Underworld BC - Wyrmwood

[Werebat]

Eugenia the Bog Hag heard the players squabbling long before she reached the door to the Wyrmwood clubhouse's main hall -- a half-hearted, weary-sounding brawl, fueled more by hopelessness than anger. She'd predicted as much. What with the team's failure to even tie any of the games it played last season, coupled with the collapse of the Big Crunch itself, the players' morale would have been at an all-time low even without the death of the legendary Gruechitter the Foul. Or the legendary Zeem Warpfire's resignation from the team in order to pursue a career as a freebooter.

Or the treachery of Spider Swindlegrin.

Her knobby fingers curled up at the thought of it, even as she reached for the twisted iron handle of the wooden clubhouse door, her black talons digging into her green palms in reflexive rage. It wasn't so much that he'd faked his own death -- and he'd done that remarkably well, she had to admit. It seemed that he was smarter than she had given him credit. No, it was that he'd had the gall to steal her vial of hagpox, right out of her own office! The former she could have forgiven with a sound thrashing and prompt reinstatement onto the team roster; the latter was an outrage! When she got her claws on that runty little git of a goblin...

"Eh, Sis?" interrupted Gretchen from behind. "We doin' this, or wot?"

Eugenia composed herself and glanced back at her sisters. Gretchen's piggish scowl of dull impatience contrasted with Aneira's cocked head and tight-lipped, almost girlish smile. The two sisters usually used glamers of one sort or another in the clubhouse, but had chosen to wear their true forms for this momentous occasion.

Bringing up the rear was Gretchen's ogre, Groxx, hefting a very special cask of toadbrew.

"Of course we're doing it!" she hissed under her breath. "Now shush, Sister, or ye'll tip our hand!"

"Jus' sick o' waitin', is all," muttered Gretchen as she sank her fangs into the haunch of roast venison she carried. "It's been a long time comin', this 'as. Been pushin' fer it fer seasons, Oi 'ave." The obese hag spoke gutterally through mouthfuls of her snack, drops of greasy deer fat spattering out of her mouth.

"Well, hush a bit more, Sister," whispered Aneira, fixing her inscrutable white-eyed gaze onto her much larger sibling. "Let Eugenia do the talking for now."

Eugenia sighed. For once, wild-as-the-winds Aneira was talking sense. Thank the Dark One for small favors. She turned and opened the door.

"Dearies!" she exclaimed, immediately putting a stop to the fracas. Blightfang and Vourk froze and dropped Grovel, who they had been stretching by the wrists and ankles, and Frang Toebiter stopped gnawing on Ferelan Foulfang's tail. Gorbo, who Garble had apparently let out, spat Churr out of his mouth and retreated back to his cage with a whimper. Snatcher, Wheezy, Bogger, and Wink pulled away from Skek Skulktunnels, who they had been beating on the flagstones, and the beleaguered skaven rose to a crouch and slinked over to his fellows, never once taking the beady black eyes of either of his heads off of the hag sisters.

"What's the cause of all this mayhem, eh?" she asked with mock sweetness. "My sisters and I could hear you lads fighting from my office!"

It was Bogger who answered, of course -- he was her favorite, after all, and feared her the least.

"We're outta toadbrew," he said.

"Well is that all, Dearies?" asked the Bog Hag with a look of chilling sympathy. "What a fine coincidence! We've brought you all a whole cask!"

She motioned for Groxx to come forward, and the stoic ogre did as instructed, leaving the cask on the table before shuffling back behind his mistress.

"Ah, ah, ah!" she cautioned, wagging a talon at the first of the players to reach the cask. "No drinks until I've given my announcement! This toadbrew is for celebration!"

"Celebration?" asked Snatcher in puzzlement, scratching his head. "Wot fer? Der Big Crunch be dead an' done, aye?"

Vourk's tail whipped from side to side as the other skaven twitched their whiskers quizically. "This be only-last batch of toadbrew, yes-yes?"

"Such good questions!" laughed Eugenia, clapping her spidery hands together in delight. "And the answers are even better."

She savored the moment, enjoying the look of bewilderment on each player's face. No doubt they had assumed that they'd be asked to clear out of the clubhouse in short order, and forced -- or allowed -- to return to whatever pathetic little lives they'd had before joining the team.

And they might have been right, if she hadn't found Swindlegrin.

