his TS diagnosis?
4- Dr. Muge has recommended that we keep Oliver out of school for flu season and/or when illness is more likely. She is concerned what happened this fall could happen again. She said something rather innocuous could “tip him over.”

The RANBP2 gene (when there are 2 copies) causes the brain to attack itself called Acute Necrotizing Encephalopathy. Her working theory is that some kind of infection triggered this one gene in Oliver, and that is why his body basically began shutting down this winter. This is a theory, but it does make some sense. It also would explain why his lactic acid was higher than expected, pointing towards some kind of infection. She told us that they don’t know everything yet about this gene, or how it interacts with the body. They do know that when triggered, it can cause cell and nerve destruction.

She reminded us that the million dollar question is, “If you carry this gene, plus have TS, does that combo explain everything?” It might. She doesn’t have enough evidence to be certain. When she looks at this gene in relation to known pathways, it sits right there as a susceptibility agent. But proving all this is next to impossible.

What does this mean moving forward? Practically speaking, we want to keep Oliver away from illness, especially the flu. Dr. Muge said the flu could be fatal if that faulty gene gets activated again. We will likely continue to keep him out of school in the fall, which is different than what we had thought before the appointment. The kids in Ollie’s class are adorable and great, but keeping germs to themselves is a bit unrealistic.
She also told us that the damage done by his near death experience this winter could have had some irreversible effects. She said we shouldn’t write off his “breath holding” (which is happening again) as just behavioral...she mentioned that the pons part of his brain could have sustained damage, and an EEG can’t pick up on all seizures (especially sub clinical ones). We are considering this and trying to keep more careful notes about the breath holding.

Since she thinks we are probably dealing with secondary mitochondrial impact we are going to try to minimize stress. She suggested we not try ABA therapy with him at this time, due to the stress and rigor involved with its implementation. She reminded us that years of seizures and the prolonged hospitalizations, time in the ICU, etc., has caused his little body to be very stressed. So we will keep trying to eliminate stressors and conserve his energy.

We are still having issues with pain management and his food regulation. On certain days he eats well by mouth, almost as if he is starving. On other days he wants to eat, but can’t swallow. These ongoing changes in his brain are possibly a combo of hormones, changes from TS and perhaps med interactions.

We talked at length about the changes we might expect during puberty, and had some hard conversations related to the level of caregiving he may require. She said puberty is downright brutal for most medically fragile kids. The flood of hormones to an already damaged brain can be another tipping point like the one we hit this winter. The average age of puberty for a white boy in the US is 9 years old. Oliver is 8.5 years old now. There is no way to predict when the hormone flood will start as every kid is different, but it isn’t as far away as we had hoped it would be.

Whew....if you read this far, I wish I could give you a big hug. It took me forever to write this post so I can only imagine how you felt trying to read through it. The struggle is real for those of us that find ourselves as mommy scholars.

“Our Father refreshes us on the journey with some pleasant inns, 
but will not encourage us to mistake them for home.” 

For any genetics folks out there who want the details:

RANBP2, Autosomal dominant, c.560 A>G, p.His187Arg (H187R), Variant of Unknown Significance

ETHE1, Autosomal recessive, c.184 G>A (NM_014297.3), p.Ala62Thr
GTPB3, Autosomal recessive, c.169 G>C (NM_133644.3) p.Ala57Pro

Wednesday, June 7, 2017

Oliver's Summer Progress

We haven't posted a medical update in a while, because things change so rapidly around here we'd be editing it non-stop. Oliver goes through phases in a matter of days. It is as if his ability to tap into the artistic or athletic areas of his brain come and go. One day he'll wake up with a little Picasso (thank God we are through the Poocaso phase) or little Michael Jordan and then poof, it is gone. His newest obsession is the swimming we'll see if we can hang onto that one for the summer.

In his artist phase

The awesome news is Oliver is doing well developmentally, drinking out of his sippy cup, enjoying sidewalk chalk, sometimes feeding himself, sometimes using the potty, most of the time sleeping through the night. He is still struggling significantly with his GI issues and his pain. There are often a string of days where his pain is controlled and he is more comfortable...but there are strings of very difficult days.

