Saskatchewan health minister to seek second opinion for family denied drugs

at 18:36 on October 05, 2015, EDT.

The Canadian Press

REGINA – Saskatchewan’s health minister says he will ask for a second opinion on an unproven drug for three Saskatoon children with a rare and often fatal blood disease.

The Akhter family has met with Dustin Duncan to ask that the government cover the expensive treatment for Morquio syndrome.

It would cost $500,000 a year per child and the family’s funding request was turned down by ministry officials last week.

The drug is not a cure, although studies indicate it is effective in slowing down the disease in children under five.

In this case, the three children are eight, 10 and 12.

Duncan says he wants to make sure the department does its due diligence.

“It’s a very difficult situation, so I’m going to ask the ministry to consult further with some other out-of-province experts to give me a second opinion on this,” Duncan said Monday.

“While the answer last week was no, it doesn’t mean it’s no forever.”

There is one child in the province who is on the drug.

Duncan said it’s important to get as much information as possible through the drug review process and from the manufacturers.

NDP Opposition critic Trent Wotherspoon said he feels the family should get coverage on compassionate grounds, even if the drug is not 100 per cent proven.

“They deserve a lifeline. They deserve some hope,” Wotherspoon said. “The potential of halting this degenerative disease and the progression of that disease is so critically important (to these children).”

Morquio syndrome is a hereditary disease in which the blood lacks a certain enzyme. The syndrome is characterized by skeletal defects such as stunted growth, deformity of the spine and chest, short neck and loose and enlarged joints. It can also lead to thin tooth enamel and corneal clouding.

The Isaac Foundation, an organization that funds research projects aimed at finding a cure for Morquio syndrome, is advocating for the Akhters.

Executive director Andrew McFadyen said the decision to deny funding was made on scant evidence.

“This was only looked at by one reviewer in Ontario, who clearly disregraded the international treatment guidelines, who clearly ignored the Canadian expert opinion on treating this disease,” McFadyen said.

The ministry has suggested the family take a long-term palliative approach to care for the children.

McFadyen suggested that may prove even more costly to the health-care system.

“When we look at the total cost of that drug, it’s often noted that the cost to not treat these children may be the same … when you look at interventions, medical appointments, hip replacements, corneal transplants, etc.”

(CKRM, CJWW, The Canadian Press)

Content Provided By Canadian Press.

Source:  http://www.cfra.com/HealthCP/Article.aspx?id=481958

Race Weekend – For Jack

Well – race weekend is here and we’ve all arrived in Ottawa to Run for a Reason. We’re here to find a cure for MPS. I’ve done more training than any other race I’ve been in, and have been running for a lot of different kids during that time. It’s our brave kids that keep me going – both in my drive to find a cure and while I’m out there trying to reach the finish line.

In everything I do, I have my son Isaac as my inspiration. And this race is no different – race day is for him. But I’m also running for another little boy, someone I love dearly, but someone I can’t help but feel I’ve let down. I’m running for the one boy that I haven’t been able to win the battle for, the boy who keeps me up at night with worry, sorrow, and guilt. I’m running for you, Jack Fowler, with a heavy heart but with resolve to keep fighting for you; with a promise to do whatever it takes to help you win your battle.

We’ve been lucky to play a small role in the lives of many kids and families during the past 9 years – something I’ll always be proud of. We’re closing in on $1 million donated to research projects aiming to find a cure. We think we’re close to a cure for MPS VI, and the incredible MPS II Research Fund is currently funding 3 promising Gene Therapy projects. We’ve taken on drug companies on behalf of our kids, we’ve won battles big and small. But for Jack, we continue to come up short and hit barrier after barrier – barriers I’m finding difficult to break through, jump over, or move around.

I feel the weight of this inability to help Jack more than ever, and I feel like I’ve let him and his family down. When I first got involved in the fight to save Jack, I promised I would do everything in my power to get him the treatment he needs. We met with Shire, launched public campaigns, hit the media circuit, and shared his story around the world. Today, a year and a half later, we still haven’t found the right way to help, and I’m heartbroken that we haven’t been able to access treatment yet.

Oftentimes, parents connect with me as a last hope – the last person to turn to in their battle to get treatment for their kids. And I’m always here to help. But so far we’ve failed, and I feel guilt and shame, broken and hurt. And I feel it all strongly because if I can feel proud for those that we’ve been able to help, I should also accept the pain that comes from those that haven’t been successful in helping yet.

