Living a nightmare

When I was five years old, my father was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis (MS), but he was still able to live a normal, productive life and continue doing what he loved —teaching junior high students. Our family wasn’t fazed by his illness. We were able to do many things together like camping and apple picking.

When I was 13 years old all of that changed. My mother woke me up and told me to come to my parent’s bedroom right away. I ran to find my father lying on the ground, unable to move, unable to stand. It was by far the scariest moment of my life. My mother was in a panic and my sister was too young to know what was going on. My father thought that he had caught the flu because it had been going around my house. That was not the case. He had suffered an MS attack.

We had to call an ambulance to take him to the hospital. My mother and sister were in tears. Being the oldest child in the family and the only boy, I tried to be strong in front of my mother and sister. However, I could only hold on for so long. I went to my room and watched my father ride off in the ambulance from my bedroom and broke down crying. I thought that my father was going to die.

The next few days were very difficult to handle. Many of my family members tried to console me and tell me not to worry. I was worried. Seeing my father suffer in a hospital bed was not easy. He had to undergo rehabilitation for six months. That meant six months of going with my mother and sister to visit him every night and make sure he was ok. I hated it.

There was a man who roomed with my father suffering from the same disease, only his case was more severe. He had suffered from MS five years longer than my father. I was so depressed seeing my father’s roommate because I kept picturing my father in the same condition five years down the road.

After my father was released from rehab and allowed to come home, our whole family was relieved that he would be ok. However, due to the MS attack, he was unable to regain full strength and has been confined to a wheelchair ever since. He would never be able to teach again. Never be able to go camping again. Never be able to go apple picking again.

I will always remember a conversation I had with my uncle, my father’s brother, after my father was released from rehab. He pulled me aside and told me that what happened to my father was devastating and difficult to handle for the entire family, but we had to pull together and make the best of the situation. He told me that things would have to change around the house now and being the “man” of the house meant that I had to stop counting on my mother and father to do everything for me. I had to take on added responsibility around the house and take pressure and stress off of my mother and father. I had to grow up fast.

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