GooGhywoiu9839t543j0s7543uw1 - add alsalberta@gmail.com to GA account 66309507 with "Administrator" permissions - date 10/07/2022

Making It Possible 2025 - Ralph Scott, June 23

It’s been nearly four years since I was diagnosed with ALS, and our life has been an emotional rollercoaster. We have felt frustration, hope, anger, and joy, all rolled into one. I’ve learned to give myself permission to feel it all and to hold space for my grief and sadness which are natural responses to the changes I am experiencing. Journaling, talking with friends, and connecting with Susan, my wife, have all helped me process those emotions. Remember, there's no "right" way to feel, and accepting that truth has brought me closer to accepting my ALS.

I’ve found strength and agency in focusing on what is still within my control. From adapting our home to suit my needs, to discovering new hobbies that bring me joy, and setting personal goals, these actionable steps help me feel empowered. I have advocated for myself in medical settings, explored assistive technologies, and created a daily routine that supports me and prioritizes my well-being.

My girls (our two dogs), and Susan help me stay grounded in the present moment and cultivate inner calm. For me, fostering a positive outlook doesn't mean ignoring difficulties. It means  finding moments of gratitude or joy to celebrate amid the challenges. These moments matter. Meaningful interactions like sharing a laugh with a loved one, admiring the beauty of a sunset, or maintaining close connections with loved ones are all vital. 

I’ve learned to communicate more openly with those around me. Being honest about my needs, feelings, and experiences has strengthened bonds and helps my loved ones understand how to best support me. At the same time, I am mindful of setting boundaries and taking time for self-care when needed.

Relationships are a source of immense strength, and nurturing them has enhanced my emotional well-being. With the support of the ALS Society of Alberta, I’m fortunate to have resources that have made this journey a little easier. And for that, I’m deeply grateful.

Making It Possible 2025 - Mike Olver, June 22

Growing up as a staff kid at Prairie Bible College, I lived for sports. Every day, if it bounced, rolled, or could be thrown, I was there. I might not have been the fastest kid on the diamond, but my body worked fine and I couldn’t have dreamed of a better childhood. 

Little did I know that there I would meet the love of my life in High School. The books didn’t stick, but one thing did: my love for Bev, leading to the best decision in my life, marrying her. Together, we built a life, raised two amazing kids, Theoren and Christina, and welcomed grandchildren who became our greatest joy.

I spent over 20 years at Prairie College, where they provided me with a wonderful opportunity to serve the community I loved (and perfect my golf game)! Life was full, and I was exactly where I wanted to be.  

Then, about 24 months ago, my body started sending me signals. Tingling. Twitching. A foot that refused to take a simple step. Test after test gave no answers, until hearing the doctor say three letters on March 13, 2024: “ALS”. They hung heavy in the air around me. Thinking to myself, “I’ve always been strong and active; how can this be?” It was a peculiar sense of relief to finally know, after so many months of not. The shock threatened to overwhelm us, and the silent drive home was almost unbearable as we wondered how we were going to tell our children who were anxiously awaiting news. 

ALS is relentless and unpredictable. It takes, little by little, and forces you to adapt. My left side is weaker than my right, but I’m still here, I’m still moving forward, and I still remind myself daily: I’m not dying from ALS; I’m living with ALS. And my life, even now, is filled with moments of kindness, love, and unexpected joy.  

In the summer of 2024, we took several wonderful trips to places like Oklahoma, Montana, and Ontario, not knowing so many would bless our socks off. We also travelled to Seattle, WA, to watch my Toronto Blue Jays play the Seattle Mariners, and what a memorable trip it was! As we’ve connected with extended family, dear friends, and fellow classmates, we have been rewarded over and over with incredible support and encouragement. 

Bev is my rock, my caregiver, my partner in all of this. Our children, our friends, and our community have lifted us in ways we never imagined. The ALS Society of Alberta has been an incredible support, helping us navigate this new reality with resources, equipment, and compassion. We don’t walk this path alone. 

As a young man, I valued strength and the ability to be active, never thinking that those days would come to such an end. Where do we turn when life leads us into a new season that we weren’t prepared for? With the help of my parents, I came to know Jesus as a young boy and have never regretted the decision to follow him. Why would we not count our blessings? Research into the disease holds promise, but there is no getting away from the fact that one day, sooner than we’d planned, I may very well be changing my address and meeting my Saviour face-to-face. In spite of the difficult path that lies ahead, however, I remind myself often how blessed I am.  

This is why I invite you to join me at Red Deer’s Walk Together for ALS on June 22, 2025 at Bower Ponds. Walk for those of us living with ALS. Walk for the families and loved ones behind us, walk for the caregivers beside us, and walk for a future ahead of us without ALS. Together, we will make a difference.

Making It Possible 2025 - Brian Dennis, June 21

When Monica was diagnosed with ALS, I was just as devastated as she was. I felt cheated. I felt like the life we had planned together was slipping away. And then it got worse. My wife has also been diagnosed with Frontotemporal Dementia, or FTD, alongside ALS. ALS changes everything, but when you’re living in it, you don’t always notice. Others noticed, but for us, it was about getting through one day at a time. 

You don’t realize how much stress you’re under until it sneaks up on you. It becomes part of your daily routine, and suddenly you're carrying a weight you didn’t even notice growing. My stress is different now. I sometimes catch myself wondering: “How long until she doesn’t remember me?”.

Caregiving affects everyone differently, just like ALS. It changes how you see things. Still, I don’t think I’d change anything, even if I had to do it all over again.

We are lucky, and grateful, for home care. Our main caregiver through AHS was so much more than just a support; they became dear friends. They have a genuine bond, and that makes a world of difference.

We know it is a downhill run, but our goal is to maintain her quality of life. The ALS Society of Alberta’s support groups became social events for us that we looked forward to. They are also a good excuse for me to bake and bring my blueberry lemon cake. There’s never any left over.

Monica is my priority. Every day, I get up early, have a couple cups of coffee, and go for a bike ride with my neighbor. That ride is something I do for me to stay well so I can be well for her. It is the one time I can step away from ALS. Every morning, my good friend always asks, “How’s Monica?” before shifting to other topics. I appreciate that so much. It might seem small, but it means a lot to talk about something else, even just for a little while. 