The seizures are still well controlled, but we have seen a handful of breakthrough ones in the past month or so. They are insignificant enough that we are not too worried. (I can't even believe I wrote that sentence)? Praise the Lord!

He L.O.V. E.S a joyride! 

His weight has gotten back over the 60lbs mark, but some days it is impossible (with the pain) to get him enough calories. The palliative care team at UNC reminds us to take it day by day. It appears that we are trending in the right direction, it has just been a slow process. We are also getting better at juggling feeding by mouth along with G-tube feedings, and how to use those in harmony with one another. When he is able to eat, he is still a big fan of cheeseburgers, pizza, cookies, cake and Cheetos...just like any 8 year old kid. Oh, and don't forget the Uncrustables, which he discovered while we were in the hospital...those are his favorite.

Loves his papa too 

We feel grateful we have avoided the hospital and have managed a very complicated level of care at home! We have times of deep connection with him, but Autism is always a part of our life. Oliver has been so medically sick that I have written very little about his Autism, but he certainly is on the spectrum. The lack of speaking and connecting sometimes make our heart break the most. My heart is both worn out from the sadness and rock solid strong all at once. My ability to compartmentalize and carry on in the midst of insane situations has grown and grown. I can clean up a hazmat level situation that would make most people run away, and then throw on a blazer to run and it is not even a big deal anymore. You gotta do what you gotta do! This is proof to me that we are all capable of so much more than we'd think. Motherhood draws out something almost super-human.

He went through a brief basketball phase over Spring Break

We continue to take each day as it comes. When we wake after an entire night of sleep we thank God. The sleep deprivation of last fall almost broke both of us. When we see those blue eyes light up and connect with us we savor it; those moments are pure magic. When we see him grab his sippy cup and drink water, we smile. These micro moments get us through the reality of daily caregiving.

When it isn't too hot outside he likes to play in the sand 

We don't know the long term prognosis of what is happening with his intestinal system. We have appointments this coming week at UNC and might know more...although it appears everyone is in uncharted territory with our sweet Ollie. On Tuesday we meet with a genetic expert, Dr. Muga, to get insight into the question of whether Oliver actually does or doesn't have a mitochondrial disease (and if he does) trying to figure out which one.

This swing at Hugh MacRae park is always a winner 

Through it all, thanks for being our cheerleaders and friends! You make us feel always loved and never alone.

And on a side note: I have neglected the blog for lots of reasons, but also in the midst of all this we moved our offices for Lanier Property Group. Who knew moving your office would be this much work? Whew, glad we're done with that. We'd absolutely love for you to pop in and say "Hi"...we are still in our beloved Midtown, but just a little further down at 3724 Shipyard Blvd.

If you want to follow along more closely with Ollie, I post almost everyday on my Instagram account. I feature our Ollie bear in quick little videos and photos on many of my Instagram Story posts so find me @stephlanier and say "hi"!

If you want to check out what Oliver has been up to this summer, watch these videos that his amazing teacher, Angela Pollock has been making of his progress and fun! Cheers to a summer filled with giggles, and pool day splashes and fun in the sun.  

View ALL of Ollie's videos at the link below...there is quite a library 😎

An Oliver Outing: June 5, 2016 from Oliver Lanier on Vimeo.

An Oliver Outing: June 2, 2017 from Oliver Lanier on Vimeo.

An Oliver Outing: May 24, 2017 from Oliver Lanier on Vimeo.

Oliver the Artist: May 8, 2017 from Oliver Lanier on Vimeo.

Oliver's Room Makeover

The Wilmington Central Rotary recently gave Oliver a room makeover, which has been a huge blessing to us. We've now been able to enjoy it for two months, and it has been AMAZING! The room is so calming and beautiful, and we spend more time than ever hanging out and enjoying the space.