For Jack, like other kids, I’ve always felt like I was the last hope – if everything we do isn’t successful, then there would be nowhere else to turn. But I’m wrong – I’m not the last person that can help. That last hope doesn’t sit with me. The last person that can help is Flemming Ornskov, CEO of Shire PLC – the drug company that makes the treatment Jack so desperately needs. Flemming continues to act as judge, jury, and executioner, and he truly is the only person who can step in and make a difference.

So this run is also for you, Flemming. Dedicated to you as a final plea to find it within yourself to be brave – to go out and help those you purport to care about most as a company. This run is for you, Flemmming, in hopes that you see that this guilt I bear should be shared by you – that your legacy as a person and a businessman will always come back to this case – to this little boy – and the decisions you make about his future. It’s for you, and for Jack, with a promise to you both that I won’t ever quit the fight to save him, no matter what road that battle may take me down.

You’ll be with me this weekend, Jack, like you’re with me each and every minute of every day. You inspire me to work harder, fight stronger, to never give up. I promise I’ll run to the end of the road for you, and beyond.

#Hope  #SaveJack

If anyone out there would like to support our Run – our Hope for a cure – please click through and spare what you can.
http://www.gifttool.com/athon/MyFundraisingPage?ID=2012&AID=2997&PID=497389

 — with Jamie Lynn-Brooks FowlerDeb Cehak Purcell and Kristin Higginson.

Run For A Cure – Training

It’s 6 days until race day, and I was starting to feel poorly that my official run next week wasn’t going to be dedicated to our MPS VI crew. So – I rectified that this morning and did a 1/2 marathon for training! This one is for all the MPS VI kids I’ve been lucky enough to help in this country (Isaac, Jasper, Violet, Aleena, and Kamie) and for the incredible kids I’ve been lucky enough to follow along and watch their journey from the start (Lillian and Holden). This run is also for the MPS VI families I’ve been fortunate to know online, to the families who have helped us along with whatever battle we’ve been fighting (Ethan and Frida). And finally, this one is for you Kendra – a hero who led the way for our kids to get the treatment they need approved during the clinical trials.

Today’s run was a good one to dedicate to my fellow MPS VI families – it’s the first one since I returned back from New Orleans, the first on since we received our update on the Gene Therapy project we’ve given over $1/4 million towards and get it off the ground. I’m still waiting for permission to share the news we received on where things stand, but what I can say is that I truly believe we’ve moved on from HOPE to HERE. Everything we’ve worked so hard to see happen is now upon us, and I’m waiting with anticipation to share everything with you as soon as I can!

Working to bring ERT to Canada for our kids was tough. I lost a lot of sleep fighting for Isaac, Jasper, Violet, Aleena, and Kamie, and I lost a lot of time away from my kids during the busiest moments of those battles. I’m so very lucky to have played a small role in helping you all have the chance at life you deserve. Knowing you these kids has changed my life, and I’m a better person for it.

At the same time, I’ll never forget the moment I had to tell Isaac I couldn’t spend any time with him – time I had promised was his – because I was working on a media campaign to help Aleena get the treatment she needed. Isaac looked me in the eyes, ran over and hugged me and said “It’s OK, Daddy. You’re working to save her like you did me and I understand.” It was one of the most heartbreaking and sweetest moments of our time together, but it made me realize that I needed to make some changes in my life and ensure that I could do both. It’s one of the things that helped me make the final decision to leave my classroom and focus full time on finding a cure for our kids because if we find that cure, all of our battles will be over.

And I think we’re close. No – I KNOW we’re close. And thinking of all of you during my run today made it easy out there, even though I was running through our cottage roads and up and down hills for the majority of my time running.

Our RUN FOR A REASON event has raised over $300,000 over the past 10 years – money that we’ve sent directly toward finding a cure for our kids. It’s fitting that this 10th anniversary run is one that takes place while we’re on the cusp of finding that cure for our kids, and I can’t wait to get out there next weekend and celebrate on the course.

I’m incredibly blessed to have all of you in my life. Thank you for enriching my life the way you have. I wouldn’t be the same without you.

If anyone out there would like to support our Run – our Hope for a cure – please click through and spare what you can.
http://www.gifttool.com/athon/MyFundraisingPage…

Run For A Cure – For Ellen

We’ve run a lot of places together, Ellen and I, and I can’t imagine a better partner to be at my side on this long road than you.

Our latest journey has taken us to New Orleans, to the American Society of Gene Therapy Conference, as we search for a cure for our son and all the other families battling MPS throughout the world. This training run took me through the streets of NOLA, out past the insanity that is Bourbon Street and through the historic French Quarter. It started out as a short run, but kept getting longer and longer as I thought about the significance of our trip here – someone at this conference holds the future of our son in their mind, in their lab. We need to find them, fund them, and make our cure a reality.