Even after she'd managed to decipher Garble's rambling half-words, Spider had been infuriatingly difficult to track down. Perhaps the goblin freak had mutated again and grown a bigger brain to match his hand. She'd never managed to actually catch him, and once he'd figured out that she was on to him he had used intermediaries -- goblin fans of his who never seemed to know his exact location, as she'd learned through torturing three of them to death -- to broker a deal with her for the return of her precious hagpox.

He'd demanded an exorbitant amount of money -- almost enough to found his own team -- which in the end she'd been forced to clean out the team treasury to pay. It was that or bargain with Festus the Leech Lord again -- and even the hag sisters preferred not to have to deal with him.

And he'd never slipped up! Never made that fatal mistake of accidentally revealing his true location or allowing her or her sisters to sniff him out! She ground her crooked fangs momentarily as she thought of it. She wanted to wring the goblin's scrawny little neck then and there...

But that would come later. No one hid from Eugenia forever. She would sniff him out eventually. And for now, there was business to attend to. She snapped out of her vengeful reverie, once again seeing the motley crew of expectant players from throughout the underworld.

"There is another league, Dearies," she crooned.

A grumbling murmur crept through the assembled players. "Big Crunch Two-Next?" chittered Ferelan incredulously. "They not allow-take transfer-teams; we already ask-check!"

"Right you are, Dearie -- but you're forgetting that old Eugenia has a few tricks up her sleeve!"

The players listened with interest at her words, sparks of hope and greed lighting in their widening eyes. They almost seemed to forget about the cask of toadbrew on the table.

"We've just signed on with the Big Crunch Two, Dearies -- and we're bound for far-off Cathay! Now, drink up in celebration!"

A raucous cheer rose up from the throats of the assembled goblins and skaven, as former combatants clapped each other on the backs with scabby hands and ragged claws. They turned as one to the cask of toadbrew, tapping it with haste.

Eugenia and her sisters grinned unsettlingly as the players raised their glasses to their mouths. The cask would be drained within an hour -- but the hagpox would take at least a day to incubate. And then they'd see what sort of team they'd be bringing to the Big Crunch Two.

 

[Werebat]

Note from Werebat:

How fitting that my last post started a new page in Wyrmwood's saga! If it isn't clear already, the remaining rats and goblins (and Gorbo) will be joining the BC2 as a rookie Nurgle team, with the skaven taking Pestigor roles as the little greenskins bloat up to rotters and warriors of Nurgle. Gorbo, of course, returns as a Beast of Nurgle -- with abilities surprisingly similar to those he already has (here's hoping he rolls doubles early on for Block!)

I was on a fence about going Underworld or Nurgle way back when, and decided long ago that I would roll Nurgles in the BC2 whenever the original BC folded. So here we are! Looking forward to learning how to play a generally more powerful, but also much less mobile, team.

And if I decide that Nurgle is not the team for me, well... Underworld is making it to BB2 pretty soon, and Spider did make off with a large amount of gold...

 

[Werebat]

"It was a win, Sister," crooned Aneira in her most sympathetic chill rasp. "A win!"

"Aye, an' wit' plenny o' carnage!" gobbled Gretchen as she feasted on the dead Wheezy Hoptoad's pestilent leg. Ordinarily, Wyrmwood's dead players were eaten by their teammates after the match, but these days their apetites were not what they used to be. Meanwhile, hags were immune to hagpox, and Gretchen's palate was indiscriminate at the best of times.

"Y'sure ye wanna be savin' 'at biggun?" Gretchen asked between smacks and belches. She hungrily eyed Bogger Hagthrall's bloated corpse, which lay in repose on her sister's table.

Aneira shot her obese sister a baleful look with her dead-white eyes, while Eugenia the Bog Hag simply continued to stare out the window of her hovel. Her green shoulders slumped.

"Gretchen!" admonished Aneira. "Ye know old Bogger was her favorite! How would ye feel if the same were to happen to Groxx?"

Blue Gretchen shrugged and licked Wheezy's blood and pus from her fingers. "Dere's allus anudder thrall, Sis," she said nonchalantly. "An' great shame in th' wastin' o' good meat!"

"Sister, pay her no mind," consoled Aneira, speaking to Eugenia but continuing to fix Gretchen with her evil eyes. Gretchen ignored her and noisily ripped an arm off of the hagpoxed goblin's torso, sinking her crooked fangs deep into its corrupted flesh.

