It was 6:34 a.m. Saturday morning. I was sitting in the dark in my room wrapped in a blanket, my legs crossed on my bed, trying to do the in-through-the-nose, out-through-the-mouth breathing Yoga Lady had taught me to calm myself down. But the terror rolled through me like waves. It got bigger and bigger until it burst from my lips in a choking sob.
I didn’t want to wake Grace, so I stumbled to the bathroom with a hand over my mouth. I put the lid to the toilet down to sit and swiped open my phone to read the article on WebMD again, squeezing my right hand into a fist, feeling certain that I’d lost grip strength.
ALS can start off with something as simple as a weak feeling in your hands or feet. It’s a disease that attacks the brain cells that control a lot of your muscle movement.
ALS Association:
Gradual onset, generally painless, progressive muscle weakness is the most common initial symptom in ALS. Other early symptoms vary but can include tripping, dropping things, abnormal fatigue of the arms and/or legs, slurred speech, muscle cramps and twitches.
Mayo Clinic:
Hand weakness or clumsiness…
I don’t know why I needed to keep reading this. I knew exactly what this disease looked like.
I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood.
At first I’d hoped it was just carpal tunnel. But I’d gone in for testing, and it was negative. They’d wanted to send me for more study and I’d refused.
There was no test for ALS. They diagnosed it by excluding other diseases that mimic it and monitoring the progression of your deterioration. It could take up to a year of invasive procedures and poking and prodding before they slapped ALS on what was happening to me—and when they did, there was nothing to be done anyway. It was 100 percent fatal.
And now maybe the countdown had finally begun.
My life might officially be going from living to dying.
An average three-year life expectancy from the onset of symptoms—less if my family history was any indication. Melanie had lived only nineteen months after her voice started to slur, and she took the medications—which I would not.
I figured I had about a year. My muscles would continue to waste away, a little at a time. Then I wouldn’t be able to walk, feed myself, move. I was going to die unable to swallow, unable to speak, like Melanie had. Entombed in the prison of my own body, fully aware, until it paralyzed my lungs and I suffocated to death.
I put my phone facedown on the bathroom sink and sobbed into my hands.
CHAPTER 7
THINGS YOU CAN DO TO
MAKE YOURSELF HAPPY
(YOU WON’T BELIEVE #4!)
ADRIAN
I woke up to knocking on my door. I glanced at my phone. It was 7:03 in the morning. It was Saturday, so I didn’t have to work and I’d been planning on sleeping in. Damn. Probably Becky.
She’d texted me a few times last night to check in on the dog, and I hadn’t texted her back. She was probably here on her suicide watch.
Harry Puppins growled from the pillow next to mine as I threw off the covers and put on slippers. I’d started letting him sleep in the bed. I couldn’t stand the frail, confused way he looked at me when I’d put him in the laundry room at night.
He still bit me every chance he got.
I opened the door expecting my assistant, but it was Vanessa standing there. She had Grace strapped to her front in a baby sling. “Hey.” She beamed up at me.
I hadn’t seen her since Monday, five days ago, when we’d done dinner and The Office at her place. I’d worked late every night this week, and I hadn’t knocked to take her trash out again because I didn’t want to wake her up when I got home.
She’d been randomly sending me Office memes. It was like a tiny little smile that popped up on my phone once in a while to surprise me. I liked it—though I was too busy to respond most of the time.
I smiled at her. “Hey. Good morning.”
Her eyes were a little red. Maybe she hadn’t slept well last night.
She bounced the baby. “Sorry I didn’t text. This is sort of an impulse visit. I was on a walk around the building. I get stir-crazy in there. I passed by your door and the next thing I knew, I was knocking.”
She was very perky for 7:00 in the morning. I felt my smile reach my eyes.
She was in pajamas. Fleece bottoms with the Grinch on them. I couldn’t see the gray shirt under the baby sling, but it was baggy. Her hair was piled in a messy bun on top of her head and she had on unicorn slippers. She was a hot mess and it was oddly attractive.
I wondered what the real reason was that she didn’t date. She certainly was datable. Good-looking, intelligent, fun to be around. Inherently likable. I’d really enjoyed hanging out with her the other night.
I hadn’t had a chance to check out her channel yet. I’d been slammed at work. I was in the middle of a jury trial. But now I wished I’d taken a few minutes to look at it.
She cradled Grace’s bottom in the sling. “Anyway, I was wondering if you’d like to…” She wrinkled her forehead and peered past me. “Are those crime-scene photos?”
I looked over my shoulder. “Oh, yeah. I was working from home last night.”
She edged past me without being invited in and made her way to my dining room table. She scanned the photos with her back to me. “You know, without the lawyer thing for context, this makes you look like a serial killer. Like you might as well have a necklace made of teeth or something.”
I chuckled. “And yet you’re not afraid to be alone here with me?”
She looked back at me and shook her head. “This is not how I die. Believe me, I know.”
She was wearing a brace on her right hand. I nodded at it. “Did you hurt yourself?” I asked.
“No. Carpal tunnel.” She cocked her head. “Is your tetanus shot up to date?”
I wrinkled my forehead at her. “What?”
“There’s a thing I thought you might want to do with me. Do you have time?”
I smiled. I actually did have time.
The weekends were hard these days. It’s when my personal life, or lack thereof, really glared. No more dinner every Sunday with Mom and Grandma. I’d had Rachel to look forward to every few weeks, but now that was over. I wasn’t training for anything at the moment, no marathons or fun runs, and it was winter, my least favorite time of the year to be outside. If Vanessa hadn’t shown up, I think I would have opened my eyes to an instant gloom. I appreciated the distraction.
“I have time,” I said. “What’s the thing?”
“You’ll see. We can do it at my place, or here, since you have the floor space.” She looked around with her hands on her hips. “Why is your apartment so big? I feel like mine used to be a file room or something.”
“This used to be two units. I took them both and knocked down the wall. Put in the bigger kitchen.”
“Do you cook?”
“Not really. Kitchens equal resale value,” I said, crossing my arms.
“Okay. But you obviously make coffee,” she said, nodding at the $2,000 espresso maker I had on my counter. “That thing is vulgar.”
I glanced into the kitchen. “I like good coffee. I get the beans locally roasted.” I looked back at her. “Do you want one?”