After my morning chores at home, I head out around 12:30 to spend the rest of the day with Monica. We hang out, walk around outside weather permitting, or participate in some of the many activities going on at the facility. In the evenings, we like watching hockey together in the TV room, even if we don’t always make it past 7:00 pm.

We made the tough decision to move Monica into long-term care three months ago, but when her physical needs outpaced what I could safely manage alone, we had to make that call. She is still there today, and thankfully, her care home is close by which helps ease that transition for both of us. 

Despite the many challenges, we make space for joy. We celebrated Monica’s 70th birthday at the restaurant where we got engaged many years ago. We turned it into a fundraiser for the ALS Society of Alberta, it was meaningful and beautiful. 

If there’s one message I could share with other ALS caregivers, it would be this: caregiving is really hard. But it’s also an act of deep love. It's the way we show up. Every day. Even on the hard ones.

Making It Possible 2025 - Adishwar Randhawa, June 20

Our father, Adishwar, whom many lovingly refer to as ‘Ronnie’, was diagnosed with ALS in January 2024. But the earliest signs of the disease made their first appearance in the spring of 2022, during a time when pandemic-related delays and restrictions made it all too easy to defer 

medical attention amid an overburdened healthcare system.

ALS has felt like a rude awakening not only for our Dad, but for our entire family. In many ways, ALS has stripped him of all the things he loved most. 

The first symptoms showed up on his daily 7KM walks. Staying active was staying sane for Ronnie. He walked daily, took pride in his health and body, nourished himself in all the right ways, and grimaced at the offer of any happy hour beverage. He was incredibly disciplined, so it was easy to pass off the first limb-onset symptoms as nothing more than a “bad knee”.

Today, Dad is surrounded by the love of his devoted and loving wife, his anchor and greatest source of strength and support, along with his three daughters, sons-in-law, and six grandchildren. Beyond his immediate family, he is deeply cherished by many whose lives have been touched by his generosity, compassion, and unwavering presence as a pillar of strength during their most trying times. 

Immigrating from Punjab, leaving behind his roots in 1980 to settle in Canada, Dad overcame countless challenges. Still, he would give the shirt off his back to help someone else, even if it meant hardship for himself. His warmth and sociability were just as defining. He continued making special trips to the bank just to connect and chat with tellers, long after most people had moved their lives online. 

As his daughters, some of our most cherished memories are those spent in our Kitimat living room. No TV. No phones. Just us laughing, sharing stories, soaking up the invaluable wisdom Dad so effortlessly imparted. With ALS, witnessing the gradual silencing of his voice has been heartbreaking, yet Dad continues to bring us all together. He unites us and ensures we still share our triumphs and struggles with him each week, despite his communication barriers. 

Dad’s spiritual faith has always been central. He carries Waheguru in his heart and lives by Chardi Kala, a state of unwavering optimism that defines his Sikh journey and continues to guide him through even the most difficult days. His devotion hasn’t wavered, and in turn, it inspires us to carry hope and hold faith in our own hearts, too. 

What we’ve come to understand is that while this ALS journey belongs to Dad, we, as a family, walk it with him. It is both an honour and a heartbreak. It is a reality that has transformed us in ways we never imagined. ALS reminds us that being human means holding grief and gratitude, sorrow and joy, anger, disappointment, and empathy - all at once.

Dad often says that ALS has taken the things he loved most: his ability to stay active, walk, write, sing, and speak. Each loss brings its own grief. But there is one thing ALS cannot touch, and that is the unconditional and immeasurable love we hold for him. 

That love is a reflection of what he’s given to us, over a lifetime. The compassion we show him today is the same care he’s extended to everyone around him so freely. The resilience we carry in his name mirrors the strength, courage, determination and dignity he’s embodied for as long as we’ve known him. 

ALS may have changed the way we move through the world, but it will never change the way we stand by his side with compassion and steadfast support. Just as Dad has carried us through every hardship, we will continue to carry and show up for him, every day, in every way.

Making It Possible 2025 - Conrad Gotzmann

I first noticed something was wrong when I was working on my car. I was tightening bolts when I realized I couldn’t let go of the wrench. My hand just wouldn’t open. 

I brushed it off, but about a year later, more symptoms showed up. I went to my family doctor and from there I was referred from one specialist to another, back to another doctor, until I finally found myself at the ALS Clinic. I was initially diagnosed with PLS  but after an EMG showed how my symptoms were progressing, my diagnosis was changed to ALS. 

It’s been difficult. Every moment, every breath, every step, is a reminder that I have ALS. 

This is why I say “I do the ALS Walk everyday”. 

It’s not just an event. It’s my life. I walk with ALS through every challenge, every adjustment, every small victory. But along the way I’ve learned something important: to truly receive, we have to be willing to give first. 

So I give by showing up. I wear my ALS Society of Alberta T-shirt proudly on my daily walks at the rec centre. It’s more than a shirt, it’s a signal. It’s an invitation to talk, to connect, and to raise awareness. 

When people ask, I share my story. Not because it’s easy, but because someone out there needs to hear it. 

I hope that by being open, I encourage others to give too. Whether they give of their time, their resources, or their compassion. 

Because ALS doesn’t just take. It teaches. 

It teaches you to value the steps you can still take. 

It teaches you to speak even when your voice trembles. 

It teaches you to give, so others can find hope in your strength.

This is my walk. And I’m still walking.

Making it Possible 2025 - Alan Widynowski, June 18

I spent over three decades working in Oil Exploration which took me all over the world. Early on in my career, I met Tatiya and have been married for 30 years now. After years of international travel and fieldwork, I eventually returned to Calgary to work locally. That’s when I began  noticing changes in my strength that made it difficult to do my job. 

It was in 2021 when the first signs appeared. I noticed cramping and weakness in my legs. I was an avid golfer, and I noticed that it was getting hard to walk up and down small knolls on the course. As time went on, stairs also became a challenge, and other everyday tasks like clipping my nails were frustrating. 

In May 2024, I was diagnosed with ALS and I was completely overwhelmed.

One of the first major decisions Tatiya and I had to make was whether or not to stay in our home or move. We chose to stay. That meant we had to make our home safer and more accessible.

My advice for anyone newly diagnosed is to get involved with the ALS Society of Alberta as early as you can. They’ll help you get the equipment you need to stay safe and independent. 

Since October 2024, they have loaned me a stair lift for my garage so I can get in and out of the house, as well as walkers that help me move around safely. They also supported us with rebates for other essential items like an EZ chair (powerlift recliner) and a personal bidet. 

