Retraction

To anyone who read a post called “Speech Impediment” late last night or early this morning, I’m sorry. I mean, it was an accurate description of my day, but with a few hours hindsight, a good night’s sleep, and a re-read, it sounded awfully “whiny” so I un-posted it. I think it was exactly what I feared this blog might become before I started it. Nothing good, positive, or encouraging can come from my whining. Suffice it to say that I taught my second lesson yesterday and I have got to find a way to teach with less dependence on speech!

A Silver Lining

Amanda’s boyfriend Sean was baptized last night and he asked me to perform the ordinance. He was a little hesitant in asking me because, well, he has been around me lately, but I assured him that I could do it. In fact, I would be honored. My legs could handle it, right? Sean is about my height and is an agile wrestler-type 17 year-old. And we’d be in water. I agreed to it and we proceeded.

All week I was concerned though, not about my legs but my voice. Could I be heard? I’ve baptized dozens of people but never was I as nervous.   I mentally rehearsed the prayer over and over again. Surely I could do this, it was only 28 words! Just 40 syllables! If I could just muster up the voice for 40 measly, but important syllables! I considered recusing myself mainly because I didn’t want to do anything to detract from the sacredness of the ordinance, or the focus on Sean on his special day. It was not about me and my willingness to tempt fate. Seriously, I had thoughts like this. Tempt fate to do what? It was a baptism, not a triathlon! I don’t know why I was so nervous.

We entered the font, took the customary positions and I began. I cannot report a miraculous healing here or even a temporary stay; the voice was weak and strained as usual, and evenings are worse than mornings, but it was audible. When I reached “Amen” I was so relieved. I had done it! Then I had about one second to consider the physical part, which was accomplished with ease. Here is the thing: I was so concerned about the voice thing that I didn’t take any time to worry about the immersion part, which worry would have been in vain anyway. That’s a Silver Lining, right?

Is it me?

I suppose it is natural to wonder if my malady is the result of choices that I made. Notwithstanding there are no known causes for MS, I can’t help but wonder if it was something I ate. Or didn’t eat. Do lima beans and walnuts somehow interact to form a myelin shield? I know, it’s silly but I find myself doing this a lot. I consider that most people don’t have MS and can talk well into their 40s. What did I do that was different from most that could have done this?

I habitually read road sign in reverse, you know, Regnirre, T-srif, and Aredam from my home town or even just “Tixe Txen” anywhere. Could that have done it? Maybe somehow the cerebral calisthenics were too much. When alone in elevators I used to take a couple practice swings with my air Easton – I don’t think a lot of people do that. I always lather and rinse, but I never repeat. That can’t be it. Does anyone repeat? Maybe it is thinking ridiculous things too often! I do that.

A New Calling

A few weeks ago my bishop told me he wanted me to teach the Marriage and Family Relations course during Sunday school. Now I love teaching and I have 19 years experience at marriage, so this should be a no-brainer.  But there is the whole “can’t talk” thing. Details, details.

We would only meet once a month which makes it easier, but it would supplant Gospel Doctrine those weeks so the class would be teeming. I told him I’d do my best. Today was the first class. I over-prepared, had several parts to be read by class members, and the subject matter lent itself to good class participation.  But still I was scared. It seems most Sundays it is all I can do to keep my head up.  I never comment or volunteer to say prayers. I could do it but I don’t want to subject everyone else to my condition, especially since I sound way worse than I feel.

How could I teach?

Well, I’m happy to report that week 1 is done and it went well enough. I introduced myself, apologized for my weak voice, briefly explained the situation, and requested their patience, prayers, and participation. I was self-conscious, fearing that my medical condition would be a distraction from the subject matter.

I'll be honest; it was very difficult.  At several points I had to stop, take an uncomfortably forced swallow, and then try to squelch out a few more syllables.  Also, I was careful not to stray into any areas of the slightest emotions.  I could not afford to do that to the class, unless the topic for the day was "How to sound like large aquatic mammals."  (It was not.)

Following the class, one lady who just moved in came up and told me precisely what I wanted to hear. She said, “I just wanted to tell you that your voice was not a distraction. Once we got going and the Spirit took over it wasn’t even a thought.” How prescient was that? And for a first-timer to boot!  It gives me the encouragement to try again in February.

I won’t transcribe the lesson here, but I will share a story that I shared today.

In my BYU “married” ward, a friend who was generally happy and seemed to have a perfect marriage one day looked troubled. He said, “My wife expects me to pick up my own dirty socks!” I gave him a puzzled look. He explained that he was raised on a farm, and when Dad and the boys returned from the field, they removed their dirty clothing and socks and mother would pick them up off the floor and wash them. In his frame of reference, husband and wife had certain well-defined roles and he was troubled that his wife wasn’t fulfilling her wifely obligations. I consoled him saying, “Buddy, I have the exact same problem! And she won’t wear an apron, fetch my slippers, or let me go to meetings at the lodge! Seriously, I only suggested that perhaps he should expect some role divergence since his wife wasn’t raised in his home (and because he was not currently working on a farm.)

