A young woman who has progressive muscular atrophy (PMA) is struggling with her disease and other things in her life. She just moved to Tennessee, and she is not having an easy time of it.
My name is Lindsay. Lindsay Maureen Bower is my name, and I am NOT having an easy time of it right now.
I am 40 years old, and I just moved to Tennessee last month from New York City (I lived in Manhattan). I am kind of heavyset, and have long, auburn hair and brown eyes; and I am fairly tall (or WOULD be, if I were able to stand longer than I am able to!). I am single, never been married; but did have a boyfriend until last year, when I first got sick. When he found out that I had a problem, he up and dumped me for a younger girl.
I am in a wheelchair because I have a neuromuscular disorder known as PMA (progressive muscular atrophy), which simply means my muscles are wasting away and because of it, I am getting weaker. Basically, it is like a milder form of Lou Gehrig's disease, but its progression isn't as quick or lethal; people with my disease can live as long as 20 years or more. I can walk on a walker, but only for short distances. Any other time, I am in a wheelchair. I need help, so a lady named Traci Morgan lives with me. She helps me get dressed, does my hair, does my makeup, and also tends to my personal needs (bathroom and hygeine matters, you know).
I have had PMA for a year; it all started one day last year (last July), when I got a cramp in my arm and leg; and the stupid bugger wouldn't let go. I thought I pulled something, but then I started feeling weak, and then I started having problems walking, so I went to the doc, and he told me that I needed to be looked at by another doctor. So the second doctor does his tests on me; and he told me I had Lou Gehrig's disease, which floored me. I figured I would be dead in only a few years because people with Lou Gehrig's disease live only 3 years or so; and I wasn't ready to die or be on a respirator beforehand.
I even went as far as taking care of all my personal affairs (making up my will, making funeral arrangements, choosing a funeral home to take care of my burial needs; and the like); but then I just found out recently that all the stuff I had done was all in vain because I did NOT have Lou Gehrig's disease, as it was first originally thought. I had something called progressive muscular atrophy, or PMA. (At first, I thought he said I had PMS, and I said to him, "You mean all this shit was caused by PMS?", and he and my caregiver both cracked up. I was NOT amused.)
Well, I lived in New York until recently because I couldn't deal with the memories of 9-11 (I lost my two older brothers, Chuck and Josh, who were firefighters in the terror attacks), and I was tired of people treating me like crap just because I am in a wheelchair. I figured life would be better for me in another part of the country, but Tennessee is so much quieter than New York City, and I can't sleep because all the strange noises keeps me awake at night. I am used to the hustle-bustle of the big city, not the sounds of crickets chirping or wind rustling the trees.
I really didn't do anything about my disease (basically, I just sat at home and felt sorry for myself), but then yesterday, Traci, she got tired of my pity-party, so she took me to the one tv station, where the local Muscular Dystrophy Telethon was being held; and I was mad at her because I didn't want to be around people who were sick; because it only reminded me of my situation, and I wasn't ready to deal with people who were so much worse off than me.
It ended up being the best time of my life. I met people there who were dealing with their problems better than I was, and nearly most of these people had it a lot worse than I did. Like for example, there was this little lady there whose 10-year-old son had Duchenne's (that's the worst form of muscular dystrophy), and she was more than willing to talk to me. She told me about her son, Johnny, and how he had already lived longer than what doctors had first predicted. She said that Johnny was diagnosed with Duchenne's muscular dystrophy at about the time he was learning to walk, and he wouldn't live to the age of five; but here he was, right in front of me, still living, and enjoying himself. He was in a wheelchair, too, like me, but he was on oxygen, and he was always smiling at people. He was a very cute little kid with spiky light blonde hair and great big blue eyes that sparkled with life and joy.
And his sister: I thought she had muscular dystrophy, too, because she had braces on her legs, too, but she was walking on a pair of bright pink forearm crutches; but the mother told me that Ronee', the girl, didn't have muscular dystrophy; instead, she had arthritis, and she had knee surgery back in June and was doing very well. Like Johnny, Ronee' was smiling all of the time, and she was enjoying working on the phones with her mother. Ronee' didn't look at all like her blonde-haired, blue-eyed brother: she had black hair and eyes, and was dark-skinned, just like the mother.
It turned out that Johnny and Ronee' were the same age, and they were adopted, which rather surprised me because I thought Ronee' looked a lot like her mother, which she did.
Anyway, to make a long story short, I met Johnny and Ronee', and both proved to be very happy and well-behaved kids; and all of a sudden, my predicament didn't seem as dire. Sure, I had a neuromuscular disorder, but compared to a kid like Johnny, I would live to be in my 60's or more--or better yet, a cure for my problem could soon be found. New advances in treatment were being made all of the time, and the news I was hearing, especially for PMA (progressive muscular atrophy, my disease) and Lou Gehrig's disease. The news started to sound promising, and all of a sudden, I felt happier and more hopeful than I had since first becoming sick.
I then realized that the people at the telethon cared enough to donate their time to helping people less fortunate, and the people I met seemed a lot worse off than me, but they were living their lives with amazingly positive attitudes; and I began to think that if they could live with their problems and be happy, then by God, so could I. That was when all the tears I had bottled up inside of me the past two years came to the fore at last; and in spite of myself, I began to cry, right there in front of God and everybody; and I felt arms holding me. It was Johnny and Ronee' 's mother; and we then cried together.
Rovella is a beautiful woman with a cold heart whom blames herself for an unfortunate old family secret that is literally ruining her life. This secret impedes a gorgeous woman from having happiness in her childhood, and throughout her life. Dark sec
Spoken Word
This CD will touch the deepest inner part of your humanness and spirit, you will never be the same after listening to the depths of struggle, the reality of life, the touching voice of truth. It will shock you, move you to tears. It w
