麻豆女优

Skip to content
People With Down Syndrome Are Living Longer, but the Health System Still Treats Many as Kids

People With Down Syndrome Are Living Longer, but the Health System Still Treats Many as Kids

Marilyn Lesmeister sits with her daughter Samantha 鈥淪ammee鈥 Lesmeister after Sammee鈥檚 horse riding lesson in Cole Camp, Missouri. Sammee Lesmeister is one of a growing number of adults living with Down syndrome. More than 216,000 Americans are living with the condition today, compared with fewer than 50,000 in 1950. (Christopher Smith for 麻豆女优 Health News)

MONTROSE, Mo. 鈥 It took Samantha Lesmeister鈥檚 family four months to find a medical professional who could see that she was struggling with something more than her Down syndrome.

The young woman, known as Sammee, had become unusually sad and lethargic after falling in the shower and hitting her head. She lost her limited ability to speak, stopped laughing, and no longer wanted to leave the house.

General-practice doctors and a neurologist said such mental deterioration was typical for a person with Down syndrome entering adulthood, recalled her mother, Marilyn Lesmeister. They said nothing could be done.

The family didn鈥檛 buy it.

Marilyn researched online and learned the University of Kansas Health System has a special medical clinic for adults with Down syndrome. Most other Down syndrome programs nationwide focus on children, even though many people with the condition now live into middle age and often develop health problems typically associated with seniors. And most of the clinics that focus on adults are in urban areas, making access difficult for many rural patients.

The clinic Marilyn found is in Kansas City, Kansas, 80 miles northwest of the family鈥檚 cattle farm in central Missouri. She made an appointment for her daughter and drove up.

The program鈥檚 leader, nurse practitioner Moya Peterson, carefully examined Sammee Lesmeister and ordered more tests.

鈥淪he reassured me that, 鈥楳om, you鈥檙e right. Something鈥檚 wrong with your daughter,鈥欌 Marilyn Lesmeister said.

With the help of a second neurologist, Peterson determined Sammee Lesmeister had suffered a traumatic brain injury when she hit her head. Since that diagnosis about nine years ago, she has regained much of her strength and spirit with the help of therapy and steady support.

Sammee, now 27, can again speak a few words, including 鈥渉i,鈥 鈥渂ye,鈥 and 鈥渓ove you.鈥 She smiles and laughs. She likes to go out into her rural community, where she helps choose meals at restaurants, attends horse-riding sessions at a stable, and folds linens at a nursing home.

Without Peterson鈥檚 insight and encouragement, the family likely would have given up on Sammee鈥檚 recovery. 鈥淪he probably would have continued to wither within herself,鈥 her mother said. 鈥淚 think she would have been a stay-at-home person and a recluse.鈥

A photo of a young woman on a horse being led around a barn.
Samantha 鈥淪ammee鈥 Lesmeister rides a horse with the help of instructors Rike Mueller (left) and Samantha Richardson at Remember to Dream, a therapeutic riding center in Cole Camp, Missouri. (Christopher Smith for 麻豆女优 Health News)
A photo of a young woman hugging a horse.
Samantha 鈥淪ammee鈥 Lesmeister hugs a horse named Dragon. (Christopher Smith for 麻豆女优 Health News)

鈥楢 Whole Different Ballgame鈥

The Lesmeisters wish Peterson鈥檚 program wasn鈥檛 such a rarity. A directory published by the lists just 15 medical programs nationwide that are housed outside of children鈥檚 hospitals and that accept Down syndrome patients who are 30 or older.

The United States had about three times as many adults with the condition by 2016 as it did in 1970. That鈥檚 mainly because children born with it are no longer denied lifesaving care, including surgeries to correct birth defects.

Adults with Down syndrome often develop chronic health problems, such as severe sleep apnea, digestive disorders, thyroid conditions, and obesity. in middle age. Researchers suspect this is related to extra copies of genes that cause overproduction of proteins, which build up in the brain.

鈥淭aking care of kids is a whole different ballgame from taking care of adults,鈥 said Peterson, the University of Kansas nurse practitioner.

Sammee Lesmeister is an example of the trend toward longer life spans. If she鈥檇 been born two generations ago, she probably would have died in childhood.

She had a hole in a wall of her heart, as do about half of babies with Down syndrome. Surgeons can repair those dangerous defects, but in the past, doctors advised most families to forgo the operations, or said the children didn鈥檛 qualify. Many people with Down syndrome also were denied care for serious breathing issues, digestive problems, or other chronic conditions. People with disabilities were often institutionalized. Many were sterilized without their consent.

Such mistreatment eased from the 1960s into the 1980s, as people with disabilities stood up for their rights, medical ethics progressed, and . 鈥淭hose landmark rulings sealed the deal: Children with Down syndrome have the right to the same lifesaving treatment that any other child would deserve,鈥 said Brian Skotko, a Harvard University medical geneticist who leads Massachusetts General Hospital鈥檚 Down Syndrome Program.

The median life expectancy for a baby born in the U.S. with Down syndrome jumped from about four years in 1950 to 58 years in the 2010s, according to . In 1950, fewer than 50,000 Americans were living with Down syndrome. By 2017, that number topped 217,000, including tens of thousands of people in middle age or beyond.

The population is expected to continue growing, the report says. A few thousand pregnant women a year now choose abortions after learning they鈥檙e carrying fetuses with Down syndrome. But those reductions are offset by the increasing number of women becoming pregnant in their late 30s or 40s, when they are more likely to give birth to a baby with Down syndrome.

