Proteus Syndrome Foundation

Proteus Syndrome Foundation The Proteus Syndrome Foundation, a 501c3 not-for-profit organization, is dedicated improving the lives of Proteus patients by funding AKT1 research.

PSF SPRING NEWSLETTER
04/06/2026

PSF SPRING NEWSLETTER

Email from Proteus Syndrome Foundation Updates and Information Newsletter   April 2026     Hello Families! I would like to welcome our new families to the PSF. We have new families from Türkiye, Mal

Did you know....1. 1 in 10 Americans live with a rare disease, half of whom are children. 2. Of more than 10,000 known r...
04/01/2026

Did you know....

1. 1 in 10 Americans live with a rare disease, half of whom are children.

2. Of more than 10,000 known rare diseases, fewer than 5% have an approved treatment

3. People living with rare disease face medical costs that are 3-5 times higher than people with non-rare conditions.

4. It can take five or more years on average for a person with a rare disease to find a diagnosis.

(rarediseases.org)

Proteus Family Stories: I am Miray’s mother.My daughter is living with a rare genetic condition called Proteus Syndrome....
03/28/2026

Proteus Family Stories:

I am Miray’s mother.

My daughter is living with a rare genetic condition called Proteus Syndrome. This disorder causes abnormal and asymmetrical overgrowth of bones, tissues, and skin. Since it progresses differently in each individual, there is no standard treatment protocol, which makes the journey even more challenging.

One of the greatest difficulties of Proteus Syndrome is its rarity and lack of awareness. This makes it extremely hard to find the right specialists, access proper care, and navigate the process effectively.

We face these challenges every single day.

In Türkiye, the number of doctors experienced with this condition is very limited. Many times, we walk into hospitals full of hope, only to leave without clear answers. Sometimes we are simply told, “You have to learn to live with it.” But for a mother, that is never enough.

Because this is not just about acceptance.

It is about constantly searching, seeking solutions, and fighting for a better life for your child.

As Miray grows, her condition brings ongoing orthopedic challenges. Over time, these may require surgical interventions. Alongside the physical difficulties, visible differences can also create social challenges, adding another layer to this journey.

Yet despite everything, Miray is full of life.

Her smile has the power to overshadow all the hardships we face. And every day, she reminds me that giving up is not an option.

At one of our lowest points, when we felt completely helpless and had lost hope in everything, we found the Proteus Syndrome Foundation.

That moment became a turning point for us.

For the first time, we felt understood. We realized that we were not alone. Their support, guidance, and presence gave us strength when we needed it the most. They helped us see a light in a time when everything felt dark.

The purpose of writing this is not only to share our story.

It is also to raise awareness for children and families living with rare diseases.

Because rare diseases are more present in our lives than we think—yet they remain unseen.

More awareness means
more research,
more expertise,
and more support.

And sometimes, simply being understood can change everything.

As a mother, I will continue to raise my voice.

For Miray…
and for all the children whose voices are not yet heard.

JOSEPH MERRICK ~ THE MOVIE, by Jack Huston. Jack Huston is preparing to direct a new biographical film titled Joseph Mer...
03/18/2026

JOSEPH MERRICK ~ THE MOVIE, by Jack Huston.

Jack Huston is preparing to direct a new biographical film titled Joseph Merrick, focusing on the final months of the 19th-century Englishman long known to the public as “The Elephant Man.” Backed by Phoenix Pictures, the film aims to highlight Joseph’s humanity, creativity, and inner life, with production expected to begin in 2025.

Over the years, many people have contacted the Proteus Syndrome Foundation asking to speak with our families. Because protecting and respecting our community is always our priority, we have been very thoughtful about when and how to participate in these kinds of projects.

Jack reached out to the Proteus Syndrome Foundation with a sincere desire to tell Joseph’s story differently. As many of you know, Joseph Merrick is believed to have had Proteus syndrome and is considered the most severe documented case. He lived from 1862 to 1890—decades before modern medicine or understanding of this condition existed.

What stood out to us about this project is its intention to focus on Joseph as a person, not simply his appearance. Historical accounts describe Joseph as intelligent, thoughtful, artistic, and deeply kind. Despite experiencing profound hardship and public misunderstanding, he maintained remarkable dignity throughout his life.

