There is a new Face of ALS on the site today. Rich Pollock, a recently diagnosed father and husband, shares the story of finding out he had ALS and his thoughts on how to live with it.
Rich writes about the tests that he endured—many of them multiple times. I’d like to explain a bit about Electromyography (EMG), for those of you who haven’t experienced that particular joy. There are two parts to it, and I’ll keep this simple: In one part, they stick thin needles into your body and move them around, and in the other part, they give you electric shocks.
What, that doesn’t sound fun?
The tests are designed to find out how quickly your nerves are conducting electrical impulses and if there is any weakness in your muscles. There is a lot of data collected, but if the doctors find fibrillations or “fibs”, it’s not good news.
Rich’s piece, honest in its assessment of these examinations we undergo, brought up so many memories of my own diagnosis.
At my first EMG, Rob was with me, and we were still confident that I was fine. I remember chatting with one doctor about his wife, an equestrian gymnast (!), and discussing with Rob what our then-two-year-old would eat for dinner that evening if we were stuck in the appointment (peanut butter and jelly.) The test was uncomfortable and long, but I looked out the window of UCSF and thought about how good it would feel to find out that I was going to be ok. After that EMG, they couldn’t tell me anything definitive.
At my second EMG, I was armed with more information. I knew about the “fibs” and I knew it was very bad news when one doctor told the other one that they were in my arms. I could feel tears sliding down onto the scratchy hospital pillow, and the stupid test just went on and on. Diagnosis Day.
There was one more EMG for me, a second opinion at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, MN. They wouldn’t let Rob come with me that time. I showed the nurse a picture of Scarlett smiling. After the test, as the doctor left me alone in the room, he said, “Good luck.”
“I’m going to need it?” I asked.
“I think so,” he said, and shut the door.
Rich, I hate EMGs, too.
Read Rich Pollock’s story here.
Back to All Posts