Skotko said the medical system has not kept up with the extraordinary increase in the number of adults with Down syndrome. Many medical students learn about the condition only while training to treat pediatric patients, he said.

Few patients can travel to specialized clinics like Skotko鈥檚 program in Boston. To help those who can鈥檛, he founded an online service, , which helps families and medical practitioners understand the complications and possible treatments.

鈥業f They Say It Hurts, I Listen鈥

Charlotte Woodward, who has Down syndrome, is a prominent advocate for improved care. She counts herself among the tens of thousands of adults with the condition who likely would have died years ago without proper treatment. Woodward, 33, of Fairfax, Virginia, had four heart surgeries as a child and then a heart transplant in her 20s.

Woodward, who is an education program associate for the National Down Syndrome Society, has campaigned to end discrimination against .

She said her primary care doctor is excellent. But she has felt treated like a child by other health care providers, who have spoken to her parents instead of to her during appointments.

She said many general-practice doctors seem to have little knowledge about adults with Down syndrome. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 something that should change,鈥 she said. 鈥淚t shouldn鈥檛 just be pediatricians that are aware of these things.鈥

Woodward said adults with the condition should not be expected to seek care at programs housed in children鈥檚 hospitals. She said the country should set up more specialized clinics and finance more research into health problems that affect people with disabilities as they age. 鈥淭his is really an issue of civil rights,鈥 she said.

Advocates and clinicians say it鈥檚 crucial for health care providers to communicate as much as possible with patients who have disabilities. That can lead to long appointments, said Brian Chicoine, a family practice physician who leads the in Park Ridge, Illinois, near Chicago.

鈥淚t鈥檚 very important to us that we include the individuals with Down syndrome in their care,鈥 he said. 鈥淚f you鈥檙e doing that, you have to take your time. You have to explain things. You have to let them process. You have to let them answer. All of that takes more time.鈥

Time costs money, which Peterson believes is why many hospital systems don鈥檛 set up specialized clinics like the ones she and Chicoine run.

Peterson鈥檚 methodical approach was evident as she saw new patients on a recent afternoon at her Kansas City clinic. She often spends an hour on each initial appointment, speaking directly to patients and giving them a chance to share their thoughts, even if their vocabularies are limited.

Her patients that day included Christopher Yeo, 44, who lives 100 miles away in the small town of Hartford, Kansas. Yeo had become unable to swallow solid food, and he鈥檇 lost 45 pounds over about 1陆 years. He complained to his mother, Mandi Nance, that something 鈥渢ickled鈥 in his chest.

During his exam, he lifted his shirt for Peterson, revealing the scar where he鈥檇 had heart surgery as a baby. He grimaced, pointed to his chest, and repeatedly said the word 鈥済as.鈥

Peterson looked Yeo in the eye as she asked him and his mother about his discomfort.

A photo a nurse practitioner speaking to a patient.
Nurse practitioner Moya Peterson speaks to patient Christopher Yeo, of Hartford, Kansas. Peterson leads an unusual clinic for adults with Down syndrome, which is housed at the University of Kansas Health System in Kansas City.(Tony Leys/麻豆女优 Health News)

The nurse practitioner takes seriously any such complaints from her patients. 鈥淚f they say it hurts, I listen,鈥 she said. 鈥淭hey鈥檙e not going to tell you about it until it hurts bad.鈥

Yeo鈥檚 mother had taken him to a cardiologist and other specialists, but none had determined what was wrong.

Peterson asked numerous questions. When does Yeo鈥檚 discomfort seem to crop up? Could it be related to what he eats? How is his sleep? What are his stools like?

After his appointment, Peterson referred Yeo to a cardiologist who specializes in adults with congenital heart problems. She ordered a swallowing test, in which Yeo would drink a special liquid that appears on scans as it goes down. And she recommended a test for Celiac disease, an autoimmune disorder that interferes with digestion and is common in people with Down syndrome. No one had previously told Nance about the risk.

Nance, who is a registered nurse, said afterward that she has no idea what the future holds for their family. But she was struck by the patience and attention Peterson and other clinic staff members gave to her son. Such treatment is rare, she said. 鈥淚 feel like it鈥檚 a godsend. I do,鈥 she said. 鈥淚 feel like it鈥檚 an answered prayer.鈥

鈥楲ike a Person, and Not a Condition鈥

Peterson serves as the primary care provider for some of her patients with Down syndrome. But for many others, especially those who live far away, she is someone to consult when complications arise. That鈥檚 how the Lesmeisters use her clinic.

Mom Marilyn is optimistic Sammee can live a fulfilling life in their community for years to come. 鈥淪ome people have said I need to put her in a home. And I鈥檓 like, 鈥榃hat do you mean?鈥 And they say, 鈥榊ou know 鈥 a home,鈥欌 she said. 鈥淚鈥檓 like, 鈥楽he鈥檚 in a home. Our home.鈥欌

Sammee鈥檚 sister, who lives in Texas, has agreed to take her in when their parents become too old to care for her.

Marilyn鈥檚 voice cracked with emotion as she expressed her gratitude for the help they have received and her hopes for Sammee鈥檚 future.

鈥淚 just want her to be taken care of and loved like I love her,鈥 she said. 鈥淚 want her to be taken care of like a person, and not a condition.鈥

A photo of an older woman and her adult daughter posing for a portrait outdoors.
Marilyn Lesmeister and her daughter Samantha 鈥淪ammee鈥 Lesmeister.(Christopher Smith for 麻豆女优 Health News)