Our hope is that this film helps the world see Joseph for who he truly was—a human being with dreams, creativity, and compassion—and that his story continues to inspire empathy and understanding.

The Proteus Syndrome Foundation is honored to support this project. We are grateful that Jack and his team reached out to us early in the process and have expressed a genuine interest in learning from and connecting with our community.

Adaptation to Proteus Syndrome by Barb BieseckerBy Barbara Biesecker​My remarks are dedicated to you who have Proteus sy...
03/16/2026

Adaptation to Proteus Syndrome by Barb Biesecker

By Barbara Biesecker

​My remarks are dedicated to you who have Proteus syndrome or who are the parents of children with Proteus syndrome. Each of your stories about being affected with Proteus or being a parent of a child with Proteus is unique and important. My comments will be limited in capturing your personal story. I speak to you with humility and respect, in no way intending to suggest that I know you, or what’s in your hearts.
What I am sharing with you originated from professionals listening to parents and conducting research on adjustment to stress-inducing events. It is a distillation of many people’s work, but the bulk of it is extrapolated from the theoretical and empirical work of Dr. Shelley Taylor (1). As professionals, we strive to understand, as best we can, your life experience. We can only bear witness to it, but if we listen and listen well, we can learn to serve you better in our capacity as caring health professionals.

Introduction
One of the most impressive aspects of the human condition is our ability to withstand personal misfortune. It is a fundamental reason that genetic counseling is personally rewarding to me. Despite serious setbacks in your lives, you have been able to achieve a quality of life, equal to or exceeding, what it was before. Not all of you adjust, but most of you do. And fundamentally, you adjust on your own, without professional help. You are your own self-healer. This talk focuses on the process you have undergone with recognition of the abilities and the strength you have exhibited. Not only have you adjusted to having Proteus syndrome or a child with Proteus syndrome but you have learned to celebrate your child.

The Journey of Adaptation
You have been on a journey. A long and arduous one. A journey with many peaks and valleys. A journey of parenthood, yet with an unusual twist. During your journey you have found strengths you never knew you had. While this has its rewards, at times you felt that you would have been perfectly content with your prior self… because it has been hard work to find and employ these new strengths. There have been times when you have felt very isolated and it is only another parent of a child with Proteus syndrome, or a diagnosis equally as complex and unpredictable, who could understand what your journey has been like. While each of your children is unique and your journeys have been unique, you share aspects of your journeys with the other parents.

There are characteristics of your journey that may be universal to self-healing. When I describe them, it is not because I accompanied you on your trip or because I know more than you do, I know less. But it is because parents of children with a variety of special needs; unpredictable and chronic conditions, who have been on this journey have told their stories. It is a conglomerate of journeys I speak about, some of which may ring true for you and some of which may not. The characteristics of this journey toward adjustment come from both theory and research. Because it is about people, it does not represent an exact science and there is always more to learn.

The Time of Diagnosis
I want to take you back to the day, the moment, when you learned your child was affected with Proteus. I imagine that most of you could describe to me the details. Who told you, how they told you. Even the clothes the people wore and the wallpaper on the wall. It is emblazoned into your memory. It was a time of crisis for you, your partner and your family. You felt disbelief… How could something be wrong? Maybe they had made a mistake? You thought, “I had a healthy pregnancy, this just can’t be happening to me, to us.”
This is now merely an historical moment in your life history. But it is the day your journey began. You had known you were starting a journey, one of parenthood, with its many unknowns and risks… but this was a much different journey than you had bargained for and one that you felt completely unprepared to take. One you may have even felt unwilling to take. Angry to take… These weren’t your plans… Not what you expected… Not what you dreamed of… Not what you hoped for…

The Beginning of the journey
Yet your journey was set in motion and at the beginning you went along for the ride. You had little choice in the matter. Over time, you began to realize that you had better acknowledge that this was happening to you and that you needed to figure out where you were going. This was a time of re-organization. You began to adjust your expectations, for your child, for your family, and for your role as a loving parent. You even began to adjust your beliefs about the meaning of life. This journey of adaptation that you had begun was progressing. But no one could tell you when the journey would end. When you would know that you had arrived… What the destination was… What it meant to have learned to “accept” that your child has Proteus syndrome…

Searching for meaning
You began to search for meaning in your journey. You struggled to understand why your child was affected with Proteus? You asked yourself, “why him” or “why her?” “Why my family?” “What does this mean for my child’s life?” “For my life?” This was a very personal part of your journey and one for which no professional could offer an answer.

