My Acceptance of Muscular Dystrophy - Essay Example

Running Head: Acceptance Free Writing Muscular dystrophy the doctor had called it, The look on my fathers face had sent chills dowm my spine, my fathr wa onr of those people who remain calm evn in the midst of trouble. However that day he looked troubled. There was sadnessin nhis eyes. As we drove hpome, no one said a word in the car. Muscular dystrophy.. why did I geet it. Why me? Had I done something wrong what did this mean.Muscular dystropjy. On our way hme, Moothr appeard appeared stronger than father At this time dia d opeed his window nad took out a cigarette. He lit and staterd to smoke This tome mother did not complain. She knew he wa stressed. We had learned in school thatsmkers used cigarettes to relieve stress. I could imagine the smoke going down his lungdsand turning them black. He was a doctor. Hem ust hav koown what this disease was oing to my body. Maybe that was why he wasso sad. It must have been scary for him. The carsbegan to move . Dad was halfway htrough with th e ciggarrete. Smoke illed the car. The traffic cleared and I 30 minutes we got home. My younger brother was outside playing I hthe dirt. He rushed to meet us all in excitement but stoped when he saw heexpreession on my faters face. I carried him into the house with my left arm. he hadnot yet noticed my right arm had stopped functioning. Only my elder sisr knew. She pitied me and would always comfrt me. She had recently come with a book from the library that explained my condition. She didn’t want to ask my father questions. The last time she ha dtried he had got angry and had aseked her to stop bothering her. hwat of my dearest Abby? I loved her. She was more than a classmate. The Story Acceptance “Paul it’s muscular dystrophy.” The tall Dr. Williams had said to my father. All the symptoms point to it.” “I suspected it but how…I’ll have to check out the family history”. Dad said. Chris, could you excuse us for a moment. I stood up and left them in the office. What did the doctor mean? Why did I catch this disease? Had I done something wrong? Why me? Would I get healed? Hundreds of questions began running through my mind. The door suddenly opened. My mother walked out with dad behind her. We can go now she told me. No one said a word. My dad was quiet. There was a look of sadness in his eyes. As a doctor, nothing seemed to shock him. But this time he looked stressed. When we got to the traffic jam, dad took out a cigarette. It was clear he was stressed. My mother did not complain this time. She too understood the sadness he was in. For the first time, she appeared to be calmer than daddy was. Dystrophy! That word kept ringing in my head. Muscular dystrophy. The traffic began to get lighter. Cars began to move. Dad was almost through with his cigarette. “What could be going on in his mind?” I wondered. Was dystrophy such a bad thing? Growing up, I had never been to a hospital before. Medicine was in plenty at home. We got home in 30 minutes time. My younger brother was outside playing. Excited, he rushed to meet us. However, he stopped when he saw the expression on my father’s face. I carried him into the house with my left arm. He had not noticed that my right arm had stopped working. Only my sister knew and she had made it her business to google my symptoms on the internet. She had decided to do her own research after dad had told her to stop bothering him with so many questions. She too was very concerned and always tried to cheer me up. I found her in her room working on her computer. “Dystrophy” I told her “they said I have muscular dystrophy. I don’t even know how to spell that.” She looked down then she looked up at me. After some silence she said, “I know Chris. It’s spelt D-y-s-t-r-o-p-h-y.” How did you know? Grandpa Joe had it.” “But it’s nothing serious. You’ll be alright.” Her voice betrayed her. She was lying. From the way she said it, I knew something was wrong. I went and sat on my bed and took my guitar in my hands. I looked at my right hand. It was gone forever. I lifted it up and let it drop on the strings. I suddenly realized that I would never play the guitar again. I threw it to the floor. I was angry. For the first time I wished I was dead. I hated myself. I hated my life. Kids in school would make fun of me. But more especially I thought of Abigail. My dear Abby. She was more than just a classmate. Ever since I had stopped going to school she had kept calling the house. I had missed school for one week. I knew she was worried. Would she continue to love me, a cripple? My eyes became watery. Abby was my first love. She was different, not like the other girls. She did not move in groups or dress badly. She was confident in herself. She did not try to be popular like some other girls. Abby was so gentle and understanding. She was so beautiful. Abby was funny and always had a story to tell me. One day, while we were doing homework together, she had told me that she liked me. I told her I had liked her all along. I had promised to teach her how to play the guitar the next Saturday. However, I could not let her see me like this. It would break her heart. “I can’t keep on avoiding her calls.” I whispered to myself. “Besides she knows where I live”. Soon she will be at the door knocking. My thumb had begun to curve. It was losing its shape. On Saturday morning, I woke up later than usual. Two days had passed since I had gone to the hospital. As I got out of bed, I could not feel my left foot. I pinched my toe but did not feel any pain. My right foot was fine so I thought it was not serious. I got out of bed and washing my face, I went downstairs for breakfast limping. I heard my mother talking to someone. Sitting in the kitchen was Abby. “Hi Abby, what a surprise” I said. “I promised to come so here I am,” she replied. Mother, Shania and my younger brother Kyle left to go and do some shopping in the nearby mall. I knew Shania would tease me when she returned. “So what’s up? I heard you were sick.” “Yes but its nothing serious, it’s just a fever.” “Good. So you can teach me some guitar. You promised remember?” Abby I am not feeling well. Can we do it some other time?” “Sure Chris, I understand. Can I keep you company?” “No Abby please leave. I do not want to be your friend anymore.” Chris? What is the matter?” “Leave now, just go. Go now. I don’t want to see you anymore.” I shouted Abby left with tears in her eyes. I could not believe what I had just done. I watched her leave the gate. Tears rolled down my cheek. What was I turning into? A cripple full of anger and hatred. Poor Abby. I was doing her a favor. I wanted her to hate me. I wanted her to see me as a bad person. I did not want her to reject me or be my friend just because of pity. Most of all, I did not want to hurt her. It would have been difficult for her.’ I did not want kids in my class singing to her “your boyfriend is a cripple” I limped to my room and began to cry on the floor. Soon I would not be able to walk. The neighbors would begin to talk about the cripple in the family. I would bring shame to my family. I looked at my useless right hand and felt like cutting it off. I really wanted to die. I felt guilty at what I had just done to Abby. She did not deserve such treatment. Dad found me in my room crying. He just picked me from the floor and held me. He must have understood. “I want to die. I just want to die. I cannot go on like this dad.” He just kept quiet. I could feel his pain. He was sad yet strong. His shirt was wet from my tears. “Son, I need to tell you something. We are together in this. You will not suffer alone. I love you not because of your health but because you are my son.” The disease had no cure. Dad said I had inherited it from Grandpa Joe, mommy’s dad. He said all my muscles would soon be weak. I did my own research and realized I had only a few years to live. Teenagers with dystrophy did not make it past their 20s. I was glad to realize I was not the only one. I made friends with people with my condition. I decided I would enjoy the few years I had to live. As we left the hospital, Abby was pushing the wheel chair as we got into the elevator. My whole family had taken me to get a wheel chair from the hospital. I looked up at Abby and smiled. Read More