"Leave me be, Sisters," said the Bog Hag wearily, never tearing her gaze from the window. "I wish for privacy."

"As ye wish," snorted Gretchen, hefting what was left of Wheezy over her shoulder. She carelessly knocked a horned skull off one of her sister's many kitchen shelves as she waddled roughly out the door.

Aneira paused to return the skull to its rightful place. Her weird senses told her that it had belonged to the skaven blitzer, Reeka Venomscratch.

"Do take care, Sister," she said to Eugenia as she shuffled crookedly towards the door. She turned to face Eugenia for a moment before she left, but she could tell that her sister still stood sullenly with her back to her. She shook her head and crossed the threshold.

When she was certain her sisters had left, the Bog Hag turned and gazed silently at Bogger.

"Oh, Dearie," she sighed wistfully. "Sister is right -- ye were indeed my favorite."

She stroked his greasy, pustuled forehead with a black claw. There was always another thrall, it was true, she thought to herself. But where would she find another like Bogger? So loyal, so tight-lipped. He had been her eyes and ears on the team for so long -- since before she'd taken over as coach! She'd used her powers on more than one occasion to heal a permanent injury, something she'd never have done for any other player. And he'd tolerated her kisses so stoically, never flinching. She'd almost been fond of him.

It had all seemed to work so well at first -- the hagpox. The boys had taken a day or so to show any symptoms, and at first it had been easy to mislead them into thinking that their violent illness was the result of some rival's dirty trick. The skaven were paranoid enough to assume it on their own, and the goblins -- bless their black little hearts -- were almost to a man too stupid to believe anything other than what Bogger had insinuated. Only Bogger himself had known the truth from the start, and he had gone along with it because he had been loyal to his mistress. A rare trait in a goblin.

Of course she'd have eaten him in a heartbeat if he had ever betrayed her, and he had known it. But he had been intelligent enough to avoid that consequence, and such restraint was a rare trait in a goblin, too.

Despite her general preference for subtlety in a thrall -- in constrast to Gretchen, with her hulking ogre -- she had been pleased to see the wrack of hagpox work itself in a particularly extreme way on Bogger. The disease was a magical one, and tended to grant the afflicted with their deepest desires (after a fashion, and at great price). Unsurprisingly, the little goblins had all puffed up in size and strength until they had rivaled orcs in both departments, but Bogger and the rookie Wink Razormouth had grown to truly immense proportions, as large as black orcs!

For their part, the skaven had all grown darker fur and horns -- marks of greatness and prestige according to the bizarre traditions of their kind. She wasn't really sure what Gorbo had wanted, but being a troll it was likely that he had sought satiety, and like the others he seemed much less hungry now; or at least less able to keep his food down. Of course there had been other drawbacks to the plague besides nausea and vomiting -- extra heads rendered blind from the constant flow of pus from their eyes, withered limbs, pain-wracked and in other ways inconvenienced bodies that would require a great deal of time to get used to, and more. Gorbo had lost his legs, although this meant that his smashed ankle was no longer the problem that it used to be. And the new blitzer, Blightfang of the Dark Spire, had succumbed completely to the disease, dying in a fit of spasmodic coughs a mere week after first getting sick.

It was of no consequence. The team still had eleven members. Her ploy to get Wyrmwood into the new Big Crunch had worked -- although she was still irked that she'd had to change the team's name slightly, and increasingly regretted not breaking more completely from the past by simply changing it to "Hagpox". Especially now that Bogger was gone, the team just didn't feel the same.

She frowned pensively as she continued to caress Bogger's dead face with her talons.

"What now, Bogger Dearie? Only nine players left. What'll we do come next match day?"

Bogger's dead face gazed wordlessly up at her through vacant, rheumy eyes.

She sighed. Of course she knew, there was nothing for it but to find some more gullible goblins and expose them to hagpox. Knowing the deranged little greenskins, she might even find some who were willing to subject themselves to the disease.

For now, though, there was the matter of Bogger's corpse. He couldn't just lay there on her kitchen table forever.

She lightly scraped the festering skin of the dead goblin's face with her iron-hard nails as she thought. She could always bring him to her cousin Sycorax and have him reanimated as a zombie, but... No.

Her eyes fell on her oven. Baking had always made her feel better. And Bogger had always been so good about helping her cook...