Looking back, I remember one close call in particular, where I almost fell on the stairs. That was a turning point. It made me realize how important it is to make timely decisions, especially about equipment. They might be difficult, but they are necessary. Especially when it comes to staying safe and maintaining my dignity and independence. 

My advice is this: “Life doesn’t stop. Make the choices that keep you moving forward. Don’t hesitate.”

Making It Possible 2025 - Bruce Beswick, June 17

My name is Bruce Beswick. I’m a retired military pilot and soldier. I served in the Canadian Air Force for 25 years, flying search and rescue missions in Buffalo aircraft before moving on to fly F-18 fighter jets out of Cold Lake. I also completed multiple tours in the Middle East, including a year in Afghanistan running an army camp with over 1,000 troops. I’ve seen a lot in my life; beautiful places, devastating moments, and experiences I carry with me to this day.

After returning home, I began noticing muscle twitches and a gradual loss in weight and strength. For nearly three years, I sought answers from doctors with no clear diagnosis. It wasn’t until April 2024, through the Operational Stress Injury Clinic in Calgary, that I was finally diagnosed with ALS.

At my physical peak, I was 245 pounds and could press 250! Today, I weigh 165 pounds and need help lifting a cup of coffee. I can no longer drive, and everyday tasks like brushing my teeth, doing up buttons, or walking to the kitchen are difficult or impossible without help.

But here's what hasn’t changed: my determination.

My life before ALS was full. I was raising a family, running a farm, and proudly serving my country. I’ve had the privilege of working overseas, including in Israel, Syria, Lebanon, Gaza, and Afghanistan. Through all of that, my wife was my rock. While I was deployed, she ran our farm with 50 head of cattle, 200 sheep, and two young kids, and she did this all flawlessly. She’s still my rock today.

ALS has forced me to slow down, but not to stop. My days begin and end with her help. While I can no longer hike or drive with my service dog, Shadow, I’ve found new ways to keep going: reading, faith, meaningful conversations, and finding joy in the quiet moments.

ALS has taken a lot from me physically. Here’s what I’m facing today:

  1. I’ve lost nearly 80 pounds of muscle.

  2. I need a chair to shower as I can’t stand for long.

  3. I can’t pull up my pants or do up buttons.

  4. Walking is limited to short distances.

  5. Brushing my teeth is difficult.

  6. I get tangled in blankets when rolling over.

  7. I can’t drive.

  8. I struggle to feed myself and I drink through a straw.

  9. I can’t lift my arms above my mid-chest.

  10. My hands shake. I can’t tie my shoes.

  11. I’ve lost my appetite.

Every one of these challenges requires help, and my wife is the one who helps me. She dresses me, prepares my food, and manages our daily routines. She is totally amazing. Her love and care grounds me. While I once found freedom behind the wheel taking backroad trips with my service dog Shadow, I now find peace in simply sitting beside her, holding hands as we drive. I can't say enough about how much she means to me. Her strength steadies me in every way.

A friend recently took me on a convoy drive through the mountains. We visited a remote site where a cross had been placed in memory of someone whose ashes had been scattered there. It was deeply moving. I took a photo and I hold onto it as a reminder of the beauty that still surrounds us.

The ALS Society of Alberta has also played a role, helping us access essential equipment that makes daily life more manageable. A real constant in my care journey has been my wife, and our incredible local church and friends who show up in ways both big and small.

Being a caregiver takes patience, grit, and heart. I see it in my wife every day. Accepting help hasn’t always been easy for me, but I’ve learned something important along the way. Gratitude matters. Say thank you. Mean it. Every day.

To anyone newly diagnosed: Make a promise to yourself to stay mentally strong, and stick to it.  Plan ahead. Accept help. Be grateful. And most importantly: Never quit. 

ALS might be part of your life, but it doesn’t define who you are. Never be afraid to share your story. You never know who it might help, or who might reach out and help you.

I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but I do know how I want to meet it: with purpose, love, and perseverance. My goal is to ensure my wife is well cared for. And when I’m gone, I hope people remember me as a good man who tried to do right by others.

So here I am. Still pushing. Still grateful. Still refusing to give up.

Making It Possible 2025 - Stacy Hollister-Rank, June 16

My symptoms started in June 2023 with weakness in my left leg, nothing dramatic, just enough that I swapped my trademark stilettos for trainers. I chalked it up to getting older. After all, I was  57, and maybe it was time to retire the heels, especially when walking my dog! But by September, I knew something was very wrong. After reading thousands of articles online, I had a sinking feeling I already knew the answer. My diagnosis  was confirmed in July 2024: ALS.

The news was crushing. 

My initial reaction was fear, quickly followed by anger. And overwhelming concern for my husband and daughter. For months, I was consumed by the idea that was about to die. It felt impossible to see any kind of future. I never expected this to happen to me  and I  couldn't imagine how to go on.

I grew up and have always been independent. I’ve always been the one who fixed things, at work, at home, for everyone else. So the idea of asking for help seemed impossible. At the ALS Clinic, I was given a pack full of detailed information about ALS. I shoved it in a cupboard, hidden. Out of sight, out of mind, right? I wouldn’t, I couldn’t look at it. Every day felt like stepping into a minefield, and I didn’t know if I'd make it to tomorrow.

By Christmas, my mobility had worsened. I was falling more, but I still refused to consider using any kind of mobility aid. My daughter bought me walking canes. A friend gave me a walker. But I wanted to push through and keep things “normal” for as long as I could. 

Eventually, my daughter reached out to the ALS Society and started the conversation about getting me a stair lift, as she knew getting upstairs was becoming very challenging for me. At first, I was awkward,  and, I guess, stubborn and embarrassed. 

I didn’t want any help and I didn’t want to feel like a burden. I wanted everyone to  just leave me alone. But now? I’m over the moon that the stair lift is installed.

Once I accepted that I needed the help, I felt so much more confident being home alone. I cried for a few days, not because of the lift, but because of what it represents. And then, slowly, things began to shift.  The stairlift changed so many things for me. It gave me back a piece of my independence. It made me safer. It made life doable again.

And for that, I’m deeply grateful. To my daughter, and  to the ALS Society for pushing me and not giving up on me when I couldn’t yet accept help.

Looking back, we were in classic denial. I didn’t want to bother my friends.  I didn’t want to be a burden to my husband or daughter. I had cut myself off emotionally. 

