I fought it. The symbol of weakness sat by itself in the guest room where I never went. Whenever I struggled to walk past the door, I purposefully averted my eyes, looking down or away. I did anything I could to avoid dealing with the wheelchair the young guy delivered in October of 2007. It was an ominous sign of my fading independence that I hated both for its invasion of my house and what it stood for.
The following is a Facebook post from Nicky Williams Dexter. She shared her daily reality and it gripped me. She and I share the struggles of FSHD yet we have different experiences. I’m reposting this with her permission. If you’d like to contact her, she accepts all friend requests from folks interested in FSHD. I encourage all of you to drop her a line of support on Facebook. Continue reading
In the summer of 2002, while I was dealing with the issues involved in getting my Master’s diploma mailed to me, I was also looking for a job. Unlike my previous job searches as a high school kid looking for a way to buy hamburgers and movie tickets, this time I was packing two college degrees earned with pretty decent GPAs. I thought there would be tons of employers out there looking for a guy with my pedigree.