Her frown slowly straightened to a thin, resolved line. Gretchen would be pleased, at least.

Giving the goblin's blasted face one last little scratch, she reached with her other hand for her carving knife.

"Help me one last time, will you, Dearie? I feel like making some nice meat pies..."

 

[Werebat]

"Sister!" cried Aneira, happy to bring her sister some good news. She had been in a dark way -- darker than usual -- since Wyrmwood lost its last match, 2-0 no less, against the rookie Chaos team Nuffleheim Nightmare. It hadn't helped that one of the goblin rotters, Snatcher Greedwheedle, had been killed on the pitch. Despite Eugenia's claims, the hagpox didn't seem to have done much to improve the survivability of the little gits.

"What is it, Aneira?" asked the Bog Hag, pinching the bridge of her warty green nose with spindly fingertips. It took care to keep her black talons out of her eyes.

"Trashpicker! Garble Trashpicker! He's caught the hagpox!"

"Wot's this? Oo' cares?" growled Gretchen from her chair in Eugenia's office. "Some gobbo got sick -- so what? An' dat runty Trashpicker be so bashed up 'e ain't never gonna be good fer nuttin' but th' stewpot. Come ta think on it -- why we ain't never eaten 'im up, eh, Sis? 'E can't even TALK!"

"It's TrashPICK," corrected Eugenia, noting the mute ogre Groxx's impressive lack of reaction to his termagant mistress' words as he continued to fan her obese frame. "And that goblin has a rare talent for troll wrangling, as I've said before."

"'E's still bustit up," shrugged Gretchen, stuffing another handful of toasted wasps into her maw. She cradled an enourmous bowl of the dead insects between her vast thighs, shielding them from the breeze of Groxx's fan with the fat of a bloated, blotchy indigo arm.

"Not now," grinned Aneira with what might have passed for a twinkle in her dead-white eye. Despite the withered pinch and wrinkles of age, her face looked almost girlish in its giddiness. "He's HUGE!"

"Huge? Huge muscled?" asked Eugenia, her curiosity piqued.

"He's swollen up as big as Wink Razormouth!" tittered Aneira, clapping her knobby white hands like a child.

"As big as Bogger got?" asked Gretchen. "Say, y'got any more o' dem meat pies, Sis?"

Aneira managed to shoot her indelicate sister a nasty look, despite her lack of visible pupils.

"Oi'm jus' sayin'," grumbled Gretchen. "Dem were good meat pies, dey was."

"As big as Bogger got?" asked Eugenia. She still missed her thrall, but if he could be replaced on the team...

"Oh -- eh, yes, Sister," reassured Aneira.

"A right proper bruiser, den!" whooped Gretchen. "Too bad 'e's krumped up so bad."

"Not necessarily," mused the Bog Hag, stroking the warty point of her chin. She wondered just how Garble had gotten infected when hagpox spread primarily through ingestion and blood to blood contact. What had he been doing with Gorbo?

She decided she'd prefer not to know -- goblins were filthy little things, even to a bog hag.

"I mean, it's not like any of the goblins who really bulked up had much in the way of agility, is it?" she continued. "Perhaps our Garble's broken neck will be less of a liability if he's strong as a bull centaur!"

"An' 'is bustit ankle?" asked Gretchen, snarfing down another mound of wasps. "What about dat, aye?"

"Sister," soothed Eugenia kindly, "Surely even you have noticed that the ravages of hagpox have slowed the entire team down? If Garble can serve as a wall of flesh, then that should be enough."

"Oh, he can! That he can!" cackled Aneira. "He'll be so excited to be back on the pitch with Gorbo!" She'd left the diseased goblin face down in a pool of his own sick.

"We oughter scrounge up some more gobbers an' infect 'em," drawled Gretchen. She let loose a long belch before continuing her thought. "See if any o' dem bulk up too."

"Indeed," agreed the Bog Hag, calculating. In retrospect, she thought that it was a pity she'd let Wirt Nosebender and Squighead go before infecting the rest of the team; but money had been tight after dealing with Spider's treachery, and she'd reasoned that a hagpoxxed Wyrmwood would be able to get by without an apothecary.

Still -- there were always other goblins. Always plenty of them.