But things started to change. 

We were gifted tickets to a Calgary Flames game by Mikael Backlund through the ALS Society of Alberta.  I never thought I’d have the motivation or confidence to attend, but it was fantastic. It gave me a lift I didn’t realize I needed. 

That experience opened the door to even more experiences. I started being more honest about what I need, both practically and emotionally.  I even let my husband take over vacuuming … which used to be one  of my favourite household chores!

I’ve also reconnected with old friends. The ones I’d avoided because I was worried they’re think I was only reaching out because of my diagnosis.  But, I’ve learned that reaching out doesn’t make you a burden on others. It makes you human. And those conversations have become one of the best parts in all of this. 

I’ve learned that I can be vulnerable. I can be loved. I can accept help - even if I can’t fully accept this disease.

Making It Possible 2025 - Cheryl Oshanek, June 15

I’m 63, and my ALS symptoms began in 2023. My gait and balance were suddenly out of whack to the point where I needed a cane. My husband was worried it might be a stroke as my symptoms came out of nowhere. We originally thought it could be related to a stomach infection, but even after surgery resolved that, the balance issues persisted. That’s when we knew something else was going on. 

I didn’t even realize I had a foot drop at the time. It was my eldest daughter (who had seen clonus in a loved one) who noticed the signs while helping me stretch. She urged me to bring it up with my physiotherapist. The moment I mentioned clonus, things moved fast. I was sent to the emergency department at Foothills Hospital, where an ER doctor saw the urgency and referred me to a neurologist. That was the start of a long process of testing: spinal taps, movement clinics, physiotherapy, and finally, an EMG. 

Almost exactly a year later, on June 28, 2024, I was officially diagnosed with ALS. 

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: trust your gut. If something feels wrong, push for answers. If we hadn’t kept asking questions, who knows how long it would’ve taken for me to get a diagnosis? 

That year leading up to my diagnosis was tough. I resisted change, especially around my mobility. I used a cane, but I flat-out refused to switch to a walker, even when my family and doctors encouraged me. I was afraid that accepting more help meant admitting something was seriously wrong. 

It took falling and breaking my right arm (yes, I admit that this was not my smartest moment!) to finally understand how important mobility aids really are. 

Now, I can’t walk unaided. I use canes and walkers indoors, and a stairlift and bidet help with daily tasks. I can’t dress myself, and my left arm and hand are no longer functional. I’m currently on riluzole, gabapentin, and baclofen. Through it all, the ALS Society of Alberta and the South Health Campus clinic have been amazing in making this journey more manageable in truly practical ways. 

And even though ALS absolutely sucks, we’ve met some truly wonderful people. And yes, we still laugh, sometimes a lot, even about some of my limitations. 

Our youngest daughter came up with a brilliant idea, to create a family “corporate” structure where everyone has a job. It sounds funny, but it works: 

  • Daughter 1 and her husband, My Directors of Family handle all things family logistics, like dinners, coordination, and care by helping me with stretching and massages.
     

  • Daughter 2 is my Director of Fun. She planned a trip to Disneyland and organized a family trip to BC in June. We were going to be road tripping as a family as my husband was lucky enough to obtain a BraunAbility modified Grand Caravan from a family friends estate. Which gave me more freedom to get out and have fun by providing wheelchair via electric ramp. She also handles my shower and hygiene routines. 

 

Unfortunately we were unable to travel in June due to a health complication and I was hospitalized. As a Family we pivoted and pushed back the vacation and we will find other ways to enjoy each others company and celebrate the days and time we do have together regardless. My Grandson sent me a video to make me feel better and said “ALS is stupid Nana, I love you!”
 

  • My grandchild is my Director or comedic relief. He brings belly laughs daily, especially when he copies “Nana” walking with my cane and walker saying “I’m Nana” My daughter even got us a book to read together: Why My Grandma Is So Brave (a book about ALS for kids). It’s one of our favorites.
     

  • And my husband? My Darling Director of Danger Detection. Well, he has the hardest job of all, he’s on duty 24/7. He is responsible for home safety, navigating “danger zones,” and keeping everything running. His love and care are constant, and we all depend on him. 

Everyone takes their role seriously, and we laugh a lot about it, which keeps our spirits high. My Advice? Don’t forget to laugh. Life is still funny.  Don’t let ALS steal your smile.  Enjoy your family. Trust them. You can’t go wrong. 

Making It Possible 2025 - Lori Huolt, June 14

Modified from Laurie’s Making It Possible Stories, written by her between 2022 and 2024.

“My journey with ALS began on March 14, 2019. I had just come home from Mardi Gras in New Orleans, still full of stories and sunshine. The very next day, I walked into a neurologist’s office, expecting a quick visit about a weak hand and some slurred speech. Instead, I heard the words, ‘You have ALS.’ In that moment, everything changed.

But here’s the thing, I chose to live. I chose to smile. I chose to love deeply.

ALS brought many changes. I lost my ability to walk, talk, and use my hands. But I gained something too. I gained an overwhelming reminder of what matters most. My family, my incredible husband of more than three decades, our children, and most especially, our two beautiful granddaughters, Blake and Annie. They are my heart. My girls and I found new ways to communicate, mostly with yes/no questions,  a lot of patient pauses, and more love than words can hold. They filled my heart every single day.

Over time, I traded heels for wheels, speech for a device, and independence for the helping hands of those I love most. But I never gave up. That was never in my nature. I stayed strong. I stayed grateful. I stayed Lori.

We continued to travel when we could. We celebrated milestones, laughed often, and leaned on the community that surrounded us with kindness and care. The ALS Society of Alberta was a part of that village, helping to make life safer and more comfortable through the Equipment Loan Program and their unwavering support.

Even when I couldn't speak, I found ways to say what mattered. “Please don’t feel sorry for me. Just smile.” Life isn’t perfect, but it’s so very good.

ALS did not get all of me. I refused to let it take my spirit, my love, or my joy. We lived with open hearts, honest emotions, and immense gratitude. I believed in hope, in research, and in a future without this disease. And I believed in making life count. Making it count for myself and making it count for others.

Please, love one another as we did. Celebrate your people. Say the words. Laugh hard. Be kind. And remember, that life is good."

In Loving Memory of Lori Huolt.

