Читать книгу Spectrums of Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis - Группа авторов - Страница 8

Source: Reproduced with the permission of Ted Stehr.

All humanity is on a train speeding through time. The name of the train is life. And like a train you might see in India, it's covered with people, inside and out. People inside are seated in different classes and are engaged in all manner of activities. The people on the roof would love to be inside. They are the sick. The wind buffets them, the rain drenches them, and the sun beats down on them. And each time the train jostles or turns, they have to quickly cling on to prevent them from sliding off and ending their journey.

The terminally ill cling precariously to the side of the train. They try to find perches on the thin window ledges or doorway openings. Some of them have ALS. They are exhausted from the relentless wind and weather, from standing, and from the strain of grasping whatever they can to keep from falling. Often the exhaustion is so great that they feel it might be easier to just let go. But something miraculous happens. People inside the train have given up their seats, walked over to the windows, and put arms around those desperate people. They say, “Don't worry, I have you. Relax for a while, and I'll hold on to you.”

Who are these kind people? They are like those from the ALS Clinic or the ALS Society or its donors. By vocation, by volunteering, or by donating, they give help to people who urgently need it.

ALS patients like me need much more than the love and support of their care givers and healthcare providers. We need hoists and slings to move us; specialized wheelchairs to help us to get around; and hospital beds for support, care, and comfort. As our needs grow more complex, the list gets longer and more expensive. But this equipment often makes the unbearable bearable. Some of it literally keeps us alive.

Please donate to the ALS Society of British Columbia. When you do, you are saying, “Hang on, fellow traveler: I see that you need help. Grab my arm.”

Typed on my eye gaze computer.

Ted Stehr