"Aneira," she said. "Let's put word out to the night goblins. Tell them we're interested in hiring on some new team members. Tell them -- tell them we'll give a free bottle of toadbrew to any who show up to apply."

"Oi! We'll be swamped wit' th' lil' buggers!" squawked Gretchen.

"We'll only hire the ones who get really big," said Eugenia, an evil twinkle in her black eyes.

"An' th' rest o' 'em?" challenged her massive sibling. "Th' ones what we don't hire'll be makin' a nuisance -- gettin' inna way, nickin' anythin' what ain't nailed down..."

"They'll be infected, of course," clarified Eugenia. "I'd thought that was obvious."

"Pukin' an' worse, den," grumbled Gretchen.

"Well, Sister," said Eugenia with a smirk, "You did say you liked those meat pies, didn't you?"

It took Gretchen a moment to get it, but Aneira's wild and gap-toothed grin finally clued her in. She snorted. She guffawed. She choked and coughed momentarily, clearing wasps from her windpipe.

"Wewl done, Sis," she approved. "Wewl done!"

 

[Werebat]

Eugenia the Bog Hag sourly stabbed her black talons into the meat on her plate, skewering a gobbet of flesh and popping it into her mouth. Was it halfling? Or just some unfortunate child? Her taste buds had lost some sensation over the last hundred years or two, and she couldn't be sure. For a moment she thought she'd ask her sister's ogre, Groxx, who had cooked the meat, but then remembered that he wouldn't be able to tell her. Besides, the insatiable Gretchen had pulled him off into the reeds after she had gobbled up her portion (and most of his), to satisfy some of her other carnal desires. Eugenia tried hard not to hear the telltale moans and crashing about in the undergrowth outside her hovel.

The Bog Hag sighed. Her mood was darker and more dismal than usual. She mulled over the last few months as she fiddled absently with the remains of her meal, considering the cause of her foul feelings while her sister Aneira finished her own meal across the table.

Perhaps Bogger's death had affected her more than she had thought -- but no, that wasn't it. It was Wyrmwood itself, she realized, even as she saw that she had known already for some time now. The team's new format had proven to be something of a disappointment.

Oh, the boys had done well enough on the pitch -- not fantastically, but they'd made a good showing, and walked away with a few wins while (more importantly, in her sister Gretchen's view) causing a fair amount of carnage along the way. That wasn't it.

It wasn't their playing, thought Eugenia, idly pushing a hunk of flesh about her plate. It was the boys themselves. Of course the Hagpox had changed them -- it had changed them so much that Eugenia still regretted not thinking to change the name of the team to "Hagpox" until after it was too late -- and in most regards, the changes had been for the better. Oh, they were all sick and constantly in the foulest of moods, but what did the Bog Hag care? If anything, the constant irritation of weeping sores, festering boils, and the other Hagpox horrors made the boys more dangerous on the pitch. But, curiously, it also made them less susceptible to the terror she was accustomed to inflicting on them all. She could sense this, could see the dullness of the fear in their rheumy eyes when she appeared unannounced for a surprise inspection, the almost apathetic way they reacted to her implied displeasures and subtle threats. It was as if the team was making Nurgle's teachings manifestly demonstrable, that illness and disease led ultimately to a sort of strength -- for what did the boys care of Eugenia's threats when they were already doomed by the pox inside of them? When all hope is lost, then so is true terror...

Eugenia cursed. Nurgle. She very much regretted having to seek the aid of Festus the Leechlord in the creation of Hagpox, as it no doubt enabled the taint of the Leechlord's master to be infused into the disease -- but then, how could any disease be free of Nurgle's stain and influence? Too late, the Bog Hag sensed that the chaos god might be having more influence over the team than she had desired.

There was the fact that the supply of skaven and goblin players she had anticipated lining up to join the team -- despite the requirement of infection with Hagpox before applications would even be considered -- had quickly dried up after the first season. Oh, there was still the odd goblin who showed up to inquire, usually a hopeless derelict like Grubber Muckslap, but no skaven had shown any interest since the first season, and Eugenia had been forced to hire Gharbad the Sick -- an actual pestigor -- to fill the spot left vacant after Vourk Plaguebite had been dismissed due to injury. The creature's kind were not favored by the Bog Hag, but Gharbad had sought the position in hopes of being exposed to Hagpox's exotic infection, and the team needed another swift player.

