One More Again...

I'm still dying. But I'm going through the motions. It's time to return to the college for my test.
I had just limped through Izzy's funeral, and didn't know it would be 19 years before I felt that hollow again.

It looks like it will be an uncomfortable battery of tests, but it must be done. On this journey, my 69 year old mama has chosen to be my chauffeur and it looks like an overnight stay. A modest hotel was chosen. I felt shame that day, as she carried the luggage by herself as people stared in disgust at a healthy looking young man that allowed her to do so. They had no idea of my boggled state of health.

There wasn't time to get settled in the room, my destiny awaited.

My first step on the curb of the hospital seemed to reach out to me in one of my most miserable falls ever. Followed by a swarm of nurses and such, "Are you okay? Don't move." I had fallen backwards on the hard sidewalk. I stared at the clear blue sky and was prepared to float up or down.. whichever was decided for me. But I was tenderly taken care of by the medical staff. I refused all attempts of emergency room treatment, because I just wanted this over with.

MRI, spinal tap, visual tests... I had no idea they were not testing but merely confirming their hunch. The tests seemed to take all day and I was physically spent and overwhelmed with fatigue.

We made it back to the hotel, but we were required a return to the hospital in the morning. I had become tired and extremely frustrated. I'm walking at this point, but only with the aid of two canes. This night was very vivid in my memory, as it was the first time I ever remember my mama crying.

I didn't see her, but I felt her sobbing, late at night. She was crying for me and I felt the sorrow fill the room. Till this day, I wish I could block that sound from my memory.

A 6 am wake up call is literally a 6am wake call - but my potential diagnosis had kept me awake the entire night. Just three more hours... let's see what they have to say.

November 3, 1994 - 3am to 9am

.... I slowly walked towards Izzy's room. It's dark with a November chill in the air. In my heart I know what I had missed. As usual, I was unable to walk with the gait or stride of a normal man. Instead, I brace myself walking from wall to wall, chair to chair, and counter to counter. But I make it.

I'm standing over a lifeless body of a great man. I want to touch and hold him once again, but I can't. I haven't the strength nor the balance to do so. However I do manage to lay my kiss upon his forehead. I feel his warmth quickly leaving his body, and I want to cry out to God for one more year, day, moment with him.... but I can't.

I am dying.

And we will be together soon enough.

So, I am numb at this point and unable to feel my limbs. I balance myself against the bedpost and watch as the undertaker zips him up in the "death bag." I'm sure I will be handled in the same sterile and professional manner. Yet my own prognosis is waiting on me at 9am at the Medical College in Augusta, GA.

I haven't time for the sorrow of a loved one... I must start my own march to Hell.

I felt every bump and curve on the road of my three hour journey that morning. Luckily I was not driving my own death wagon. I don't remember talking that day.. but I am sure I did.

I can't imagine talking about anything beyond the obvious.

I really don't remember my approach to the hospital. I do, however, remember the sound of the sliding glass door. As I gazed at the distance to the elevator, at this time assistance was needed to walk... in the form of a wheel chair.

The next few moments are a rushed haze... but I do recall a nurse calling my name. In the blink of an eye, all of my vitals were drawn and I was in an exam room, waiting.

I guess I expected the doctor to gaze at me and offer a definite diagnosis... and I was prepared to accept any diagnosis, but in my heart, that diagnosis was only a death sentence.

Okay! .... So It's A Real Long Story

One Word - Why? But I am not using this word to preface the emotional wounds of a chronic progressive disease as many have. I have not nor will I ever say, "Why me?" or any other type of questioning words spoken from despair.. not at all.. just not my style.

Instead, "Why Not?!" Is my proclamation of choice.

So please steady your gait, and surrender to your fatigue. "So Why Not?" Okay.. so it's a real long story.. might even be a Lame Changer.