Bonk

One of the casualties of my disease is minor loss of coordination. I am getting used to my new clumsiness, and it isn’t that bad, but I’m finding the effects in the most improbable areas. If I were building card houses or juggling knives, I would expect to do poorly. I take special care when putting away dishes or using scissors, but it’s those little things that you can’t anticipate that get you.

For example, last month I hand-washed a large frying pan. While drying it, I was holding it out in front of me, near where the handle is connected to the pan. I dried the pan part first, holding it somewhat near so I could see that the job was thorough. When I began drying the handle, I failed to properly counterbalance the new pressure I applied to the front of the handle, resulting in the pan swiveling forward and conking me right between the eyes. No broken skin, no mark, but it wasn’t fun.

Of course, as I was reacting to the pain, Kara walked by and asked, “What happened?” How do I answer that? A little pan drying incident? Do I have to say? There is no way to disguise or soft-sell this.

Now, there is nothing about MS that means you can’t dry dishes safely or counterbalance cast iron. If someone said, “Dry this frying pan without hitting yourself” I could do it, no problem. It is just an example of where a 2% loss in coordination can surprise you.

Just a Primary Teacher

In 2005 I was asked to serve on the Primary Board, teaching one of two Valiant 10 classes. Having served recently as Elders Quorum President and Ward Clerk, I really looked forward to being just a Primary teacher.

I took my new role seriously, but I did enjoy the easing on my schedule. It was three months into my second class when my MS issues began. I discussed it with them, but at that time the issues were not too visible, and certainly not audible.

The class comprised of ten children of inestimable potential and I was honored just to be a small part of their developmental fabric. I would do my best to teach them, to share my testimony with them, and to assure them that I cared about them. In the coming “tween” years, they might need an extra testimony to lean on, right? I hoped that somehow I could bless their lives.

I didn’t foresee that they would bless my life, in rich, direct, and immediate ways. Three of them have moved away and three more live on the other side of a new ward boundary, leaving only four that I see regularly. They have turned 12 this year.

One girl gave a talk in sacrament meeting. Because she was one of “my” students, I perked up and really paid close attention. I know, I should always pay close attention, sorry. She taught easy and practical ways to make progress on family history work. It was exactly what I needed to resuscitate my own dormant efforts.

While I am on great terms with each of the four kids, one boy goes out of his way to check on me and my capricious health. I try to reassure him that I’m OK, but given my vocal issues, I don’t sound very convincing. One Sunday last month, I was enduring a spell of utter exhaustion accompanied by a severe headache during church. The fatigue probably was related to my illness, but the headache probably wasn’t. Headaches happen to everyone, right? Fortunately, these bouts of fatigue are infrequent, but when they hit, especially with a headache, everything is worse, including walking and balance. When priesthood meeting ended, I decided to let the room clear out a bit before making my unsteady way to the exit. I didn’t want to cause undue concern, or fall on anyone! (It is just the first few steps that can be an adventure if I try to hurry the process.)

While seated, this boy came to me and asked how I was. The class was not on the way to anywhere; he had obviously come in just to greet me. I reported the headache and I’m sure he could see the fatigue. As I rose, he asked if he could help me. He is of very slight build, but he carried man-sized sincerity and concern. I took him up on the offer, figuring better to steady myself on his shoulder than to make him watch me struggle and maybe stumble. As we walked together slowly to the door I considered the irony. I thought they would be leaning on me.

Just a Primary teacher. Hah. Everyone should be so fortunate.

Uncle David

I know the Christmas season is in full swing but I have another story from Thanksgiving. I am almost done. Soon after I arrived at my parents’ home in California last month, I learned that my aunt Nancy and Uncle David would be coming and staying a few days. This was good news. I had not seen them since 2004.

Aunt Nancy did not disappoint with her endless supply of anecdotes about growing up with Dad. Uncle David treated us all to music from a dulcimer that he made. It was a delight getting caught up with them. They seemed to be doing well in every regard.

Therefore, I was puzzled when during a family prayer my nephew prayed that “Uncle David would feel better.” Was he not feeling well? How did this boy know about something that I didn’t?

Then it dawned on me that he wasn’t referring to my uncle, but to his.

It engendered a curious feeling in me. I am extremely humbled by and grateful for the many prayers in my behalf offered by family and friends, but my natural instinct is to defer. I’m fine. I mean I have a long list of medical issues and limitations, but I feel pretty good. Well, most of the time. Most days. Some days I don’t. Maybe I’d better keep the divine petitions going!