Adjusting to having a child with Proteus syndrome meant grappling with the mysteries of life. You might ascribe it to fate, to God’s plan, to another spiritual entity, to biology or genetics, … whatever your frame of reference is, each of you has come to find meaning in your own personal way. There were probably few tour guides during this search for meaning. Perhaps a clergy person provided some direction, a dear friend, your spouse, those closest to you who witnessed your search and participated in it as they could, but it was ultimately up to you to make sense of this random, unfair and life-altering event in your life. But you did. You began to feel, “Why not me?” You had a faith, or an explanation that matched your values, beliefs and worldview. It is not terribly important whether others share the same view. It is yours. You own it. When some positive meaning began to emerge from your experience of having a child with Proteus, you had started to adjust. With it, you began to define this journey as your own. You began to find purpose in it and your efforts shifted toward regaining a sense of control in your life.

Gaining mastery
When we begin unexpectedly on a journey that we did not plan for and that has such an impact on our lives, we lose feelings of personal control. We become out of control. It happens to all of us when there is a loss or a misfortune. We must reconcile ourselves to the supreme ways we have little control. This is particularly difficult for all of us when it comes to our children. As parents, in general, we need to feel we have control… control over their safety, their health and even their happiness. We have a burning desire to make things right by them. It is a life long journey for all parents to learn to accept how little control we often have over our children’s lives. But when the event is as disconcerting as having a child with Proteus, you experienced the ultimate feeling of being out of control.

You worked to regain control by striving to understand what caused your child to have Proteus. There were probably several aspects to why control was important. One was so that you could avoid the cause in the future by insuring that Proteus wouldn’t happen again. Parents feel responsible for their children’s health. You spent time assessing what you did that caused Proteus. Even those who accept scientific explanations still wonder at times if it was the flu that they had had during the pregnancy, or that mold cleaner they used before they knew they were pregnant…. Why do people have and hang on to such explanations?
These explanations sometimes make genetics professionals, who likely have a biological explanation of why Proteus occurred, uncomfortable. As health care providers, we strive to reassure parents that it was nothing you did that caused Proteus. It was out of your control. But if it was out of your control, then how do you control it? If it was a random occurrence or an inexplicable event, how do you, as parents, take a chance again with another pregnancy? It may be scientifically unlikely to happen again, but wasn’t it unlikely to have happened in the first place? And didn’t it happen to YOUR child? You’re left thinking, what’s to prevent it from happening again?

Where’s that feeling of control? Did we professionals with our good intentions to reassure you take away some of those feelings? Many parents say that they can learn to live with the guilt they would feel if they learned it was something (unintentional) that they did, if they knew that they could avoid it in the future. You didn’t know at the time, you didn’t do anything on purpose to jeopardize the health of your baby, but don’t tell you that we don’t know the cause. Don’t tell you no one knows. There was uncertainty again. In dealing with uncertainty you were again feeling out of control. It was indeed a mixed blessing to be reassured that the cause was biological and that you did nothing that contributed to it.

Another reason you sought control was as a means to cope with your feelings. There was a certain helplessness that accompanied the birth of your child with Proteus and you wanted to feel helpful. You needed to care for your child. You didn’t want to feel sad or angry, you wanted to celebrate this child you love. Somehow you needed to cope with your negative feelings so that you could embrace your child fully. Gaining feelings of control helped you to be able to do this.

There was also a need to find control over how to manage your situation. You gave birth to a child, or fathered a child, with needs. Those needs were primarily medical and you were faced with a situation that required intervention. It was in finding the strength to fulfill those needs that you also gained back some of the feelings of control that you had lost.