Ellen is my partner in life, my best friend, the mother of my kids, and the strongest person I’ve ever known. She’s the reason why our Foundation has grown, why we’ve been able to achieve what we have and help the kids we’ve been so lucky to help. She’s the person I laugh with, cry with, grieve with, and the only person I can talk to about anything.

It sometimes gets hard to talk about my own son with other families – I’m still coping with diagnosis, still in disbelief that this is where our life has taken us. But running The Isaac Foundation sometimes makes me feel I have to be strong for the other families out there, which usually means I hide the fear I have inside about where my own journey with MPS will take me. I’m lucky to have Ellen with me to talk to, share those fears, and to help me see how close we are to winning our fight.

I’d like to say that my final run on Race Day is for Ellen, but that race and that run is reserved for someone else. She’ll have to be content with this run being for her – the one through the streets of New Orleans while we are on our latest journey together – an important one toward finding the cure for our son.
I love you, Ellen. More than ever before.

If anyone out there would like to support our Run – our Hope for a cure – please click through and spare what you can.
http://www.gifttool.com/athon/MyFundraisingPage…

Run For a Cure – Training Run For Deb

This long run is for you Deb, and for you, Trey. 16K is a long training run, but thinking of your family and thinking of the journey we’ve been on together got me through it all. Our kids were diagnosed at the same time, and you were the first family we met after that diagnosis took us down paths we never knew we would take. I’ve watched you worry over Trey, cope with horrific news, and then fight like hell to change the world for him.

And you have. And I couldn’t be more proud to know you; I couldn’t be more proud to have you on our team, side by side.

Much like our battle with MPS, my run today felt like every step was uphill. It felt like I would never make it to the end. But also like MPS, I know we’re near the top of that hill, and the run back down toward the finish line will be easier and faster. We’ll get to that finish line for our kids. We’ll get there soon, and we’ll get there together.

Thanks for continuing to inspire us. Send my love to your family.

If anyone out there would like to support our Run – our Hope for a cure – please click through and spare what you can.
http://www.gifttool.com/athon/MyFundraisingPage…

Run for a Cure – Training – Ontario

Today’s short and slow run took me through the streets of downtown Toronto, and past the Ontario Legislature. I used to think that real change happened in that building – then my son was diagnosed with a rare disease. Suddenly, it became evident that we have a health care system that touts itself as the best system in the world, but only if you don’t need access to expensive medicines to stay alive. It dawned on me early in this battle that real change doesn’t happen in that Legislature or by the people elected to work there – it comes from us. It comes from the people who need it most.

Had we not worked so hard to change public policy, the people in that Legislature would have sat back and watched our son die. Same holds true for the other kids diagnosed with MPS in this Province. The people in that Legislature believe that treating symptoms is better than treating the disease – because it’s cheaper to do so and helps to keep their budgets in check. But tough action, determination, and a brave fight by our kids and families has helped ensure access for many who need it. There is a new battle brewing, one that will take place in the very near future – a battle for access to treatment for our MPS VIA kids. I’ll be there to lead the charge because I believe in a health care system that is fair and equitable for everyone – even if you happen to have a rare disease, even if you need access to an expensive medicine to stay alive.

So – this warm up run is dedicated to the incredibly brave families I’ve met here in Ontario, and to the patients who are the bravest of all. I’m so lucky to know you and I’ll be running for you in Ottawa. This is for Isaac, Jasper, Lillian, Jack, Avery, Luke, Zane, Derric, Dawn, Riley, Tyler, Jordan, and Ayub!

Godspeed, Heather. You Will Be Missed!

As the Alberta Election race enters the final hours, so too does the official time in office for one of the most honourable and compassionate souls I have ever met. Once the results are announced tonight, the retirement of Heather Forsyth officially begins, bringing an end to a highly successful political career.

I met Heather a few years ago when I was struggling to find help for a little girl, Aleena Sadownyk, who needed immediate access to life-saving treatment.  Because this treatment is expensive (the fourth most expensive drug in the world), we were getting nowhere with the PC government, at that time led by Premier Alison Redford.  Desperate for help, I contacted Heather to see if there was anything she could do in her capacity as the Official Opposition Health Critic.

The moment I spoke with Heather, I knew I had connected with someone that would do everything in her power to help this little girl.  She listened to everything I had to tell her, keyed in on the most important facts of our case, and sprang to action immediately after our initial phone call was over.  I was impressed, and had Hope again for helping little Aleena.

