had decided to have a child and I was still determined to do so. And if we conceived via a sperm donor, I would still love the heck out of that kid. But I wasn't ready to let go of the idea that we could have a child who was part Emily and part me-a true blend of both of us. Again my mind fast-forwarded to an imaginary future in which my son or daughter was old enough that I could tell them my story. This is the story I told in unDIAGNOSED about how I never gave up in my search for an answer to what was happening to me. I struggled for years with various theories and treatments and even went to Mayo Clinic to get my answer. I didn't leave any stone unturned. How could I then look my kid in the eye and tell them I did any less for them? No. I wasn't going to accept the first answer at face value. Life had taught me to take a second look.
I told Dr. Sommer's assistant I wanted to see if there was something-anything-we could do to work around this. She understood me and promised to do her due diligence. Within days she called me with a great opportunity; she had found a doctor in Chicago who specialized in fertilization issues: Dr. Berg. We had an appointment before long and the main thing I remember is that his office was very close to a fancy cupcake shop. Chalk it up to my long history of interactions with doctors over the years. I guess I was sort of skeptical. Dr. Berg ran some blood tests and was pretty confident he could help me. I would have to take several months worth of a medication designed to revitalize my li'l swimmers. At the end of this period, I would have another extraction surgery. This wasn't the most elegant alternative, but it was an alternative nonetheless. We went ahead with it.
And it paid off, eventually. About a year later, Dr. Berg happily reported that my sperm looked ready to go back to work. As we left his office, he told us he looked forward to seeing a picture of our beautiful baby. Finally, some encouragement! Armed with this news, we headed back to Dr. Sommers to match my now good sperm with Emily's good eggs.
On June 16, 2013, as we were about to leave to celebrate my niece Bianca's birthday, we received a call to notify us that the next day was when the embryos would be implanted. My mind raced ahead to the appointment and to all the possibilities it held.
"You know what date that is," Emily pointed out. "June 17th." I hadn't even caught it in my excitement. June 17th is a landmark day in Beal history. My blog entry from June 17th 2012 captures the significance of that date well.
This day in my life is an unforgettable day. Here’s why, in no particular order. On June 17, 2002 my father succumbed to cancer after an 11 month battle. He was not only my father, but my best friend, confidant, and boss. My dad taught me so much, things that I will never forget. Miss you dad! On June 17, 2008 I was blessed with a beautiful niece. I am so thankful to have her in my life. She is so great! She shows me love as her uncle and is a reminder that my dad is always here with us. That same day June 17, 2008 my girlfriend (at that time) and I were on our way to Minnesota. I had my appointment at Mayo Clinic the next day. What I heard up there changed my life. So, June 17th will always be a day to remember for me.
So many significant events in my life seem to happen on that date. And now it took on a whole new significance. We hadn't planned June 17th as Embryo Day. The doctors picked it. But I started to wonder if there wasn't some other hand at work orchestrating the events to give me hope that this was all meant to be.
Out of eight of my sperm and Emily's eggs, we got two good embryos for Dr. Sommer to implant. That gave us a chance of twins (or even more remotely of quads) or maybe just one. Or none. We had to be prepared for all possibilities. A couple of weeks later we got news that Emily was pregnant! Just one-perfect for us. Holy crap! This was really happening.
We knew that everything was about to change. There would be physical changes, most notably for Emily as she carried a new life within her. There would be mental challenges for both of us-new ways to think about our life, our habits, our home. For me this was particularly larger than life and pushed me to express my concerns in my second book. Somehow hiding behind a fictional new father, Jake, made it easier for me to come to terms with the challenges I might face. But the reality of having a baby was no fiction and we were both eager to see how this chapter in our lives would turn out.
Obstacles
Dang!
I find myself wanting to use much stronger language, but I'll tone it down here. My mind is racing ahead much faster than my physical body, as usual. As I'm working on this chapter, even the simple task of locating a file and sending an email is a major undertaking. By the end of a typical day, my left hand curls up into a rigid claw, and I have to use the right hand to straighten out each finger.
Since writing unDIAGNOSED, my physical condition has continued to deteriorate, though the rate of deterioration has slowed down. There was a time when I feared the numbness that was slowly creeping up my limbs would hit my heart and make it stop. Thankfully, the numbness stopped at my waist. But the challenges keep on coming.
By the end of unDIAGNOSED, I had purchased a power wheelchair, which I used at my wedding. I still use the same chair to this day, especially when going out. When I'm at home, I use my manual chair, but over the years it has become increasingly difficult to maneuver. My hands often slip off the wheels, but the biggest issue is weakness. My body doesn't want to cooperate with the signals my brain is sending. My left arm in particular becomes stiff and heavy, as if it's in a cast. Even the simplest tasks become compromised as my ability to grasp items slips away. I notice this most when I try to open the fridge to get my MS meds. I grab the door handle but the pressure from the fridge's vacuum seal resists me. I pull but my muscles don't respond. On the worst days, I have to call Emily to help me open the fridge.
In unDIAGNOSED I was hell-bent on walking again. There were times when I could wiggle my toes, or lift my leg while seated on the couch. These were big victories. Today I don't even try to wiggle my toes. Lifting my legs requires me to place both hands under my knee and to pull back hard. This would have crushed the old me. The new (and I'd like to think improved) me just wants to be there for my family, just wants to be the best I can be.
I tire easily and have to lie down during the day. I used to be able to get myself into and out of the bed on my own. On one such occasion I slipped and fell while transferring. Emily was at work. It was just me on the floor and the cat hiding somewhere in the other room. I knew she wouldn't be any help. So I called the fire department. Emily had made me program their number into my phone in case something happened while she was away. As usual, she knows best.
I can't tell you how humiliating this experience was. The firemen were great, very helpful and kind.
"Anything hurt?" they asked.
"Yes, my pride," I said.
I laughed it off, but it really bothered me on the inside. Firemen help the little old ladies who get their cats stuck in trees, not guys my age It really stung that I had to be helped, that I had to pick up the phone to ask for help, that I had to be helped by guys who were my age or younger than me. I felt like I had become the "I've fallen and I can't get up" lady.
This happened numerous times over the years, and I'm so over myself now. You fall down; you get up. And sometimes you need help. It's as simple as that.
I don't try to do the transfer myself any more. I'm grateful for the firemen who always helped with such grace and compassion and for my wife and father-in-law, who never complain about helping me into or out of the bed.
Heat is my nemesis. I keep my apartment air cranked at a cool 55 Thankfully, this seems to suit the whole family, so we don't war over the thermostat. When exposed to heat I get worn out very quickly. My vision blurs up, weakness takes over, and my speech slows to a snail's pace. Speaking isn't the easiest thing to begin with for me anyway. I have difficulty controlling my breathing so words come out slurred. At its worst, I literally choke on my own words. Speaking a lot causes my throat to constrict and close up which leads to aspirated breathing and coughing.
A few times I landed myself in the ER as evidenced in this blog from 2012:
Though it was not that drastic, I still found