In your efforts to identify the cause for Proteus, you probably sought consultation. This was the part of the journey where you took over decisions on your course. You began initiating consultations, evaluations, and examinations. What is this, what caused it, what does it mean medically and socially for my child? Taking on this active role in and of itself took energy and great strength and you begin to see how your journey had progressed. Rather than not wanting to hear anything that could possibly be wrong with your child, you sought to understand all that you could. You became your own tour guide on the trip you never bargained for. You became your own expert. It was during this time of searching for the true cause that you began to feel additional control returning to your life. At least this was something you could DO for your child. This was something you could DO for yourself and for your family. You became a renegade. If the experts couldn’t tell you what caused it, you’d tell them. After all, you were the expert on your pregnancy, on your family history, and on your child. You were back in the driver seat of your own life.

While this felt better than feeling out of control, it didn’t feel that great. You talked to a lot of professionals. They couldn’t tell you much. You realized you knew more about your own child than most of the health care providers and the resource people working with him or her. You didn’t ask to become an expert. You would have been content with “parent.” You asked yourself, “What if I’m wrong?” “What if I miss something?” “What if I don’t know enough?” You realized you didn’t feel so in control. You felt those helpless feelings return again. Just when you thought you had regained some control, you were no longer so sure. This journey had become exhausting. When would you feel “normal” again?

Restoring feelings of self-worth
Farther into your journey of adaptation were your efforts to restore feelings of your own self-worth. For when something affected your child, it also affected aspects of you. These were deeply personal parts of yourself that you may not have even been willing to share with others. Ideas that didn’t really make logical sense, but which you felt desperately. You asked yourself, “why were you were not capable of bearing a healthy child, one without Proteus” “What was wrong with you?” Other people had children that were okay, were you somehow flawed? You did not feel whole. You no longer resembled the person you thought you were when you got pregnant. Your self-concept was shaken. What did having a child with Proteus say about you? Was it somehow a symbol of your own worthiness as a parent?

Well into your journey you began to recognize that there were times when you could actually feel good about yourself again. You began to meet other children with problems at the clinic or hospital. Parents there were dealing with more difficult challenges and they were coping admirably. You got on the Internet and learned more about the wide spectrum of Proteus. You realized that many children with Proteus were more severely affected. Maybe your situation wasn’t so bad. Look what other parents have lived through. Even if no one could tell you how affected your child would be, his/her future health was known to none. Anything may be possible. He/she wasn’t as sick as you feared he/she might be. Well, he/she was sick, but not as much as other children with Proteus. There were other parents of children with Proteus who you admired for how they coped. Even those whose child had died. They were an inspiration to you. They gave you hope.
By now you were, and are, in love with your child. Time has passed and Proteus has become something s/he has and not who s/he is. You admire your child’s accomplishments and feel them as your own. Her/his resilience gives you strength. She’s doing things no one thought she’d do. She’s helping to write the story of Proteus syndrome.

You began to feel motivated. You began to help other parents. You realized that compared to some, you were doing pretty well. You helped other children learn about diversity, tolerance and patience. You begin to appreciate aspects of yourself that were unknown to you before you had a child with Proteus. Your self-concept is now not only restored, it’s enhanced. It’s a hard life but it’s a full and rewarding one. You have perspective other parents don’t seem to have, fretting about playground antics when you’re grateful simply to have found friends who accept your child. You find yourself no longer feeling so bitter towards others. They don’t know any better. You think about how much more you do know. Your journey has progressed and you find yourself the better for it. Even those who have lost a child.

It may never have been a journey you would have chosen, but given that you had no choice, it has been an intriguing one. You have adapted by re-structuring your life priorities along lines that are satisfying. This does not mean there aren’t setbacks and disappointments or loss even as you have achieved a sense of adaptation. But you have an ability to thwart them. None feels as injurious as that initial point of diagnosis with all its fears, uncertainties and heartbreak. It was the beginning of your journey and look how far you have come.

Many of you recognize how well adjusted you are and the personal benefits you reap being a parent of a child with Proteus. But if you aren’t there yet, I trust that in outlining the journey of many parents it provides some hope for yours.

Those of us involved in holding this conference in an effort to learn more about Proteus syndrome thank you for your willingness to teach us. We are humbled by your journey and respect all that you have learned along the way. We celebrate your recuperative power. You are awe-inspiring. Your children are fortunate to have chosen you.

Shelley E.Taylor, “Adjustment to Threatening Events: A Theory of Cognitive Adaptation,” American Psychologist (November 1983): 1161-1173.

