The Final Verdict

March 14 had finally arrived cloudy but warm. I would like to say I leapt out of bed as that would be a minor miracle in itself. Let's say I struggled to free my feet from the covers, propped myself on one elbow and pushed to a sitting position. The sounds emanating from my mouth would put a weight lifter to shame. After the vital first cup of hot, steaming coffee it was time to face the day and whatever events it would bring. The two hour trip seemed endless and despite getting lost and construction delays we made it in time with ten minutes to spare.

I was determined to stay in control as the obligatory paperwork was filled out. There was no time to consider or speculate as my name was called immediately and I toddled into the examination room. The very renowned doctor followed not more than thirty seconds later. No twiddling your thumbs in an exam room here. We were very impressed.

We shook hands and the questions began. Why was I here? Who sent me? And why did we come? Because I had a double diagnosis; a Neurologist whose name he recognized: because you are known to be the best. Several neurological physical tests followed that I had not had before. The first was what I considered a rude gesture that always disgusted me. I had to stick my tongue out and wiggle it side to side as fast as I could. This had to be a disaster. He would tell me to wiggle it faster and faster which was not going to happen but gave it my best shot. Next I closed my lips tight and he proceeded to try and pry them open. That went fairly well. The next would have sent me into gales of laughter had it not been so serious. I was asked to clench my teeth together. But, I had forgotten in our rush to get here to put in my bottom plate so there was nothing to clench except my upper teeth and my lower gums. The doctor was too nice to make a comment. Bob said the resulting grimace was hysterical. I would be doubled over with laughter remembering this total humiliation in days to come and the telling of it was even funnier.

The next set of tests checked for fasciculation's in my arms which visually could not be seen but were felt as he pressed his hands to them. Oh, and now the legs. My ghastly, spindly legs were exhibited in all their glory. The previous evening I had attempted to shave them. What a debacle ensued as I dabbed at cuts up and down my legs. So much for vanity. Looking down as the doctor tested and probed I could also see my left foot which was a deep purple color, icy cold to the touch. Like he hadn't seen that before. Yet nervcs and muscles were dying off bit by bit and I thought only of cuts and a purple foot. Ego is a strange thing.

The stomach was next. Here we go again. The dreaded spare tire image invaded my thoughts. He would be hard pressed to find a firm muscle there. Please let this end. He wouldn't ask me to present my rear, would he. No, thankfully he was finished. Bob helped me dress and brace my leg when the doctor left the room. Would there be a verdict today or more doubts and anxiety. I opted for a verdict and got one.

On his return the doctor sat next to me with pencil and paper. He drew a picture of the brain and spinal cord complete with nerves. Patiently and in great detail he showed us the differences of the effects of both HTLV and ALS. Due to my research I understood the terminology even though he tried to keep it simple. It soon became crystal clear that my long shot hope had been shattered. He didn't have to verbalize it now. The final verdict. I had ALS. It didn't come as a shock as deep in my soul I think I knew. The waiting had given me time to keep hope alive. Now it was gone.

I cried a little, more from a jaded kind of relief than anything else. Through the strength prayed for by friends and family we were able to discuss the ALS clinic held every three months. There would be no formal treatment plan as such. The only drug available for ALS which might slow down the process a little was prohibitive on a teacher's pension. However my insurance might pay or not. This would be put on hold.

The ride home was quiet each of us dealing with the truth in our own way. Once home the obligatory phone calls were made. I felt badly as it is hard for people to know what to say or do. I chose to thank them for their prayers and changed the subject. I wanted them to think of me as the same old person, not the dying friend. Let's get on with life and laughter. Time enough for tears later.