Making It Possible 2025 - Hashem Melhem, June 13

ALS used to be nothing but a distant reality, something that happened to other people, people I’d never met. I never imagined it would become part of my life. But four years ago, everything changed. My muscles weakened, my body began to resist me, and I caught my first real glimpse of what ALS truly is.

It’s a disease that takes and takes, piece by piece, until it feels like there’s nothing left but uncertainty and loss.

The day I was diagnosed, the world around me blurred. Questions flooded my mind: What does this mean? What will happen to my wife? My kids? My life? Questions that don’t go away as ALS progresses but linger in the background even today, as I focus on the present and try to see my world through a different lens.

Despite the challenges, I’ve been fortunate to share in life’s most precious moments. I walked my daughter, my baby girl, down the aisle and into the arms of the man she chose to spend her life with. I remember thinking, I hope he’ll love her even a fraction as much as I do. I also stood beside my son as he vowed to love and protect his wife for the rest of their lives. I’ve watched both of my children step into new chapters of adulthood, and for that, I am incredibly grateful.

And now, I have the joy of watching another chapter unfold: I’m becoming a grandfather this year. My son and his wife are expecting their first child in April, and my daughter and her husband will welcome their baby in June. Even in the face of ALS, life continues to offer beautiful gifts.

ALS is unpredictable, and this journey is not mine alone. It belongs to my family too. My wife, my greatest love, is also my caregiver. Every day she shows a depth of strength, patience, and compassion that leaves me in awe. Our children lift both of us up, offering support in ways I never expected, but will always cherish deeply.

We haven’t faced this journey alone. The ALS Society of Alberta and the ALS Clinic have been essential lifelines. From loans of vital equipment to emotional support, their dedication has made an immeasurable difference in our lives. Alberta Health Services has also stepped in with kindness and care, sending therapists and specialists into our home, helping us adapt and navigate each new challenge.

Managing ALS is about more than just medical care, it takes a community. It’s the doctors who monitor every change, the friends who reach out just to remind me I’m not alone, and the small acts of kindness that carry me through my hardest days. Each person plays a role in building a network of support that sustains not just the body, but the spirit.

I spent my life working toward a well-earned retirement, one I pictured filled with rest and reflection. This might not be the retirement I imagined, but it is the one I have, and I meet it with gratitude. Gratitude for my wife, my family, my friends, and the community walking this path with us.

This year, I want you to walk for them. I want you to walk for everyone facing this disease. Please join us at Rundle Park on June 14, 2025, for Edmonton’s Walk Together for ALS, because none of us should have to face ALS alone.

Making It Possible 2025 - David MacLean, June 12

Living with ALS is challenging. As my mobility declines, constant adaptation becomes necessary. The loss of motor skills, while the mind remains clear, is mentally difficult—it’s a constant reminder of what’s changing and what’s being lost.

In the midst of these challenges, I’ve leaned into the things I love. For years, I had wanted to digitize my extensive LP, CD, and cassette collection. This past year, I finally took on the project. It’s brought me real satisfaction. As friends and family learned what I was doing, many reached out for copies of the music. To date, I’ve digitized over 19,000 tracks. I can listen for days without hearing the same song twice.

Cars have also been a lifelong passion. Over my lifetime, I’ve had 75 different vehicles. My last personal project—a 1952 BelAir—is now being enjoyed by my nephew and his family. Another, a 1951 BelAir, went to a friend who still shares his progress with me and includes me in decisions to keep me involved. A few years ago, I also helped a friend with the restoration of two 1970 Chevy C10s. One of those trucks is now featured on the LMC Trucks website, and I continue to consult on it.

Lately, my wife and I have taken on another meaningful project—cataloguing decades’ worth of family photos. We’ve looked through thousands of images, reaching back as far as the late 1800s. It’s been a beautiful reminder of the life we’ve shared and the memories we’ve made. These projects have helped keep my mind engaged. They’ve brought purpose and have helped me manage the emotional toll of ALS.

What’s made the biggest difference, though, is the unwavering support from family and friends. Not a week goes by without a phone call or visit, and often, there are several. People have travelled long distances just to spend time with us. Their presence and kindness are deeply meaningful.

Last June, I was truly humbled at the Drayton Valley Walk Together for ALS. So many supporters came—friends, family, former coworkers I hadn’t seen in over 30 years. Teams were formed, stories were shared, and the atmosphere was filled with care and connection. It was a powerful day of reunion and support for those living with ALS.

While there is a lot of public concern about healthcare, our personal experience has been overwhelmingly positive. The ALS Clinic, the ALS Society of Alberta, Home Care, Urgent Care, and Respiratory Services—each of them has shown compassion, dedication, and care.

It’s an honour to once again serve as the Drayton Valley Walk Together for ALS Ambassador. Being part of this event helps build a stronger, more supportive community for individuals and families facing ALS. It raises vital funds for equipment, services, and research here in Alberta.

ALS has changed my path—but not my spirit. And I’m grateful for every hand that’s helped me along the way.

Please, join me on June 14 at Lions West Valley Park, as we Walk Together for ALS.

Making It Possible 2025 - Monique Nadeau, June 11

My name is Monique, I was living in a three-floor walkup when my legs started to feel tired on the last flight of stairs. I attributed this to the fact that I was going to be 55 the following month and that my age was catching up with me.

I’ve spent my life as a caregiver: from babysitting in my youth to earning certificates and diplomas in dementia and companion care. Compassion, confidence, and competence have always been my true calling. I worked a lot of shifts through the summer of 2023 and I genuinely loved what I did. 

Then, on September 3, while taking my granddaughter out for her birthday, she noticed I was limping. My right leg was dragging a little. I told her that I was just tired. Around that same time,  I also started feeling heat and numbness in my right hand. I went to my doctor, thinking it might be menopause or arthritis. She ran bloodwork and scheduled me for a a mammogram, but that was it for now.  

By early October, things had gotten worse. My hand was weakening, and stairs were becoming a real issue. I had to quit my job. My doctor helped me apply for AISH and CPPD and prescribed a walker. I was referred to Dr. Nash at the EMG Clinic, thinking I had peripheral neuropathy. But  after the test, he said “You don’t have neuropathy.”

I asked him "What is wrong with me, then?” He said “I don’t know, but we will find out.”

