Lily Salter

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Take Two Aspirins . . .

I self-diagnosed ALS when a bad case of undiagnosed tennis elbow had me wincing every time I turned a key or clicked a computer mouse. The shooting nerve pain matching Nina’s infant complaints of the dreaded disease had me defaulting to disaster and imagining a life with diminishing abilities. I knew I could count on Daisy to tear open a bag of dog kibble and feed herself, but how I would manage day to day had my head reeling. On the up side I figured my prior experience would come in handy. If this radiating pain marked the onset of ALS, I vowed to pay more attention to sunsets, eat more crunchy foods, and not let another moment go by in which I wasn’t grateful. Perhaps my panic was premature, but why should I be exempt? Statistics show that each year over 5,600 new cases are diagnosed. Every day a new face of the disease pops up on the ALS Society FB page. In the tiny profile picture there appears a stranger to whom I suddenly feel a kinship with. Still, I’m never sure if it’s appropriate to “like” those announcements of “just diagnosed.”

While waiting on my Kaiser-approved Western medicine specialist appointment, I visited a discount acupuncturist in Chinatown and swallowed handfuls of dollar-store ibuprofen. Ultimately my respect for sufferers of anything chronic tripled and my admiration of my sister Nina soared to even loftier heights. Burdened by years of physical and emotional discomfort, she still managed to wear a smile and run a household with efficiency. I attempted left-handed vacuuming and gave up first try. I let the dishes pile up and whined about walking the dog. So much for strength in the face of adversity.

With the source of pain identified, the doc hooked up with a steroid shot, an orthopedic brace, and instructions to go easy for about a month. And so “go easy” has been the trend this summer. I’ve reduced my activities that involve repetitive motion strain and cut back on my diet of disastrous thinking. Of course I would never want to wish myself or anyone ill, but with family, friends, and film stars dropping off like Malibu in a mudslide it’s hard not to entertain bad thoughts. We are all vulnerable to those diseases that have struck our heroes down, yet I guess we must carry on gracefully in their honor. So I will keep on keeping on and try to be less stressed about the aches and pains that come with age and imagination.