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What Can I Tell You About Life With an Undiagnosed Child?

20/04/2015 21:42 BST | Updated 20/06/2015 10:59 BST

On Friday 24 April the third Undiagnosed Children's Day takes place. The aim is to raise awareness of undiagnosed genetic conditions and SWAN UK, the charity that offers support and information to families of children affected by these conditions.

What could I tell you about this awareness day and the children it supports? What could I write that would give you a sense of what it is like to have a child living in the unknown? That would make you stand still for a second in your busy day and hear about our children? What could I tell you about my boy - just one of the 6,000 disabled children that are born each year with a genetic condition that will remain undiagnosed?

I could tell you about the waiting. The horrific, terrifying waiting. Living in limbo as test results for diseases that are life-limiting chug through the system. That to become "undiagnosed" these diseases have to be ruled out first. That this can take years.

I could tell you that even when the tests come back negative that doesn't mean that the prognosis is now favourable, that we have dodged a bullet - it just means that the doctors can not find what is wrong.

I could tell you that hundreds are starting to get a diagnosis each year as genetic testing becomes more sophisticated, but in most cases this is meaningless as the genetic break points and mutations are so rare that there is no collective to garner knowledge from.

I could tell you that these children are writing the medical books for the future. That because of them generations to come will not have to face a future so uncertain.

I could tell you about the fear.

A fear that bubbles every time they are ill.

A fear that surfaces every time you look too far ahead.

A fear of your own mortality - as who will care for them the way that you do.

Or worse, a fear of a time to come that does not include them.

I could tell you that most of these children are so medically complex that the doctors don't know which way to turn. That because of this they miss stuff. That everyday common conditions that would transform their quality of life can go untreated for years.

I could tell you of the brutal things we have to do to our babies - the many, many blood tests, feeding tubes, how we have to decide whether to subject them to painful operations that we are not sure will work.

I could tell you that sometimes they are deemed unworthy of these medical procedures - that they are a waste as they are "the least of their problems." Yet any good doctor would tell you that small things can make a big difference.

I could tell you about how hard it is to get out and about. The long lingering looks from people that turn away quickly as soon as you look back. People who wonder about a four year who flaps his hands and makes funny noises, how he moves across dirty floors with his hands as this is his only mobility.

I could tell you that I feel sometimes that they judge.

I could tell you that I can't even tell them what is wrong.

I could tell you that with no diagnosis it is harder to access support. That most of our families have to battle to receive respite and basic services.

I could tell you that we often feel like we are getting it wrong - that we don't do enough. That we did something to make this happen.

I could tell you that it is hard for his brother and sister to explain him to friends, that they have to miss out on things because of him, that they take this all in their stride.

I could tell you that with no diagnosis we have no idea whether it will affect their children.

I could tell you that we don't know what tomorrow will bring. That it may all get worse before it begins to get better.

I could tell you all of this.

So you can have a glimpse of life with an undiagnosed child.

But there is more.

I will tell you that I wouldn't now change a hair on his head.

I will tell you that he makes us smile every day.

I will tell you that he has given us so much more than he has ever taken away.

But most importantly I need to tell you this.

He is a little boy. The person he is supposed to be.

Just like you and just like me.

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