Ollie's bedroom is our old master bedroom, as he was needing more and more space, and we realized we couldn't carry him up the stairs to his old bedroom for much longer. A few years ago we renovated the bathroom to install a handicap, zero-entry shower, but never got around  to doing much with his actual bedroom. All the hospital stays of the past year really threw us for a loop and redecorating his room was a luxury we just didn't have.

That’s where the amazing Rotary Club came in! They repainted, created custom window treatments, a cabana for reading and relaxing, added a sectional sofa with a pull-out bed for our nurses, a framed whiteboard for Oliver's Homebound Teachers, a new TV, new carpet and padding, new bedding and an incredibly custom closet built for holding all of his medical supplies. Wow! Their club descended on our house for two short days, sweated and worked so hard and left the place magical and beautiful.

Their incredible generosity has been humbling and life changing for our little family. Letting yourself be loved takes practice and humility. Andrew and I have gotten so much better at this over the years. When Oliver first got sick I never wanted to impose on others to bring food or help with laundry, but I have learned that it is their great joy to help. And as Oliver got more and more sick, it became abundantly clear that it was outside the scope of what we could do alone. Truly a village has helped to care for him. We have been stunned by the generosity of our church, the folks at Hope Community Church, the real estate industry as a whole and the Central Rotary.

A special thank you to Fred Krumpel, who has a heart the size of Texas and was patient with us through the design process. As you can imagine, Oliver's autism and sensory issues created all kinds of challenges. Fred was eager to think outside the box and create a space that was functional, safe and beautiful. We were deeply touched by the time and investment of his company, Strickland's Window Coverings.

I also have to quickly plug the carpet that Crystal Carpet and Flooring Company donated called SmartStrand by Mohawk. Due to Oliver's GI issues and medical challenges there are often big, hospital level messes created. So far this carpet has come completely clean when we use the steam cleaner as directed. It is a downright miracle! The carpet was actually tested out in a zoo(?!?) and came clean. Thank you to Fred and Chad at Crystal Carpet for bringing us such a functional and beautiful solution. Keeping the carpets clean has been one of my biggest challenges and now that little burden is gone. Poof! Now I want to get it put in the rest of my house!

Judy Coccoma, a dear friend and neighbor, custom made the window treatments and this super cool hanging cabana. Judy has been a part of Oliver's story for years now, gives meds on occasion and is always up for a neighborhood walk and a hug. She never ceases to amaze me with her sewing talents.

Our hope is to pay all of this forward someday. Thank you for loving us so well and PLEASE support these local businesses!
Wilmington Central Rotary
"Miracles of Rotary"

Vendor List:
Custom Colors
Crystal Carpet
Seams Inspired
Strickland's & "Strickland's Employees"
Kelley Winton (Carpet Installation)
Mill Outlet
Cape Fear Cleaning Solutions
Carole Sheffield
Mike and Amanda Baker

Friday, May 5, 2017

A Monster Turned Ghost

It passed without me even knowing it. April 14th made 6 months since we have seen Oliver have a seizure. I have spent the past seven years of my life on high alert for the slightest indication that his body was about to begin jerking and trembling and those beautiful lips turn blue. I can tell you every road or parking lot in Wilmington I have pulled into when he would have a bad seizure in the car. I would throw my minivan into “park”, dash around the side, rip the side door open (no time for that smooth automatic door), and say “breathe Ollie, breathe.” I would gently cradle his head in my hands to open his windpipe by titling his head  back and softly ask him, like I’ve done 100 times before, to “come back to me...please come back to mama.” And eventually he would. Sometimes with the help of a rescue med, most of the time without. He would gasp for air and those lips would turn red again and he would peacefully sleep off the highjacking of his brain that just happened.

I do not miss those panic stricken moments, but I honestly don’t really believe it is over. It seems too good to be true. Have they just...stopped? For real? I always thought the stories of “growing out of epilepsy” were just unrealistic, at least for us.

