MS

     During my last job I was fortunate to work with a number of dedicated, professional teachers.  One of these teachers, Kathy, was the epitome of what makes a life-changing teacher.  She worked endless hours at school and at home on English lesson plans and correcting papers.  She devoted any leftover time coaching the same kids she taught during the school day.  Every year seniors selected a favorite, respected staff member to deliver the commencement speech at their graduation ceremony.  Of course, Kathy was chosen I believe more than once. 
     Kathy's husband, Dick, also loved working with high school kids and devoted an enormous amount of time helping Kathy coach tennis and Nordic skiing, and after he retired, tutoring kids in math.  Since they never had children of their own, they spent more time than the average parent volunteering.  They loved traveling too, enjoying many trips together and with friends.  If there were any airline bonus points they couldn't use, Kathy would turn them over to me so that I could buy magazines with them for the kids at our high school.
 

Dick retired before Kathy, and both were looking forward to continued travel and volunteering with kids together after Kathy's retirement.  Unfortunately, Dick was diagnosed was mesothelioma which he evidently contracted decades before during a summer college job.  He died not long after the diagnosis.  Around the same time Kathy was told she had multiple sclerosis.  The illness took a quick toll on her body and at Dick's memorial gathering in 2009 she was already in a wheelchair.  It was unbearable seeing this formerly vibrant, bright, energetic, healthy woman so sad and incapacitated.  No words were available to relay the needed comfort.  They just didn't exist.
     I knew that her friends from the English department visited her, but I hadn't yet joined them. When I retired, I was anxious to reconnect with Kathy.  So last week a former colleague and I met her for lunch at Boutwells Landing, the senior assisted living residence in Oak Park Heights where Kathy lives.  The facility was beautiful and even had a Perkins-style dining area.  We ordered our lunches from a staff member, but it felt more like a restaurant with a server waiting on us.  The food was good, and of course Kathy insisted on paying the tab.  After dessert we followed Kathy to her apartment which was very pleasant as well.
     Kathy now can only move her left hand which she uses to control the motorized wheelchair she needs to get around.  She was able to turn her head and speak, both with effort, and could carry on a conversation.  I'm not sure if it's a blessing or a curse, but while this disease has left her body helpless, it doesn't seem to have affected her mind.  We talked about all the usual things 3 women talk about: kids, families, politics, movies, friends, trips and books.  Kathy told us about two of the other residents also afflicted with MS who had had a successful operation to alleviate some of the symptoms.  One had taken her first steps in twelve years.  This fact brought Kathy to tears because she has undergone the same surgery 3 times with no results.  One of the surgeries helped her right hand for awhile, but the hand ended up to reverting to its pre-surgery state.  She can scoot around her apartment unaided, but has to call someone to get out of her chair for any reason:  to go to the bathroom, take a shower, sit on the couch or sit at her desk.  How does one comfort a friend who faces these unimaginable events?  I still don't have the words.
     Because of her generous and persistent spirit, Kathy has now taken it upon herself to proofread papers for a young Somali man employed by Boutwells who is going to school.  I can only aspire to such generosity.  For now I'm trying to appreciate what I have.  So when I get antsy, bored or ornery for some superficial reason, I try to take a moment to remember how absolutely lucky I am.  After all, my legs are still able to make the trek from that horribly inconvenient parking spot into the store.  My hand can scratch an irritating mosquito bite.  My waist can bend to re-tie shoe laces that have come undone for the 15th time.  My body can get me up from the couch to answer a call from yet another annoying phone solicitor, or get me out of bed before I really want to because the dog has to pee.  It's not easy to remind myself what true inconvenience, annoyance and hardship can be, but I am trying because the old adage is so true:  If you don't have your health, you don't have anything.