I Am My Mom’s HeroThe Story of a Little Girl Fighting Proteus SyndromeBy Wei, Eva’s mother“I am my mom’s hero.”My daught...
03/10/2026

I Am My Mom’s Hero
The Story of a Little Girl Fighting Proteus Syndrome
By Wei, Eva’s mother

“I am my mom’s hero.”
My daughter Eva says this with pride.
She believes it completely—because in her mind, she once protected her mother from a monster.
The year that happened, she had not even been born yet.

During my pregnancy, a prenatal exam showed that the baby’s brain ventricles were enlarged. The doctor recommended further tests, including a cord blood genetic test that carried a risk of miscarriage.
The woman before me had just undergone the same test. She was immediately wheeled into surgery.

I lay on the examination bed trembling. Then I heard it.
Thump. Thump. Thump. A strong, steady heartbeat.
It sounded like a tiny horse galloping inside my body.
“The heartbeat is very steady,” the doctor said. “Everything looks good.”

Later, several specialists reviewed my case. After a long discussion, they reassured me that the baby appeared healthy and that the probability of a rare genetic mutation was extremely low.

At the time, the phrase genetic mutation felt distant and abstract.
I never imagined it would one day enter our lives.
But sometimes fate has its own plans.

When Eva was one year old and learning to stand, I noticed something unusual.
Below her right knee, a blood vessel bulged out, about as thick as my little finger. On her tiny leg, it looked startling.
At the time I did not know it, but that was the first mark left by the monster.

What followed was a long and exhausting search for answers.Doctors suspected different conditions—neurofibromatosis, Klippel–Trenaunay syndrome, and several others. No one could give us a clear diagnosis.
My husband and I carried Eva from hospital to hospital, hoping someone could explain what was happening to our child. At that time, almost all the information I could find came from scattered domestic sources. Reliable information about rare diseases was extremely limited.

It felt like walking in the dark.

One moment remains etched in my memory. It was a hot August day in Guangdong.
After reviewing all the records, the doctor said quietly,
“Your child’s disease has no cure.”

Then he turned his computer screen toward me and showed photographs of severe cases in the later stages of the disease.
Outside the window, the summer sun was blazing.
Inside my body, everything turned cold.
I remember sitting in the crowded hospital hallway, crying uncontrollably.
In that moment, it felt as if my entire world had collapsed.

During those months, I often woke up in the middle of the night, overwhelmed by fear.
One day I read a short news report about a desperate mother who ended her life together with her child.
It was only a few lines long.
But for the first time, I understood that kind of despair.

When you cannot see hope.
When you cannot see a future.
Death can begin to look like an escape. The thought frightened me.

So I forced myself to keep searching for answers.

Late at night, early in the morning, whenever my daughter slept, I read medical papers line by line, trying to understand what disease she might have. I felt like a drowning person grabbing every piece of driftwood that might keep me afloat.

Then, in the darkness, we found a small light.

A vascular surgeon, Professor Huang, who had returned after years of working overseas, treated Eva with patience and kindness. More importantly, he voluntarily helped connect us with a medical team at the National Institutes of Health in the United States.
Without his help, we might never have found that path.
To this day, I remain deeply grateful.

Eva was four years old when the disease finally received its name: Proteus syndrome.

It is one of the rarest conditions in the world. Many doctors may never encounter a single patient in their entire careers. Over the years, Eva has undergone seventeen or eighteen surgeries—vascular procedures, orthopedic operations, osteotomies, and ovarian surgery.

I no longer remember the exact number. But I always remember the moment before each operation.
I held her small hand tightly.
Her hand was always warm.
Somehow, it gave me strength.

For a long time, I worried that the changes in her body might make her feel different.
Then one day she asked me, “Mom, why are my fingers different from other people’s?”
The first thing that came to my mind was Harry Potter. So I told her a story.
“When you were still inside Mommy’s belly, a monster sneaked in. It wanted to hurt both of us. But you were very brave. You fought the monster and chased it away.” “But the monster was sneaky. When it escaped, it left a tiny bit of its power inside your body. That’s why you became sick. The doctors are helping us chase it away completely.”

