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.