Happy Boy watching One Direction videos 

But you know what is oddly comforting? The seizure monster was a known enemy. We knew what we were fighting. We knew how the epilepsy worked. We knew how it robbed Ollie of his development and a few times even tried to kill him. Our team to fight the monster was well defined. Our weapons, the rescue meds, were sophisticated and at the ready. We had charts and laminated sheets all over the house with instructions of what to do when the seizures attacked. I felt as prepared as I could be. I felt organized and not alone. So many mamas are fighting this monster everyday.

But since this past fall we have been fighting an unknown enemy. There has been a new monster in town since September, but we don’t even know what to call it...

Yesterday, Oliver had his colonoscopy and it came back 100% clear, normal and healthy?! Last week he had an abdominal MRI and it also came back totally fine. Not one thing was out of place on either test, nothing was inflamed or out of order? How is that the case with all of his gastrointestinal issues? I am truly perplexed.

Looking with love at his papa before his colonoscopy at UNC

One thing about all of these tests--the anesthesia recovery process is getting more challenging. No more propofol, no more ketamine, those two aren’t our friends anymore. So, we have decided to take a break for the whole summer from any procedures, sedations, tests or unnecessary blood work. We want to give Oliver a 90 day window of no pokes or scanners or medical stressors, if we are able. It is the summer after-all and let’s be honest, it appears “the answer” is as elusive as it ever was.

A year ago we had a boy who ate and drank normally. He ran and jumped for hours. He was progressing academically. He never experienced pain. Like ever. He was a handful, he was challenging and he always walked around with an array of diagnoses, but he didn’t look like a malnourished child.

So who or what are we fighting? Our Boston team does not believe that Ollie has a Mitochondrial Disease. They told me on a call about a month ago that they do not know of anyone living or dead that is a confirmed case of both TSC and Mitochondrial Disease. Oliver would be the only person in history that they know of. Our UNC team thinks he is having a decline that is slow and may have some yet-to-be-discovered underlying cause. Or they have hypothesized that his body could just be wearing out, which seems inconceivable for an eight year old. Here are all the questions I have been asking all of our doctors and they ALL have the same answer: “We don’t know” (Sigh).

Will he return to baseline?
Is this our “new normal?”
Will he continue to decline? If so, how fast? What if he plateaus, how long will that last?
Will we be able to get him back to his ideal weight of 65 lbs?
Should we pursue having him return to school in the fall?
Should we get even more in-home care?
Is this a mitochondrial disease?
Is this a rare manifestation of Tuberous Sclerosis?
Is this related to his Autism?

I could go on and on, but you get the idea. Since September, we have basically been playing the rule-out game. We have ruled out a host of issues, but still no rock solid diagnosis. I hate this game. This is when having a child who could communicate would make a huge difference in trying to sort through what is going on.

So we fight the ghost now. No longer Monster #2, with a face, a name, but a ghost.

I guess in some ways the only way to fight a ghost is to lean into the world of the supernatural. So we will continue our path with prayer in our community of believers. Who know that hope, faith and love are the key ingredients for a good life. We’ll cling to that truth even when comfort and health seem elusive.

We don’t know what the future holds, which drives me nuts. It could be tragic and heartbreaking, or we hope it will be triumphant and inspiring. I doubt we’ll ever get back to “normal”...which was never that normal anyway! I trust we’ll grow into this new, ever complicated world of Oliver’s care. I know we’re grateful for each day we keep the seizure monster away even if there is a new ghost that haunts our house and our lives.

On the road again to yet another appointment

Control is such an illusion. I love Brian Tracy’s quote “You cannot control what happens to you, but you can control your attitude toward what happens to you, and in that, you will be mastering change rather than allowing it to master you.”

Mr. Sleepyhead waiting for an abdominal x-ray

And now these three things remain:
faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.
(1 Corinthians 13:13)

Sunday, March 12, 2017

Hijacked By Beauty

Outside the window are huge, wet, sloppy snowflakes falling fast, yet softly. I walk outside to catch them in my hands and they melt on contact. Andrew is still asleep, we both feel like we’ll never recover from the painful sleep deprivation of this fall. I truly don’t know how we survived it.

