It seems like everyone is taking the ice bucket challenge. I'm guessing that many are opting to get the ice water dumped on them instead of paying the $100, but if the reports are to be believed, the ALS society has raised some $40 million as a result of this promotional gimmick.
It's not without its detractors though. I've read the cynical comments of people who object to the gimmick, those who believe it's taking away money from what in their estimation are worthier causes, and those who say this is just a flash in the pan that will run its course until we get tired of it and flit to some other cause. Remember the girls abducted by Boko Haram? We hashtagged for a couple weeks, and now who's bearing the torch for these girls? One commentator opined that the real problem is that funding for the National Institute for Health (NIH) has been slashed over the last decade, and it's the ongoing funding by the Federal Government that is key. $40 million is a drop in the bucket, and when the novelty wears off, then what?
The latter concern has merit; in my opinion, the others do not. There is a reason why I feel this way, and this reason has a name: Doug.
I can't remember how I met Doug, but I'll never forget how I said goodbye. Doug was one of the most negative persons I've ever met. I suppose he had good reason; he had been abused by an alcoholic father, had a failed marriage that produced a daughter who wanted nothing to do with him. He bounced from dead-end job to dead-end job. He was always complaining about the bum hand life had dealt him, and about how he couldn't make anything of himself around here because his family had ruined his name. I listened and talked with him about the Lord and about his negative attitude. "No wonder you can't get a good job," I'd tell him; "With an attitude like that, who'd want to hire you?" Doug would listen, then go right back to griping.
Finally, one day he had had enough. He decided to strike out and begin over by moving to North Carolina. Even though he didn't know anyone down there, he piled what few things he possessed into his pickup truck and headed south. Lo and behold, he landed a job with FedEx, started making good money, and even started going to church. His attitude began to improve. For the first time in his life, he was making something of himself and feeling good about life.
One day he came back to visit and told me of an accident he had had at work. A shelf had tipped over, hitting him in the shoulder. He was having trouble with his left arm. "Look at this," he told me. "The muscle in this arm looks like it's shriveling up, and I can't grip with it like I used to." Doug was tough, stocky and strong, but even I could see the difference in the size of his arms. This went on for quite awhile till one day he got the diagnosis. He did pretty well for awhile, but one evening I got a call from him. He was crying. There were people down there who cared for him, but he couldn't keep going on his own, and didn't know what to do. I told him I'd come down and bring him back north; he could stay with us.
We had an apartment on one end of our house, and moved Doug in one afternoon in April. He did pretty well for awhile, but in a month's time, we could see the deterioration of his condition. Linda and I would be upstairs in bed when I'd hear a crash. Doug had fallen and couldn't get up. This happened repeatedly. Unable to hold a spoon or fork, Linda and I had to feed him like we would a baby. He needed help getting in and out of bed. At the end of June when we were scheduled to go on vacation, I arranged for him to stay temporarily at a care facility in Jamestown.
When we got home, I went to see him, only to discover that the facility that took him in decided quickly that his condition was more than they could handle. He had been transferred to a nursing home, where he lived for a few more months till he decided he needed to go to the Vets hospital in Batavia. I tried talking him out of it; he knew no one there, and it would mean I could only get up to visit on an occasional basis. He was unmoved.
I went to see him one day in the Batavia Vets Hospital. He was lying in a bed in a huge ward. I walked in and greeted him. He looked at me and rolled over with his face to the wall. That was the last time I saw him alive. He was 53 when he died.
ALS has a face. Some have never seen that face. Others stare at it in the mirror. For me, I see Doug, and a life just coming together only to fall apart. There are many scourges in life, causes worthy of our attention, but ALS is a mystery. With diseases like heart disease, cancer, diabetes, we often know its etymology. We know how lifestyle often plays into the onset of these conditions. ALS strikes apparently for no reason, and is always fatal. It's not the most common of diseases, but it surely is one of the most debilitating, as people slowly lose use of muscles starting with the extremities and spreading till they lose even the ability to breathe.
I am grateful for Doug. He taught me to celebrate life and never take it for granted. I learned from him that most people bear burdens we don't see, and that kindness and compassion are never inappropriate or out of style. I hope the ALS foundation raises another $40 million and more. And I pray that someday soon, the diagnosis of ALS is no longer a death sentence.
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