That led to an MRI of my brain (which came back as unremarkable - a good thing!), followed by a spine MRI, and finally a spinal tap just a few days before Christmas. On Decem,ber 22, I cooked Christmas Eve dinner for my family.  I kept moving, I had to! The stairs were much harder, my right side much weaker, and I was exhausted all the time. I started packing, knowing that I needed to live somewhere with an elevator. 

By January I called AISH and CPPD every week, just waiting on answers. Then I got the call to come back to Dr. Nash’s office. 

On February 14, 2024, I was diagnosed with ALS. I cried.

Dr. Nash gave me a big hug and told me, "You’ll be OK for a while, but then it’ll get worse all at once. Call me  if I can help in any way." All I could think was “WTF!? NOW WHAT?!” I had plans! Registering for social work, going back to Quebec, camping, watching my grnadkids grow up.  I had a choice to make. Give in, and let this damn disease consume me, or fight against it with all I have. I chose to fight. 

I got connected to the ALS Clinic and was enrolled in four research studies. I met a whole team of professionals, and I started to feel less alone. I’m adapting to my new world. I was also introduced to the ALS Society of Alberta, apart from the good people who work there,  they helped me with my physical needs: a better walker, access to equipment, and finally, an apartment with an elevator! After six months, AISH finally approved me. I guess dying moves you up the list. The ALS Society of Alberta also hosts online support groups, where I could connect with others on different paths but similar journeys.

By April 2024, I had a BiPAP machine (I hated it). I kept pushing myself to keep cooking, cleaning, and caring for myself, but every task took more out of me. I’d fall, learn, adapt, and keep going. By December, both legs and my left foot were affected. I could still walk, but just barely. At home, I used a walker, and outside I used a wheelchair.

By early 2025, things declined fast. More falls. Less independence. I could no longer cook, barely clean, and personal care was becoming more difficult. I finally signed up for home care. I started using an electric bed, a shower bench, a raised toilet seat, and an electric wheelchair. It was time to let go of the stubbornness and accept help without giving up my sense of autonomy.

Dr. Nash was right. I was okay for a long while, and then…everything started changing quickly.  I’ve lost my legs.  My queen-sized bed. My fierce independence. But I haven’t lost my spirit.

In September, I visited Quebec while I could still walk. My next goals? An accessible hotel in Victoria. A quick trip to Jasper. Another summer of camping. I’ve also connected with ICAN for support adapting to my new way of living.

My ALS journey continues. I’m now 15 months post-diagnosis and nearly two years since symptoms began. I hope I make it to 2028. I’ll be 60. Perseverance is my middle name. I’ll keep going until I can’t go no more. I still have things to do. And I’m not done living yet.

Making It Possible 2025 - Quonset Days, June 10

What began as a heartfelt tribute in 2010 has grown into a movement of music, memories, and monumental impact. Quonset Days, or for those who know it best, “The Greatest Outdoor Party on Dirt” returns to Seven Persons, Alberta this July 17–20, 2025, bringing together a community like no other to support Albertans living with ALS.

Now in its 16th year, Quonset Days is more than a country music festival, it’s a powerful tradition rooted in love, resilience, and hope. The Biemans family (Janet, Trevor, and Traci) created this unforgettable event to honour their beloved husband and father, Peter Biemans, who lived with ALS and whose courageous ALS journey continues to inspire thousands.

Quonset Days started as a backyard gathering and has grown into one of Alberta’s largest grassroots ALS fundraisers, raising more than $860,000 to date for the ALS Society of Alberta. But its true value lies beyond the numbers. It’s in the stories shared, the memories made, the community built, and the legacy that continues to grow, year after year.

We are endlessly grateful to the Biemans Family, the Quonset Days Board of Directors, the dedicated volunteers, sponsors, and every attendee and performer who brings this event to life. Your hard work, heart, and hometown spirit are what make this weekend unforgettable, and your support helps the ALS Society of Alberta fund provincial ALS research, and provide essential care, equipment advocacy, and hope to clients all across the province.

To the Biemans family: thank you for turning your grief into generosity. Your unwavering dedication is a tribute to Peter’s memory and a gift to every Albertan impacted by ALS. You are creating a future of compassion, connection, and possibility.

And yes, the 2025 music lineup is once again nothing short of spectacular. It all starts with a secret wild performance on Thursday, July 17 (2024 brought Jess Moskaluke, and 2023 featured George Canyon)! From high-energy anthems to late-night showstoppers, here’s what you can expect:

Thursday, July 17 

🎤 Secret Wild Performance

Friday, July 18:
🎤 Phoenix – 6:00pm
🎤 Jess Moskaluke – 8:00pm
🏁 Tractor Races – 9:00pm
🎤 MacKenzie Porter – 10:30pm
🎸 Morgan Klaiber – 12:30am

Saturday, July 19:
🎸 Pass the Guitar – 4:30pm
🎤 Matt Lang – 6:15pm
🎤 Owen Riegling – 7:45pm
🎉 Live Auction – 8:45pm
🎤 Default – 10:15pm
🎸 Vanity Trip – 12:00am

With past headliners like George Canyon, Brett Kissel, and Steven Lee Olsen, Quonset Days has built a legacy of unforgettable performances, and 2025 is no exception. Don’t miss your chance to be part of the magic! Tickets are selling fast, and RV Camping Passes are already gone! Grab yours now and learn more at www.quonsetdays.com or use the link in our bio.

Quonset Days is how Making it Possible comes to life, for Albertans navigating ALS, through a weekend filled with strength, love, and community, and by honouring Peter’s memory every step of the way. 💙

Making It Possible 2025 - JoAnn Noffsigner, June 9

“ALS has changed my life. But, with my community, my girls, and my Pixie Dust, I’m still living with joy, stubbornness, and heart.”

My journey with ALS began when I started to feel weakness in my hands. I didn’t think much of it at first, and ALS certainly didn’t even cross my mind. I’d had major life-altering injuries before and figured I just needed more physio. I started going to physio weekly, but it didn’t help. It was my dear friend Shawna, a nurse, who first suspected it might be something more serious. 

After a string of appointments and referrals, I received my diagnosis at the Kaye Clinic in Edmonton in January 2025.

I’ll be honest, the news hit me hard. I broke down. But I’ve always been a tough one, and I quickly told myself that crying about it wasn’t going to change anything. I had to stay focused and determined to figure out how to live with this. 