I like the snow because it causes me to actually stop. How can I feel stressed when I look out at that white magic and take a deep breath? It is like God is showering my backyard with calming confetti. I curl my fingers around my coffee cup and throw a fluffy blanket across my lap. In the South snow makes everything stop.

Sometimes we need our schedules hijacked by beauty.

These days it feels like we are walking a tightrope with Oliver’s health. A small gust of wind or a lapse into dehydration can send us tumbling down. In the past, I used the phrase “medically fragile” to describe our situation; now I feel like that is actually our reality. The threat of going back to the hospital is a fear based in reality.

But if I am honest, sometimes I miss the hospital. I don’t miss the terrible pull out bed that makes you feel like you slept on steel rods, or the endless beep of the monitor. I miss the simplicity. Just like snow stops the South, hospitals cause you to hit pause on virtually everything in your life. When I am in the hospital, the world is about caregiving and nothing else. Every single move I make is about Oliver’s care. Andrew and I’s conversations orbit around him and we click into hospital mode, where we work so well as a team that we even surprise ourselves. The hospital doesn’t feel like a tightrope, because there is a safety net and people on every side to catch you.

There are two factors to Oliver’s health that require intense monitoring everyday, the input and output. We have to get 1800 calories, 55 oz of water, 2 wet diapers and 2 dirty diapers a day just to maintain his health and weight. This is not easy to accomplish, and sometimes causes us to do crazy things.

The other day we were so focused on enemas, catheterizations and getting to our output count that we got behind on calories through the feeding tube. So in the afternoon, John and Angela took him around to tons of places to see if they could get him to eat. You can only get so much nutrition through a tube in a 24 hour period. They tried it all...cheeseburger, no thanks. Taco, not today. Donut, not in the mood right now. Yogurt parfait, not my favorite anymore.

By now we know that the initial genetic tests didn’t show anything definitive. He will have another wave of testing that will take a few months. By the end of the summer we might know more; then again, we might not.

When Ollie was diagnosed with Tuberous Sclerosis we were so thankful to have a community, clinical trials, advocacy for research dollars, Facebook groups, etcetera. We never felt alone with the diagnosis, and could quickly identify what we needed to do to get him the best care in the country.

Not so with Mitochondrial Disease. I feel lost. I am not a stay at home mom this time, so I don’t have time for endless hours of research. I feel torn about juggling all the responsibilities I have this time around. This diagnosis also comes with g-tubes, catheterizations, feeding teams and staying out of school. It flipped our world upside down in a way that Tuberous Sclerosis only did gradually.

These days, we often put Ollie in the bathtub to help with his stomach pains and G.I. issues. He loves it and happily splashes around or spins the wheel on a toy truck for an hour or two. We have never been big fans of the bath because of his seizures. Since we haven’t seen them in almost 5 months, we are feeling more open to it. Oliver has our master bathroom, so he has a huge triangle shaped tub. We are so pleased he likes it and it provides comfort for him, especially on days when he is working through painful constipation or gas pains. When he lies all the way down in the bathtub his ribs poke out, his little gtube sticks out above the water line, and his face is often dotted with bubbles on the edges of his hair line. As he giggles, I smile, but I also feel that deep pit in my own stomach, worrying about his frailty. I know a stomach bug or the return of the seizure monster could put him in a life threatening situation. The tightrope life means you have to stay focused, even when you need a break or feel exhausted.

I want to pull his thin, wet body out of the water carefully and slowly to making sure he doesn’t slip, and then hold him in my arms. I want to wrap him in a huge, warm towel that smells like lavender and tell him I am so sorry that I can’t control the length or even quality of his life. I want to whisper how unfair all this is as I tuck his wet hair behind his ear. I want to tell him that all those things I shouted after he attacked me in the wee hours of the morning in October weren’t true. I said things I regret. I truly thought I was going to shatter into one million tiny pieces. I want him to know I can handle this new tightrope living, even though I said I couldn’t. And I want him to know that for every strand of hair he ripped out of my head and every scar from bite marks he left, it never changed my love for him. I now know how much he was suffering. I will always feel brokenhearted that I didn’t know his aggression was an expression of extreme pain that I misread.

