Somewhere, it’s like a whistle has been blown urging me to get off of the sidelines and into the game. Finding a treatment for my rare disorder is a lot like a professional football game. Crazy metaphor, I know. The progression of Friedreich’s ataxia (FA) ended my athletic career right…
First of two parts. I answered my phone on speaker and set it on my table. I was worried that the call had a bad connection, as I heard only static. I almost hung up when the displaced-Californian voice of my good friend Kyle Bryant gave our usual greeting:…
As the end of February approaches, Rare Disease Day, held annually on the last day of the month, is exciting for most of those who live with a rare disease. But every year, something about this day just doesn’t sit right with me. This year, instead of showcasing the…
Often I’d rather dream than face reality. I reflect on this most mornings, when the sun rises enough to turn the sky pinkish-blue and my eyes flutter open. Typically, I wake up on my left side and have to turn myself over to get out of bed. But turning over…
A few mornings ago, I groggily looked up and saw my reflection in the mirror. Because my vanity is wheelchair-accessible, I can see myself when I’m brushing my teeth and fixing my hair. I see the world through two black holes. My dark brown eyes are almost completely black, so…
“You’re cured, Matt! You’re cured!” yelled some friends, their shouts echoing in the ballroom of my college’s student union almost 15 years ago. I remained sitting in my wheelchair following this Christian service of a popular healing preacher. By then, Friedreich’s ataxia (FA) required me to…
For some reason, the huge tome of American literature that served as my textbook for high school English always opened to the poem, “For the Dead,” by Adrienne Rich. Probably because the page was dead center in that hulking paperback book, that poem…
The long drive back home was uneventful as the sky shifted from a clear blue to an ominous collection of thunderclouds. If it was a metaphor, I was too tired to notice. We drove on. I asked my buddy Ryan, who was driving my van, what his favorite part of…
“This isn’t a good start to the trip,” I thought while trying not to topple to the floor. I’d missed my wheelchair seat while trying to transfer into it. I was at the Lafayette Regional Airport in Louisiana, and the only bathroom beyond the security checkpoint wasn’t even close…
Sometimes holding on to hope looks a lot like desperation. I’ve been dealing with the unstoppable progression of my disorder, Friedreich’s ataxia (FA), for most of my life. Since there is no treatment or cure for FA yet, nothing stops it from ravaging me and sapping my abilities little…
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