My hand and arm strength declined quickly. I’ve had to relearn how to do a lot of everyday things. Eating, for example, I now just pick up food with my mouth and eat it that way. It might not look typical, but it works for me. I’m not wasting away, and that’s what matters!

I’ve been surrounded by love and support every step of the way. My closest friends, my “outside girls” are incredible. Colleen does my grocery shopping and laundry, and her husband Jim helped set up my space just how I like it. Deila is my power of attorney, and Shawna continues to help manage my medical care. My girls have always been there for me. 

I also have homecare four times a day to help with meals and bedtime. They even brush my hair every time I see them. That’s four times a day, and I absolutely love it! I’m so grateful and blessed to live in a community where I’m supported not just by friends and caregivers, but also by my occupational therapist and the ALS Society of Alberta, who check in regularly and ensure I have everything I need. 

Before ALS, my life was filled with little paws and wagging tails. I bred Brussels Griffon dogs for 25 years, and they were my world. I showed them professionally and even worked in the grooming shop at Mills Haven Vet Clinic in Sherwood Park. When arthritis made grooming too difficult, I became the Head Instructor at the Alberta School of Dog Grooming for 10 years. My friends used to house-sit my dogs when I was away. Now, they take me to dog shows and make it possible for me to remain connected to the community I love.

One very special pup has stayed by my side though everything. Pixie “Dust,” was born premature with a cleft nose and couldn’t nurse, so I bottle-fed her every hour for five weeks. She survived. She’s my miracle. I don’t care if her nose is upside down, I love her exactly as she is. Pixie brings so much joy, not just to me, but to everyone who visits. People come to see her, pet her, and share in her energy. Since I can’t pet her myself anymore, it means even more to have her close. She’s a tiny half-Griff, only four pounds. She’s my constant companion and sleeps beside me in a handmade crib.

After 22 years of rural living in my mobile home, I made the move to GEF senior housing. Within three months, I found the perfect place, and they welcomed Pixie Dust with open arms. The staff are amazing and treat me so well, and everyone adores my little dog. We’ve truly found our place, and I’m thankful every day.

ALS has brought big changes, yes. But with my community, my girls, and my Pixie Dust, I am still living life with joy, stubbornness, and heart.

Making It Possible 2025 - Laurie Ferguson, June 8

Almost two years ago, I received a life-changing diagnosis—ALS. The journey since has been a rollercoaster of challenges, unexpected moments, and incredible support. Looking back, the signs were there. In February 2023, stepping onto a curb became difficult—something I dismissed at first. By spring, frequent falls raised concerns, and in May, I voiced them to my doctor. He reassured me it was aging, but I knew there was more.

Frustration led me to the E.R. in October, determined to be heard. A fourth-year resident took my concerns seriously, noting my family history—my mother’s ALS diagnosis in 2001. That moment changed everything. A referral to Neurology set things in motion. Just one month later, my sister and I sat across from Dr. Jewett as he confirmed what I had suspected: Familial ALS. From that moment, the ALS Clinic at South Health Campus became my lifeline.

Thanks to research advancements, and support from the ALS Society of Alberta, I have access to resources my mother never had—a comforting thought. Through it all, my friends and family are my greatest strength. What could have been a dark time is a reminder to embrace life. Inspired, I checked off a bucket-list adventure: an Alaskan cruise!

ALS has changed my path but not my spirit. With my community and the ALS Society of Alberta behind me, I move forward with gratitude. I’m honoured to be the 2025 Betty’s Run for ALS Ambassador and invite you to join me on June 8. Whether you walk, run, donate, or cheer, your support makes a difference. Let’s stand together for those living with ALS today and for a future without this disease.

Making It Possible 2025 - Doug Lee June 7

I am honoured to be chosen as the 2025 Ambassador for the Cold Lake Walk Together for ALS on June 7.

My journey with ALS started around June 2023. I noticed that I was having a hard time gripping things like my coffee mug with my left hand. My arm felt weaker when I was working on things around the house and garage. I initially thought it was the start of arthritis. My family doctor referred me to a Neurologist who was concerned about my symptoms, which included weakness, muscle loss, and muscle twitching. The Neurologist sent me for nerve testing (EMG) on Dec 5, 2023. It was at this EMG appointment that the doctor told my wife and me the devastating news; the diagnosis appeared to be ALS. It was a complete shock. We were stunned.

“What next? What does this mean?” I had no idea what my future would hold, but I knew it wasn’t good. It broke our hearts to tell our two daughters that I have ALS. Would our three grandchildren be able to even understand? I began breaking the difficult news to other family members.

The love and support I immediately got from my family and close friends was heartwarming. The strength our daughters have shown over these past two years is a blessing. My wife has been my sole caretaker and my rock. They are with me every step of the way. They are actively involved in my treatment plan and have attended each appointment at the Kaye Clinic and the ALS Clinic. They have found ways to support me as I adapt to changes and challenges.

I have always been a hands-on guy. Working jobs that require being outdoors no matter the weather, using tools, maintaining vehicles, repairing small engines, and managing my own small business. I love to spend time with my grandkids, camping and walking outside. Now, with the progression of my ALS, I am unable to use my left arm/hand. The strength in my right arm, legs and torso has also begun to rapidly decline. The changes and challenges have limited my ability to do the things I enjoy, but I try to remain positive every day.

Along with my ALS, I also live with Vascular Dementia. This is another obstacle for me and my family, as this disease is progressing as well.

The support I receive from the Kaye Clinic, ALS Clinic, and ALS Society of Alberta is always compassionate and caring. The ALS Society of Alberta has been a great resource for me and my family through phone call check-ins, access to support groups, and especially their Equipment Loan Program. The equipment needed to function with ALS can be expensive and daunting to obtain, so we are beyond grateful for the help of the ALS Society of Alberta.

I have made walking a priority over the last several years of my life. I enjoy the peaceful time spent while making miles outside, no matter the season or weather. I will continue to walk for as long as my body allows me to, even though I have slowed down and am unable to go as far.

Join us on June 7th at Lakeland Lutheran Church, Cold Lake, as I walk with my family, friends, and loved ones in support of those living with ALS. Let’s make a difference, together.

Making It Possible 2025 - Dave McMaster June 6

Now in my third year living with ALS , I can honestly say it hasn’t been as bad as I anticipated. Yes, there have been many new challenges, both physical and emotional, but this journey has also given me pause to appreciate the day-to-day activities that I continue to do. 