On the whiteboard in our living room we are tracking all these metrics. Nurse John remarked the other day, “It takes so much work just to keep Oliver alive.”

Andrew just came downstairs. He looks a little more rested than yesterday. I wish I told him more often how much I love him. I want him to know how much respect I have for the way he has handled the past 6 months of exhaustion; screams of pain, that life-changing diagnosis, sleepless nights and rapid response teams. His noble character shines so brightly. I feel so thankful that Ollie gets to have him for his Dad.

Andrew stands at our front window and marvels at the white wonderland that has appeared in an otherwise warm and early Spring. It is a sweet Sunday morning surprise for two often broken and weary people trying to love each other all the way through the unimaginable.

The snow is still falling swiftly and my coffee has cooled. It is time to crush pills and draw them up, place the syringes side by side on a tray and push them into the tube. There is a long list of caregiving tasks ahead, but isn’t the sweetest kind of providential gift when an everyday life is hijacked by beauty?

Thursday, February 23, 2017

Ollie's Back and Feeling Good!

We confess that we had forgotten what Oliver was really like. We forgot the effervescent joy of tickling him until we are all howling with laughter. We forgot what it was like to watch him, from across the room burst into spontaneous laughter at a video on his iPad. We forgot what our boy is like when he is not in pain or discomfort. His baseline personality is happy and joyful. At his core he is playful and affectionate, but the diseases and discomfort rob him of the uncomplicated life an eight year old should have.

The past days after returning from the hospital, Mr. Giggle Pants has returned. We feel like a black cloud has moved off of the top of our house. We are both finally exhaling a little bit, and it feels so nice. The diagnoses remain. The sadness is pervasive, but not always defining. We are so thankful for this reprieve. All three of us feel a little more buoyant than they have since last September, when our world started to unravel.

The lightness we feel may also come from the fact that we have finally gotten our arms around the meds, the feedings, the appointments, the 14 in-home nurses, therapists and workers to manage for Ollie’s weekly care. The complexity is now more routine than overwhelming. All that seemed impossible on January 12th; but work hard on anything for 45 days straight and you’ll get better.

Last Thursday, we felt an enormous weight of worry with him collapsing dozens of times a day. We had a total rush of adrenaline and felt we were heading in a bad direction, fast. What is remarkable about Oliver is how quickly his body, mind and mood can swing. He was in a seriously life threatening situation only 5 days ago, and now is breathing normally 85% of the time. What is going on with this kid?

Today, we are on the road again for Oliver’s pre-scheduled appointment at UNC’s Pediatric Clinic at Rex in Raleigh. We went to meet with the Feeding Team; an interdisciplinary team that includes a speech therapist, dietician and PA from the GI department. It was so reassuring and helpful to have all three of them in the room collaborating on Oliver’s care. We feel hopeful about the changes we will be making, and hope they will (for real) keep us out of the hospital!

So we are hoping the good times keep rolling over here at Lanier Landing. We pray that black cloud gets a little less dark and hovers off to the side for a few months. It sure feels nice to see the sun break through those omnipresent clouds, and let it warm our weary faces. Is it naive to think that perhaps spring came early not just to the daffodils in our front yard, but also in our lives? Perhaps, possibly, the dark season has ended and we’ll get to enjoy a spring, summer & fall season before going through another winter? I love this John Bunyan quote, “it is said that in some countries trees will grow, but will bear no fruit because there is no winter there.” The important thing to remember is there is a reason for winter. Suffering is not entirely wasted unless you allow it to be. Our dark season with those long nights and brutal conditions does have a purpose. Without winter we can’t really bloom. And wouldn’t it be a tragedy if we never get to see one another’s full beauty? Without winter we can’t bear fruit. And fruit is always the external evidence of what the tree is really made of. If it is a good tree, the fruit it creates is not only beautiful, but it can feed and care for others. So perhaps we shouldn’t always want to skip winter, but learn to embrace its cold beauty.

There is a time for everything and a season for every activity under the heavens
(Ecclesiastes 3:1)