Then I told her,
“You are not different.”
“You were hurt because you protected your mom.”
“You are my hero.”
She nodded seriously. I do not know how much she truly understood.

Later, a classmate once asked her, “Why are your shoes different?”
Another asked, “And why does your neck look like that?”
She lifted her head proudly and said, “Because I protected my mom while fighting a monster.” Then she added, “I am my mom’s hero.”

I hugged her tightly and tried not to cry.

Today, we have been receiving treatment at the National Institutes of Health for nearly three years, and Eva’s condition is now well controlled. Our monster-fighting team has grown larger too: researchers and doctors at NIH, patient families from around the world, and many kind people who have offered their help.

They give us the courage to keep facing the monster.

Sometimes I imagine what it would be like if magic truly existed.
If it did, I would stand like a wizard in Harry Potter, hold up a wand, place my daughter safely behind me, point it at the monster called Proteus syndrome, and shout:

Avada Kedavra! And make it disappear from this world forever.
But the real world has no magic.
What we do have is love, companionship, and the courage to keep fighting together.

Heroes do not always carry wands.
Sometimes, a hero is simply a seven-year-old child.
My daughter, Eva.

A Proteus Parents Perspective: Tracey Whitewood-NealHi everyoneI am Tracey, mum to Jordan and Kai. Jordan has shared wit...
02/27/2026

A Proteus Parents Perspective: Tracey Whitewood-Neal

Hi everyone

I am Tracey, mum to Jordan and Kai. Jordan has shared with you all recently what he is up to in his life now so I thought I would tell you about the earlier years and how we found the Proteus Foundation.

Jordan was born in January 1995, he was about a week late but very “small for dates” as they call it in the UK. He was very skinny and wrinkly and kind family members said what a “ lovely” baby, but he wasn't really! His father and I used to joke about him resembling a tortoise or a monkey! Before we were sent home, the doctors remarked about a port wine stain on his leg and said it was quite common so we took our first born and much loved son home.

Jordan was a very unsettled baby with sleeping and breathing problems and his umbilical area failed to heal. At just over two weeks old he had his first operation to repair a patent urachus. What followed was a myriad of doctor and hospital appointments as his overgrowth started to appear, first on his fingers, then later on his leg. Too many operations and complications to mention but if you are a parent or family member reading this, then you probably know the score!

Then the various diagnoses came from Klippel Trenaunay syndrome to NF to Mafucci syndrome but finally Proteus syndrome was suspected (the gene had not been found then and there was no test). The doctor was not well informed and we were told it was not progressive - how wrong this was!

When we got this diagnosis, the internet was quite a new thing and my best friend Amanda looked up Proteus syndrome and through doing this made contact with Dr Leslie Biesecker and Kim Hoag - what a breath of fresh air they were to us - so open and honest. I really wanted to do something to help families in the UK receiving a diagnosis of Proteus and so started the UK Chapter of the PSF. They were very busy but rewarding years with setting up the support group, then registering as a charity. My spare time was very full with contact and support to families, fundraising, conferences and newsletters and even a documentary about Jordan which raised the profile and awareness and generated funds..

As time went on, Jordan’s hands, legs and feet were difficult to manage and surgeries had different degrees of success. Jordan finally opted for amputation of both legs above the knee and managed for a short while, with amazing determination, to use prosthetics but his spinal deformities made this challenging to say the least. Jordan started experiencing problems in his sensations but an operation to relieve narrowing of the spinal canal didn't go to plan and Jordan suffered a spinal injury - as Jordan so openly shared, this was a very difficult time for Jordan and our family. Jordan used art to get him through, at that time inspired by tattoo art.

Jordan said from an early age that he wanted to become an architect, He studied for his masters and also a masters in architectural research, this year starting his PhD. To say how proud I am of him is an understatement. He shows so much humility and emotional intelligence in every single aspect of his life. He is in very many ways, my teacher. I admire how he navigates the challenges in his life and how much he supports everyone around him. We were always unsure how things would work out for Jordan but incredibly happy for him to have met his amazing partner Jen, for the fact that Jordan drives a car and has such a fulfilling career. There are still challenges and humps in the road but Jordan has a resilience that gets him through and he is a successful and more importantly, happy young man!

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