Teen, family fight mysterious illness with humor
Music festival
A music festival to benefit Jessica Jerke will be from 2-5 p.m. Oct. 18 at Northridge High School. There will be a jumper out front for kids, food and a silent auction, and a variety of bands, choirs and dance teams will perform.
All donations will go to the Children's Hospital or the La Salle First Baptist Church in Jessie's name.
Anyone who would like to donate or volunteer can call Austin Wikum at (970) 347-7335 or Kay Hanson at (970) 396-4280.
All donations will go to the Children's Hospital or the La Salle First Baptist Church in Jessie's name.
Anyone who would like to donate or volunteer can call Austin Wikum at (970) 347-7335 or Kay Hanson at (970) 396-4280.
"My mind is pretty sharp but this body is on loan."
That's the kind of thoughtful statement you would expect from Jessie Jerke, before her ability to express it was robbed from her by an unknown thief.
Because of that illness, unless you spent an hour or two with Jessie, 19, you might not see that girl. Her parents, Bill and Jeannie, still see her, and her friends still see her, and her boyfriend, Matt Kniss, a senior at University High, sees her, which is why he stays by her side when many others may have already left.
They see the girl who played tennis and sang and was studying music education at Colorado Christian University in Lakewood. The one who didn't ask her parents if she could travel to India on a mission with a Christian choir but told them she was going and raised thousands herself to make it happen. The one who loves and respects her father, a former state representative and Weld County commissioner (he calls himself a “reformed politician”), but also makes sure he still knows who really rules the house.
The mind — Jessie's funny, intelligent, almost perky mind — is still there. But it's trapped in a body ravaged by a mystery.
It started with a toothache at the end of April. Jessie went home for her father's birthday — she never missed things like that — and had an emergency root canal. She took Vicodin for the pain, but the dizziness and blurred vision it seemed to cause scared her, so she quit taking it. But the dizziness never went away. In fact, it got worse.
Blood tests, weeks in the hospital and way too many spinal taps later, her balance and coordination disappeared, and her speech slurred, and she now needs to use a wheelchair. Doctors have no idea why.
The Jerkes would get a diagnosis, and then doctors would change their minds. It got to the point where Jessie hoped for something like multiple sclerosis, a frustrating and at times crippling lifetime illness, because at least she would know what was attacking her and what she could do about it.
“Doctors would tell us things like, ‘Well, just because a test came back negative doesn't mean she doesn't have it,' ” Jeannie said.
Jessie, of course, does have her mind, and that means she has her sense of humor. It's turned a little dark throughout this ordeal.
“There's a good chance that it's this brand-new disease,” she said, “and they can name it after me and my doctor.”
It's fun to laugh, but this disease has had its scary moments. Jeannie sleeps with Jessie because she stopped breathing one night.
The most frustrating thing about having no diagnosis is, of course, that there's no cure. Doctors have Jessie taking Advil and muscle relaxants and stuff that addresses a few symptoms but doesn't really make her better. And Jessie loves to joke about her illness, until the frustration of a cure that waits behind a locked door brings her to tears. When doctors told her they could perform a surgery to help with her blurred vision — she sees double — Jessie sobbed through her response.
Jessie was so independent, Jeannie hasn't done her laundry since she was in middle school. Now she needs help to walk a few steps, and her mother sleeps with her, like she did when Jessie was a baby.
“I don't want a surgery to just cure one thing,” Jessie said. “I can't even hold hands normal with my boyfriend. I want to get completely better.”
That's why the Jerkes will travel to the Mayo Clinic in a week in the hopes of finding out exactly what's wrong. There may not be a magic potion — Bill's hoping it will be chocolate-covered almonds — but there may be a diagnosis, and that's the first step.
Jessie has hope, and she has her humor — she calls her hit-and-miss clapping “hilarious” — but she also has words to help her express what she has trouble speaking. She has poetry. She writes about her body on loan. She writes about how God could be testing her. And she writes her biggest wish, other than a cure.
"If you only have one thing to see,
see that I'm still me."
Staff writer Dan England covers the outdoors, entertainment and general assignment stories for The Tribune. His column runs on Tuesday. If you have an idea for a column, call (970) 392-4418 or e-mail dengland@greeleytribune.com.
That's the kind of thoughtful statement you would expect from Jessie Jerke, before her ability to express it was robbed from her by an unknown thief.
Because of that illness, unless you spent an hour or two with Jessie, 19, you might not see that girl. Her parents, Bill and Jeannie, still see her, and her friends still see her, and her boyfriend, Matt Kniss, a senior at University High, sees her, which is why he stays by her side when many others may have already left.
They see the girl who played tennis and sang and was studying music education at Colorado Christian University in Lakewood. The one who didn't ask her parents if she could travel to India on a mission with a Christian choir but told them she was going and raised thousands herself to make it happen. The one who loves and respects her father, a former state representative and Weld County commissioner (he calls himself a “reformed politician”), but also makes sure he still knows who really rules the house.
The mind — Jessie's funny, intelligent, almost perky mind — is still there. But it's trapped in a body ravaged by a mystery.
It started with a toothache at the end of April. Jessie went home for her father's birthday — she never missed things like that — and had an emergency root canal. She took Vicodin for the pain, but the dizziness and blurred vision it seemed to cause scared her, so she quit taking it. But the dizziness never went away. In fact, it got worse.
Blood tests, weeks in the hospital and way too many spinal taps later, her balance and coordination disappeared, and her speech slurred, and she now needs to use a wheelchair. Doctors have no idea why.
The Jerkes would get a diagnosis, and then doctors would change their minds. It got to the point where Jessie hoped for something like multiple sclerosis, a frustrating and at times crippling lifetime illness, because at least she would know what was attacking her and what she could do about it.
“Doctors would tell us things like, ‘Well, just because a test came back negative doesn't mean she doesn't have it,' ” Jeannie said.
Jessie, of course, does have her mind, and that means she has her sense of humor. It's turned a little dark throughout this ordeal.
“There's a good chance that it's this brand-new disease,” she said, “and they can name it after me and my doctor.”
It's fun to laugh, but this disease has had its scary moments. Jeannie sleeps with Jessie because she stopped breathing one night.
The most frustrating thing about having no diagnosis is, of course, that there's no cure. Doctors have Jessie taking Advil and muscle relaxants and stuff that addresses a few symptoms but doesn't really make her better. And Jessie loves to joke about her illness, until the frustration of a cure that waits behind a locked door brings her to tears. When doctors told her they could perform a surgery to help with her blurred vision — she sees double — Jessie sobbed through her response.
Jessie was so independent, Jeannie hasn't done her laundry since she was in middle school. Now she needs help to walk a few steps, and her mother sleeps with her, like she did when Jessie was a baby.
“I don't want a surgery to just cure one thing,” Jessie said. “I can't even hold hands normal with my boyfriend. I want to get completely better.”
That's why the Jerkes will travel to the Mayo Clinic in a week in the hopes of finding out exactly what's wrong. There may not be a magic potion — Bill's hoping it will be chocolate-covered almonds — but there may be a diagnosis, and that's the first step.
Jessie has hope, and she has her humor — she calls her hit-and-miss clapping “hilarious” — but she also has words to help her express what she has trouble speaking. She has poetry. She writes about her body on loan. She writes about how God could be testing her. And she writes her biggest wish, other than a cure.
"If you only have one thing to see,
see that I'm still me."
Staff writer Dan England covers the outdoors, entertainment and general assignment stories for The Tribune. His column runs on Tuesday. If you have an idea for a column, call (970) 392-4418 or e-mail dengland@greeleytribune.com.