Grubber Muckslap was an infected goblin, of course, but she wondered more and more about Krampus Gutpunch. The big fellow didn't say much, and he'd been hired by Gretchen in her absence, who had "misplaced" his credentials. Perhaps he had been a goblin, or an orc, but she had the growing suspicion that Krampus was an actual warrior of Nurgle, regardless of his origins.

And Slurk, of course, was a genuine beast of Nurgle, not a troll. Garble had found it somehow, while on one of his morose strolls through the marsh that he had been prone to taking after Gorbo's death, and brought it back to the team clubhouse like an excited human boy with a lost puppy. There was no denying the utility of the thing on the pitch, and Garble had done a fair job of training it to play, but Eugenia had been certain of Nurgle's meddling with her team from that moment on.

Making the players less fearful of her, and more fearful of the chaos god.

No, not fearful. Even worse -- more receptive to Nurgle's love.

She shook her head, sending small rivulets of corrupt bog water trickling down her lank black locks to spatter on the hovel floor. Could it be that she MISSED terrorizing a team of goblin and skaven rejects, now that she had a somewhat competent team of Hagpox infected players at her disposal?

The thrashing in the reeds reached a loud crescendo as Gretchen cried out loudly in rough pleasure, then abruptly stopped.

"Cor!" exclaimed Aneira, her dead white eyes goggling across the table at her sister. "She'll be wantin' a spot of tea atter that 'un, aye?"

Eugenia snorted derisively, half amused by her sister's comment despite her dark mood.

"Be a dear, Sister, an' brew up a pot o' batleaf fer us, will ye?" asked the pale Aneira. "I'll 'ave a cup as well."

The Bog Hag lifted her lanky frame from her chair. She could use some batleaf too, she reasoned. Always made an old girl feel better, it did.

 

[Werebat]

So -- it's been a long time since I've updated the blog, and I'm not sure how often I intend to update it in the near future, although it was a real pleasure to work on it in the past. These days, my mind tends to be on other things, namely my health. Too bad, because I'd much rather be focused on the antics of a bunch of underworld goblins and their skaven teammates.

But I thought I'd reveal something here that I learned a few months ago about my condition, because I think it's a bit interesting, if not exactly great news. And in a way it has to do with you folks in the UK, or at least your medical system.

Some time ago, I explained here that I had aortic valve stenosis -- where the last heart valve the blood passes through before actually leaving the heart becomes less and less able to open until it inevitably needs to be replaced with a prosthetic via surgery -- a disease generally not developed by people younger than their 60s unless they have malformed valves (which I do not). I also revealed that I had an abominable coronary artery calcium (CAC) score for a man my age, more typical of a man in his seventies than a man in his early forties, and indicative of coronary artery disease.

A few months ago, I learned what I think was the actual cause of all this nonsense.

A new cardiologist, who pointed out that my French Canadian ethnicity was a "founder population" for familial hypercholesterolemia (a genetic cause of high cholesterol), and believed me to have a milder form of FH, got a more extensive than usual blood test run on me that revealed that I had extremely high levels of a type of cholesterol called Lp(a).

And I mean EXTREMELY high. Like, 13 times normal.

A level of 75 nmol/L is considered "high risk" of heart disease, while 125 nmol/L is "extremely high risk".

My level is 390 nmol/L, more than triple the "extremely high risk" cutoff.

Lp(a) is almost entirely inherited, and diet and exercise don't really do much to improve it. That's one reason why it isn't talked about much -- there are no medications that lower it (yet), and there's really nothing doctors can DO about it. My Lp(a) has been this high since I was born, taking a hammer to my heart.

I found a foundation for Lp(a) online, did a lot of research, and learned (with the help of my raw data from 23andme, which I happened to have had done a few months previous) that I am homozygous for a mutant allele (the "G" variant of SNP LPA rs10455872, for you 23andme folks who want to check) that both raises Lp(a) by a great degree and increases one's odds of developing calcific degenerative aortic valve stenosis (which I have). Well how about that! It certainly explains a lot.

Now this is crap news, especially because since I am homozygous, I can only pass copies of the bad mutant allele on to my kids (of whom I have four). They are all in the process of getting their Lp(a) levels checked as I type this. But at least they'll know about the danger they are in much sooner than I did, and they'll be in less danger in any event since they should all have normal copies of the allele to balance things out (one of my maternal grandparents must have carried a copy, and they both lived to be 89, although my father's father died of a heart attack at 54).