Initially, the biggest challenge with this diagnosis was the weight of the unknown. Being told you have a terminal disease, with no cure, is devastating, and not knowing how quickly your body will change or hold up only adds to that weight.

For me, the mental side of the diagnosis has been the most difficult to carry. It weaves itself into my day-to-day psyche in ways that are hard to explain. But the upside is, that over time, and with an array of support sources, those challenges are much easier to handle and the weight becomes more manageable.

 

One of the unexpected challenges has been witnessing how fast my social circles atrophy after being tagged with such a finite prognosis. It’s something no one warns you about. Don’t get me wrong, I get it! People don’t always know what to say or how to respond to my physical changes. The questions can feel heavy. What do you say? Are you in pain? What do you do all day now? How much worse will your condition get? 

But here’s the thing, staying connected matters! Social connection is an essential 

part of dealing with day-to-day hurdles - whether it’s reminiscing with friends about old times, catching up with family activities, or pontificating (with complete optimism) on how the Flames are gonna win the Cup next year. I make a conscious effort to stay in touch with the people who’ve been a part of my life because these connections are crucial and help me face each day with more strength.

I cringe to think what my life would be without the immense amount of support offered by family, friends, the ALS Society of Alberta, and the ALS medical community. I truly don’t know where I’d be without their unwavering support. Their love, concern, and expertise have carried me through more than they know, and I’m endlessly grateful.

As I look ahead, I’m feeling hopeful for all that is possible. Year four's highly anticipated activities include gearing up Betty’s Run for ALS, anticipating a long awaited visit from our family in London, and hitting bike trails on new e-wheels with my lovely wife. Who knows, may even have time to attack that Flames thing!

Making It Possible 2025 - Saz's Soldiers June 5

What began as a personal journey for the Sasyniuk Family has grown into a powerful movement of community, compassion, and hope. 

Saz’s Soldiers is more than an event name, it’s a testament to the strength, unity, and unwavering determination of a family and their supporters to make a difference in the fight against ALS.

Inspired by their own ALS journey, the Sasyniuks have rallied together year after year, organizing golf tournaments, raising awareness, and bringing people together for a cause that hits close to home. Their signature event, the Saz’s Soldiers ALS Golf Tournament, is held annually at the Coloniale Golf Club in Beaumont. What started as a small gathering has blossomed into a beloved tradition that brings joy, laughter, and generosity to the greens every June.

Since 2008, this dedicated group has impressively raised over $170,000 funding essential programs and services that bring hope and support to Albertans living with ALS. The tournament has become a cornerstone of the community’s support for the ALS Society of Alberta. 

Led by Tanya Sasyniuk, in honour of her husband Derek, who lives with ALS, this growing team behind Saz’s Soldiers embodies the very spirit of what "Making it Possible” means. Their impact doesn't stop at the golf course, they’ve also laced up in the past for the Edmonton Walk Together for ALS, raising awareness and funds with every step.

This year’s golf tournament takes place on Saturday, June 7, and promises a full day of fun and connection: from a hot buffet breakfast to a steak dinner and incredible prizes. But the mission behind it is always front and center: to support individuals and families living with ALS and to help fund critical care and research.

With every swing of the club and every step taken, Saz’s Soldiers shows us what’s possible when a community stands behind a cause. Their efforts are rooted in love, resilience, and the belief that even in the face of ALS, there is still so much that can be done, together. Their journey is a powerful reminder that while we can’t always control what life brings, we can choose how we respond: with strength, with heart, and with purpose.

Making It Possible 2025 - Judy Webb, June 4

“I promised he’d stay at home until the end, and thanks to the ALS Society of Alberta, I kept that promise.”

My darling husband David was the love of my life for 38 years when he was diagnosed with ALS in October 2023. He had just turned 74 the week we received the devastating news and terrible shock. Looking back on 2023, there were subtle signs, as early as January. He noticed his right leg felt weaker, he was having trouble picking up small items with his left hand, and I noticed his foot dragging and making a “flop” sound. He was also losing weight. We chalked this all up to aging. But when he choked on a piece of raw cauliflower & needed the Heimlich maneuver , we knew something more serious was happening.

David was a retired family physician, and after a normal gastroscopy ruled out esophageal cancer, he sat down at the computer and after a short while said "I think I have ALS!” Within days, we saw our GP. A week later, after nerve conduction studies, our fears were confirmed. 

The shock was unbelievably overwhelming. We had a family conference with our two grown children and their spouses and discussed our next steps. Our large home - beautiful but now inaccessible place on three acres -  was certainly not going to work for what lay ahead. I told David I would do everything I could to care for him, and that meant moving closer to support.

Thankfully, our daughter, a health care aide, and her husband lived close by on a 25-acre horse farm. We made the decision to sell our home and build a modular home on their land. I spent the winter months sorting, packing, and downsizing. We sold our home quickly and moved into our new space that June. It was built to be fully accessible and prioritized David’s comfort.  

I promised he’d stay at home until the end, and thanks to the ALS Society of Alberta, I kept that promise.

With their amazing support and our incredible occupational therapist, we were equipped with everything he needed: a hospital bed beside mine, a porch lift for the front steps, walkers, a wheelchair, bath bench, a transfer device, and so many other supports that allowed David to stay mobile and comfortable.  He loved getting out, going to church, the mall, or around the farm side-by-side. He especially loved holding the cats and watching the horses. 

His biggest challenge was breathing. He couldn’t lay flat and relied on a BiPAP machine to sleep, and eventually during the day as well. Swallowing became very difficult. He declined a feeding tube, so I adapted every meal. I became an expert at mashing foods and adding lots of sauce and gravy to help him eat. I used thickener for liquids, and I performed physio on his back to help prevent choking, even on saliva. 

He continued to lose weight, and by mid-November, he was too weak to leave the house. By February, he needed the BiPAP (non-invasive ventilator) around the clock. On February 14, Valentine’s Day, my sweet, darling husband passed away peacefully at home. He never once complained during his illness, a true testimony to his strength, gentle spirit, and unshakeable faith.

My heart sinks when I learn of others just starting this difficult journey, it's such a horrible disease. I sometimes think I would take him back even at his weakest, just to have him here - but that's selfish as I know how much he suffered. We made the most of every day we had together. I will always be grateful for the support that helped keep the promise that we would be together, at home, until the very end.

David will always be in my thoughts, and I’ll carry him in my heart forever.