Now, a quick aside.  Over the years, I’ve had the pleasure (sometimes) of working with many politicians throughout the country.  Oftentimes, these politicians offer their help during advocacy cases to further their own stature within political circles – helping with these advocacy cases usually translates into scoring political gain against the government of the day, and members of the Official Opposition jump at the chance to score such points.  I’m not naive in the slightest – I understand that many politicians get involved in my advocacy pushes because of the prospect to score those sought after blows against the government.  And I’ve never minded that fact – I’ll do anything to help our kids suffering from rare diseases, and if a politician wants to help out – for whatever reason – who am I to turn down the help offered, especially when we are talking life and death situations for our kids?

4d5f8030f60e11e2ad2b22000ae80c6b_7While I was impressed with the speed that Heather and her team sprang to action to save Aleena, I was more impressed that I felt she was doing it out of a love for helping people, and a passion for doing what’s right.  Moreover, I truly felt she was working as hard as she did because of the heartache and heartbreak she felt for what Aleena and her family were dealing with.  However, my close friends were skeptical – they have heard me speak often about the help I’ve received in the past and they were sure Heather took this case on for those same reasons.  They were sure she was doing this for political gain and for personal ambitions within that political world.  I vehemently disagreed – I consider myself a good judge of character, and I was sure that Heather was one of those rare people in the world of politics who were helping because they could, and because she felt that it was incumbent on her to make a difference in the life of this little girl if she were able.

And you know what?  My first impression was right.

Shortly after Aleena had her treatment approved – solely due to the hard work of Heather and her team led by Matt Solberg – Heather shared with me that she would not be seeking re-election the next time the Province when to the polls.  Win or lose, Heather didn’t have a political future she needed to worry about.  Political gain didn’t play into the situation at all, though I felt that was the case all along.Aleena is doing incredibly well today – she had her life saved by one of the most caring and compassionate people I’ve ever met – ever – in the world of politics.  When she looks back on a career filled with a long list of accomplishments – from serving in Cabinet to being the Leader of the Official Opposition – I know that Heather will be able to remember Aleena and the impact she had on her life as being one of the most satisfying and rewarding moments.

I’m sad to see Heather leave the world of politics.  She’s one of a kind – one of the few that go into the office everyday to try and make the world a better place for those around them.  She’s always been honest, truthful, kind, caring, and compassionate.  And she saved the life of a little girl.

0b6291d2079211e3943422000a9f1416_7The Alberta Legislature is better for having Heather serve amongst its storied halls, and the people of Alberta are better for having her represent them for so very long.  Personally, I’m a better person for knowing her, and I’m proud to call her Friend.

Godspeed, Heather Forsyth.  Enjoy your retirement, it’s well deserved.  Thank you for your service and your love for our kids battling rare diseases.  We will be sure to send you updates on Aleena as she makes her way through school, as she gets her first job, as she walks down the aisle on her wedding day.  Thank you for your kindness, for your love.  We will forever be indebted to you for that, and more.

Run For a Cure – For Jack Higginson

This warm-up run is dedicated to Jack Higginson, a sweet little boy battling MPS II. This run was a little longer, and a bit more difficult. But thinking of the pain and heartbreak Jack and his family suffer through day in and day out as they battle this disease gave me the motivation to keep going and finish strong.
Families dealing with the diagnosis of MPS II have the double agony of diagnosis coupled with the excruciating wait until age 6 or 7, an age where they will know whether their child is battling cognitive impairment as a result of the disease. 

MPS is a tough battle, and the strength, courage, and determination it takes to battle through a diagnosis of Hunter Syndrome is something that only the strongest people can undertake. Jack’s family have been incredible advocates and fighters for our kids – the strongest people I know. They are kind, caring, and compassionate, and will be a big reason why we find a cure for Hunter Syndrome! This one was for you, Jack. And for you lovely Higginsons! See you on race day!

Russian Roulette

Hi Everyone,

I’m sitting here, once again, in the OR waiting room at Sick Kids Hospital in Toronto.  I can’t recall how many times I’ve sat in this room, waiting for news on my son.  But I do remember how awful it is in here – I’ve often called this place the worst place on earth – it always feels stuffy, the atmosphere grim, the energy of each and every one of us in here drained completely.  And the stress.  The stress permeates the room from the moment you enter.  It heightens in everyone as soon as a doctor appears in the door – each of us wondering if it’s news for us, and if that news will be good.  The stress breaks once parents get word that their children are now ready to be seen, but only for a short while.

