Fencer
New member
- Joined
- Feb 21, 2010
- Messages
- 5
- Reason
- Loved one DX
- Country
- US
- State
- New York
- City
- Northeast
Hi all. Just joined this forum today after my big sister (already a member) told me about it.
My mom was diagnosed with ALS a few short months ago and seems to be flying through the various horrfying stages faster than any of us can adjust. It seems like she's gone from speaking slowly and walking with a cane on Thanksgiving, to being practically crippled and unable to speak today. She groans and I can only understand a word here and there, sometimes that's enough for me to fill in the blanks- sometimes I have to guess, and I can see the pain in here eyes knowing my guess was wrong but she doesn't have the strength or the wind to try again.
My heart breaks when I look in her eyes; when I see the pain, the fear, the utter shock of this all-encompasing devil that has destroyed her in such a short time. I hold her hand and recall all the times she held me and looked at me in a hospital bed, many times as a child. Now I look at her, always a small woman but looking so tiny and broken now.
Yesterday was especially gut-wrenching. Having had her legs give out for the first and second time this weekend, she realizes the next big step of being confined to a wheelchair is upon her. At one point, when trying to explain how she fell, she started to speak, then ran into so much difficulty she just motioned to her legs and then to her back, with tears starting to pour from her eyes. All I could do was hold her. It is this image that haunts me so much today I have to distract myself, run around, do anything to stop thinking to avoid falling apart here at my job. I fight back tears every time I see her in my mind's eye. The pain is horrific.
I've felt pain before, as most of us have. Some is worse than others. But I believe this is the first time since I was mourning the death of my 28-year-old brother, many years ago, that the pain is so intense and close that it feels like a gorrilla sitting next to me in the room and I have to pretend it isn't happening for a few minutes now and then, just to give my heart a break.
ll I can say is I am thankful for my brothers and sisters at this time. Going through this without siblings would have to be so much harder. And my heart goes out to all the others suffering at the hand of this miserable illness. Like so many of you, I can't believe I'm here.
I keep thinking of my father's words to me alone, days after the diagnosis.
"I was in a fog, thinking, they can't be talking about Mommy," he said. "Not my wife, she can't have this."
Hang in there everyone. God bless us all.
My mom was diagnosed with ALS a few short months ago and seems to be flying through the various horrfying stages faster than any of us can adjust. It seems like she's gone from speaking slowly and walking with a cane on Thanksgiving, to being practically crippled and unable to speak today. She groans and I can only understand a word here and there, sometimes that's enough for me to fill in the blanks- sometimes I have to guess, and I can see the pain in here eyes knowing my guess was wrong but she doesn't have the strength or the wind to try again.
My heart breaks when I look in her eyes; when I see the pain, the fear, the utter shock of this all-encompasing devil that has destroyed her in such a short time. I hold her hand and recall all the times she held me and looked at me in a hospital bed, many times as a child. Now I look at her, always a small woman but looking so tiny and broken now.
Yesterday was especially gut-wrenching. Having had her legs give out for the first and second time this weekend, she realizes the next big step of being confined to a wheelchair is upon her. At one point, when trying to explain how she fell, she started to speak, then ran into so much difficulty she just motioned to her legs and then to her back, with tears starting to pour from her eyes. All I could do was hold her. It is this image that haunts me so much today I have to distract myself, run around, do anything to stop thinking to avoid falling apart here at my job. I fight back tears every time I see her in my mind's eye. The pain is horrific.
I've felt pain before, as most of us have. Some is worse than others. But I believe this is the first time since I was mourning the death of my 28-year-old brother, many years ago, that the pain is so intense and close that it feels like a gorrilla sitting next to me in the room and I have to pretend it isn't happening for a few minutes now and then, just to give my heart a break.
ll I can say is I am thankful for my brothers and sisters at this time. Going through this without siblings would have to be so much harder. And my heart goes out to all the others suffering at the hand of this miserable illness. Like so many of you, I can't believe I'm here.
I keep thinking of my father's words to me alone, days after the diagnosis.
"I was in a fog, thinking, they can't be talking about Mommy," he said. "Not my wife, she can't have this."
Hang in there everyone. God bless us all.