It was around 2009, when I started feeling weakness on my left arm. My left arm is my working arm. I used it for throwing frizbees (which I was quite good at in my young days), lifting, carrying and most important, eating. I still remember it clearly. I was in a food court by myself ordering my favorite Spanish dish. My arm was shaking and I was losing my grip on the fork. It took me about 40 minutes to eat lunch where it usually takes 10 minutes. By 2012, I was either being fed by the help of someone or in the privacy of my home, I would eat like a dog (literally speaking). Then, my legs gradually gave out on me. It was not long until I was dependent on machinery to lift me out of bed unto my chair and commode. At least, I still had strength in my right hand to manipulate the joystick control of my electric wheelchair. But even that was short-lived.
Sure enough, by the time 2015 came around, I was having trouble driving my electric wheelchair anywhere. I found myself staying at home. In my heart, I surrendered to the idea that my continuing deterioration was my reality until the Lord takes me home. Then, the pain came. It was an indescribable pain that emanate from my waist down. Most of the time, I had a high threshold for pain, but this pain was beyond bearable. The only relief I got was when my wife would transfer me unto the commode chair. For two weeks, I slept on a precarious sitting position. The pain would come and go, but then the pain throbbed so much I was in tears. My wife had to call for an ambulance to take me to the hospital. It was an early Thursday morning, second week of October. The feeling all around was a desperate dismay, but believe it or not, good news was going to lift my spirit. That story, I’ll leave out for the next post.
May the Lord bless you!
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