They’ve tried to change this room over the years.  It’s received a fresh coat of paint – it seems lighter in here, and there is a Christmas tree in the corner to make people feel at home and cheery.  There is a TV on the wall that updates all the patients and the stage they are at…In Holding, in the OR, or Finished.  But it’s the same place – and I’m sitting in the same seat that I always do while I’m here.  It’s not the room that makes this place feel awful, it’s the mood.  And that will never change.

We’re here together – Ellen, Gabriel, and I, and dealing with things together like we always do.  But we almost didn’t have Gabriel with us.  For some reason, we thought the stress, the long day – the unknown –  would be too much for him and we arranged for him to stay with Nanny while Ellen, Isaac, and I came on our own.  But it was also stressful to think about him being left alone and worrying about his brother, and wondering what was going on while we were away.  He woke up yesterday and told us he wanted to be there with us. He’s Isaac’s best friend – his support system, and we need to be here together.  I’m so glad he came, and watching the boys spend time together before the surgery was one of the loveliest things I’ve ever seen.

This is the place that parents of kids with MPS dread the most.  Surgeries are tough on kids, but made all the more difficult for our kids with MPS because of their comprised airway – airways that continue to deteriorate with each passing year.  Sitting here, I can’t help likening these frequent visits to Russian Roulette, a thought that’s been nagging at me for weeks now, ever since we got word that Isaac’s transplant was set for today.  It’s a grim thought – one that I don’t want to have and one that scares me.  How long until the chamber isn’t empty?  I don’t want to know.

We’re lucky, however.  More lucky than most parents in our position.  Isaac’s airway has been slowly rebuilding itself since we started him on Elmiron, the JnJ drug that we worked so hard for him to receive.  We know it’s doing wonders – his hands are straightening out, his spine is doing better, his joints are less stiff.  And his airway – it looks almost like a “normal” 10 year old airway now, something we could never have expected a few short years ago.

But that old familiar feeling of dread comes back to us all once we enter this room, once we sit and watch the door for our doctor to arrive.  I wondered aloud yesterday if this weakness of mine makes me less qualified to do the work I’m doing now on behalf of our kids throughout this country, whether this vulnerability or fear (or whatever you call it) makes me less able to support other families as they go through similar battles.  The answer came quickly, from a wonderful Mom who I’ve been lucky to get to know over the past few months.  Via text, she said:

“This makes you a great patient support person because you are honest enough to share your true emotions and know what a roller coaster ride it is. You are super human ; ) but you are human too.”

Those few sentences made me feel so much better about being afraid, and it’s comforted me as I sit and type away on our blog.  I should have told her that before making her read it here 😉  And she’s right…I am human.  And it’s OK to be afraid.

So far, it’s been an hour and a half since Isaac went back.  We have full trust in the man that’s looking after him right now – Dr. Cengiz Karsli, Isaac’s longtime Anesthesiologist (pictured below with Isaac this morning.)  We’re lucky to have him each time we go through this process, and it makes us feel a bit better knowing we’ve got the best person to care for our son.  We’re hopeful that we’ll win this round again, and the stress levels can come down a bit as we help our son heal.

I’ll update more on Isaac’s status as soon as I know more.  Thanks, as always, for your support.  It means the world to Ellen, Gabriel, Isaac, and I.

With Love,

A.

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Transplant Tomorrow

Hi Everyone,

Sorry for the delay in posting – we’ve been busy with work, family support, and working hard to access treatments for kids across Canada that need help. At the same time, we’ve been taking a few weeks to spend time together has a family and get ready for Isaac’s corneal transplant, set to take place tomorrow morning.

I wasn’t going to post anything until all was said and done. But I received a few notes over the past week from wonderful supporters asking how we are doing. They noted that we’ve been posting a lot about the work we are doing on behalf of other families and were wondering how Isaac and the rest of our family was doing. Fair enough, and I appreciated the kind notes.

To say the least, we’re nervous – afraid really – of all that comes with this procedure. It’s daunting to think about the possibilities, so we’re concentrating on the positives and the potential benefits that this will give to Isaac. Imagine – he may be able to see the stars again, something that he stopped being able to see a few years ago.  We are thrilled that his vision may be improved and we desperately hope everything will go smoothly.

I’ll do my best to update how things are going. All 4 of us are heading into Sick Kids Hospital this evening, with the transplant set for early tomorrow morning. We’ve got the best team possible looking after Isaac’s care, including his longtime Anesthesiologist Dr. Cengiz Karsli, pictured with Isaac below.

Thanks for checking in. I’ll update when I can.

A.

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