And it's also crap that the USA seems pretty behind the times on treatment of high Lp(a). If I lived in the UK or Germany, I would qualify for apheresis treatments, where they use a centrifuge to spin out the Lp(a) from your blood in a process not unlike dialysis. It seems to lower event rates by 80% or so, going from the information coming out of Germany -- but in the USA we seem to believe in the power of prayer when it comes to high Lp(a).

However! A company called Ionis Pharmaceuticals (which recently changed its name from Isis Pharmaceuticals for some reason...) is in the process of testing a new antisense drug, which is a sort of gene therapy, that can lower Lp(a) by over 90%! This would bring me down to normal levels, although what coronary damage has been done has already been done. The drug is in phase 2 trials right now, and assuming it doesn't cause cancer or anything and gets through the FDA, it might be available to me in a few years (although I'd expect the insurance companies here to fight having to pay for it tooth and nail, just as they are doing for the PCSK9 inhibitors -- which also lower Lp(a), but are not prescribed for that purpose here because, as I say, here in the USA we believe firmly in the power of prayer).

So -- generally bad news, but not hopeless, as there may be a "cure" of sorts just around the corner, that should at least be able to normalize my kids' risk, and bring mine back down to the odds facing a diabetic smoker.

 

[sbr32]

I'm sorry to hear that Werebat. I guess there is some benefit/comfort in getting an answer even if you don't like it.

I am wishing the best to you and yours.

 

[TravelScrabble]

Werebat, thanks for sharing. You've obviously done some fantastic legwork which hopefully will help others and sounds like you're managing to stay positive. Best of luck to you.

 

[Ilgoth]

Being a stud in nursing it was an interesting/sad read, hopefully your local medi-staff will be able to help you out. Would like to point out that diseases that carry over through genes have been declared number one target of research. So in the end your kids have very high chance of getting it fixed during their early years!

A small reminder; even though healthy lifestyle most likely won't fix it 100% for you, it will certainly help you maintain the general health and thus at least it won't speed up the stress on your body. Also blood vessels are at risk with high Lp(a), so eating the 'right fat' in your diet should be your goal (and avoid sugar). And do everything to decrease stress. But I guess your doctors have already said these. For sure they didnt tell you blood bowl can be stressful?!?!

For comparison (I have type1 diabetes and I am 24-year-old), my levels were 28 nmol/L in last May so yeah - your levels seem sky high compared to that. Stay positive, you're on the right track.

 

[Werebat]

My condolences on the diabetes. I have learned a lot about it recently, as it parallels what's going on with me in many ways (and I DON'T want to add it to the burden on my donkey's back). It won't surprise you to know that I think it really, really sucks, even more than I used to think.

I have lost over 50 pounds (well, 60 pounds, then gained some back...) and walk about 10,000 steps a day now. Made a lot of dietary changes, though not as much as many as I could have, and take a lot of supplements now. Despite people telling me I look better, I feel like I got old really really fast. As a diabetic, you have already lived with it for years, and you understand the suck it is to know that so many things you like and everyone else gets to enjoy are off the table for you. I feel like a dog on Thanksgiving sometimes.

As for avoiding stress -- ha! -- check out this video:

These are actual kids from the school I teach at. I kid you not, I have had about a quarter of them as students. Soooo... yeah.

Oh, and under the new retirement rules, I cannot collect a pension until I am 67. Guess how old I'm expected to live to be?

Sigh.

Anyway, don't wanna spoil my image as remaining positive. I try, and in general I do fine, but it's hard when life does stuff like this to you.

But you are right, I think the days for genetic stuff like what I have are numbered, and we are closing in on cures for sure, which is amazing and very exciting. My wife is a ped/hem/onc doc who works a lot with kids who have sickle cell, and she may be switching to a job soon where she will be working in a lab that is making strong strides towards a cure for this and other genetic illnesses -- it is really a remarkable time and I believe that in the next 20 years we will see a revolution in medicine not unlike the dawn of antibiotics. The damage to my heart and body are in large part already done, but it is definitely good to know that things look so positive for my kids despite their inheriting one copy of the bad gene from me.

It would be nice if my country would wake up to the effectiveness of apheresis treatments though...

 

[Werebat]

Toadbrew.
Toadbrew... Will rise again!