The first neurologist I ever saw was a 2nd-year resident who looked like a high school kid. I’ve blogged about him before; he’s the one who told me he thought I might have ALS after we’d known each other for 20 minutes. He’s the one who told me I might want to reconsider trying for a second child. I wouldn’t exactly call him a bad guy, but I don’t have a lot of fond memories from our time together.

One of the things he told me early on was that everything was going to get harder for me. Walking, stair climbing, driving. I was most concerned about the driving, and I pressed him on it. He assured me that my losses would be gradual, that it would never come down to me getting behind the wheel and being suddenly, surprisingly unable to operate the car safely. Don’t worry about that, he told me.

It’s funny, because it was likely the only reassuring thing he’d ever said to me, and it turned out to be a bunch of crap. Read More>