My name is Ted, and asking for help is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.

For most of my life, very few people knew about the genetic vein disorder I inherited — a condition that slowly damaged my legs starting in my mid‑20s. What began as swelling turned into ulcers, infections, and years of misdiagnoses before a vascular specialist finally discovered the cause: a defect in the perforator valves that are supposed to move blood from the surface veins into the deep muscle veins. My valves simply couldn’t do their job, and the damage became permanent.

For more than 20 years, I went through every treatment available — embolizing foam, laser ablations, vein removals, stents — anything that might slow the progression. But three years ago, the fight caught up with me, and I lost my right leg below the knee. As devastating as that was, it was also the first time in years that I felt relief from constant pain.

After months of healing and physical therapy, I finally got my prosthetic and began walking again. For a while, life felt hopeful. But then the cycle started again — this time in my left leg. Swelling, wounds, infections, and eventually a skin graft. Despite every effort, the damage is now beyond repair. My doctor and I have had to face the reality that the only remaining option is to amputate my left leg as well.

This decision wasn’t made lightly. I wanted to finish my term as Master of my Lodge. I wanted to keep pushing. But the truth is, I’m tired of fighting a battle my body can’t win. I want to heal. I want to move forward. And I want to give my wife, Emily — who has been my silent warrior through all of this — the chance to breathe again. She has driven everywhere for the last three years, lifted wheelchairs and walkers, and carried more weight than anyone ever sees. I owe her a life where we can finally move past this chapter.

Becoming a bilateral amputee will be a major life change, but it’s not impossible. What is impossible is doing it alone. The medical bills from my first amputation are still with us, and now we’re preparing for a second surgery, new prosthetics, new mobility equipment, and a month where both Emily and I will be out of work.

I’m asking for help to get us through this transition — to cover medical expenses, equipment, and the basic costs of staying afloat while I undergo surgery and recovery. Any amount you can give will make a real difference.

Thank you for reading, for caring, and for helping us move toward a future where I can finally heal and reclaim my life.