Copyright © 2015 by Randy Beal
All rights reserved
Published in eBook format by The Route Group
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ISBN 978-0-9850587-6-0
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This book is dedicated to Aunt Sandy.
I can't thank you enough for supporting my dreams.
THANK YOU!
Acknowledgments
Connie, thanks for everything in helping us to have a child. My therapists and drivers, thank you for getting me to therapy and teaching me some new workouts and workarounds. All my friends and family, thanks for accepting me as I am now and making me feel kind of normal.
A Path
I've been working on the railroad . . .
Or at least I used to. It was a family business, so I grew into it slowly. My dad was a machinist for as long as I could remember, managing a plant that re-manufactured railroad parts. He started me out mowing the front lawn, and I would come in and talk to the shop guys during coffee breaks. By the time I was in high school, my dad had bought his own refurbishing business and I started part-time while I finished my senior year. One week after graduating from high school, I was working there full time. Before long I fell into a comfortable rhythm of faking my way through the ins and outs of helping to run a small family business. Managing payroll, taking customer service calls, keeping the shop guys in line: all this fell to me in some form or another, and I pretended to know what I was doing. "Fake it 'til you make it," I would say.
When my dad passed away, things became even more real for me. I had to step up my game and take on more responsibility. I was the man of the house now. I could do this. I had to do this to make my dad proud. So I settled back into a regular routine of splitting my time between the office and the shop, trying to pick up the slack, and trying to grow a new part of the business. Everything was moving along just swimmingly. It wasn't necessarily my dream job. I often thought there was something missing. But it was comfortable.
Two letters changed everything: MS.
You can read about my journey through illness in my first book, unDIAGNOSED. I gradually found myself in a place where my declining health stripped me first of the ability to walk, then of the power to work. It was debilitating. It was humiliating. It was devastating.
But I couldn't stay in that desolate place. I had to do something. My sister and I started documenting the illness, at first just to make sense of all the medical hurdles on the road to a diagnosis of my condition. Soon it became more than that. I felt there was a story here that needed to be told, that could help someone else who might be going through something like this.
So I started writing. There were many challenges, not the least of which being that I had no idea what I was doing. I never let that stop me. The "fake it 'til you make it" mantra rang in my head. There were plenty of challenges presented by MS. It was a long road, but with support along the way from family and friends, a new me emerged at the end of the tunnel. Randy, the author. I never would have thought I would call myself that ten years prior. (Nor would my poor, poor English teachers through the years!)
I had reinvented myself.
Or so I thought.
The thing is, once wasn't enough. And twice wasn't enough. I wish I could say it were, but over the years I discovered I had to reinvent myself in numerous areas, multiple times, continuously.
As I dove into the topic of reinvention, I discovered a lot of existing material already out there. It was almost overwhelming.
This is not a self-help book to add to the collection. I will not be giving you step by step guidance on how to reinvent yourself.
But this is an honest account of my journey of reinvention. Everyone has a path to travel and a story to tell. I hope your path is made clearer by having travelled mine.
Here We Go
It wasn't a deep conversation. It might have gone something like this if I put it in play format.
Husband: Hey, babe, let's have a kid.
Wife: (sarcastically) Right. Because you're not kid enough for me to take care of.
Husband: You know you want to. We owe it to the world to pass on our particular brand of crazy.
Wife: Well all right then. You know this won't be easy. You sure you want to put up with a hormonal version of me?
Husband: Good point. Let's just go to the pound and rescue a dog.
(He pauses dramatically to wait for her reaction. She shrugs.)
Husband: OK, OK. You win. Yes, I'm up for the challenge. Bring on the Mom-zilla. I promise I'll be a good boy.
Wife: OK, let's do this.
[End scene]
If you think this sounds like Jake and Rachel from my second book, A Family Thing, you're right. Those characters were loosely based on me and my wife and they were dealing with, among other things, the upcoming birth of a child. When Emily and I discussed having a child, it wasn't a very deep discussion either, but it was far from the playful banter of the couple above.
We knew it was going to be a challenge.
First of all, I was a big part of the challenge. I need a lot of attention with all my physical limitations. I'm like a second kid myself. Sometimes a third kid. That's a lot for Emily to shoulder alone. I didn't want to put her through all that if she wasn't up for it.
I had mountains of doubts about whether I was up for it too. My mind zoomed ahead to when my child would be older. Would the kid be embarrassed that I was in a wheelchair, that I talk funny and move awkwardly? If we had a girl, I'd never be able to take her to a daddy-daughter dance. If we had a boy, I would never be able to play a simple game of catch with him. Physically I couldn't be there the way I wanted to.
Emily and I are always up for a challenge. We didn't know what was ahead but we wanted to face the future hand in hand and with a tiny hand latching on to ours. So we decided to go for it.
The first thing was to find an IVF doctor. Friends of ours recommended a guy to us and my urologist seconded, so we set up an appointment with Dr. Sommer. He ordered up a battery of tests to determine if we could conceive. For Emily, it was a straightforward test to make sure her eggs were healthy. For me, like everything else, it was more difficult. Let's just say I'm a pain in the butt! We had to have a specialty urologist do a sperm extraction surgery. Thankfully, I was out for that so I won't be able to give you a detailed account of what was going on with my junk. I know some of you are disappointed.
An agonizing week later we met with Dr. Sommer to go over the results. He was a pretty straight shooter, unlike my sperm, which was apparently dead. I'm not sure I remember much else after he told us this. I was calm on the surface but really distraught at yet another hurdle in my already rocky road. I do remember him saying that the only real option for us to conceive was via a sperm donor. I did not want to hear this.
We