Help Me Walk Without a Cane Again!
Donation protected
My name is Chadd Bartlett and I have been living with relapsing-remitting multiple sclerosis (MS) since my late 20s. And I need your help. I need your help to live a better life.
I was diagnosed with MS 12 years ago after seeking medical assistance for what I thought was a pinched nerve. A visit to a chiropractor and a check-up by my regular physician yielded no diagnosis or remedy for the problems I was having, and I was referred to a specialist: specifically, a neurologist.
My heart raced...
The neurologist performed a few clinical exams to gauge my muscle control, sensation, and reflexes and decided to order a series of MRIs. A few days later, we met to read the scans I'd undergone and, in all, they revealed over a dozen lesions -- areas of scar tissue -- in both my brain and cervical spine. It was undeniable: I had MS.
I was prescribed an interferon and began the routine of injecting medicine every Friday. Intramuscularly. Think of a needle about as long as your pinky. My body wasn't a fan of the medication and favored me with weekly side effects typically lasting 24-48 hours post-injection. The side effects felt like having the flu: the muscle aches, headaches, and general malaise -- not the other stuff. Every. Weekend. These weekly bouts with the post-injection flu-like symptoms continued for the next two years, unusually long for someone on this particular medication. But, finally, my body worked through its adjustment period and I was on my way to just "living with MS".
And thus began the new normal in my life. But MS doesn't usually just bump into you, pardon itself, and go about its business. No. Sometimes it smacks you in the face and decides to move in. That's when MS is loud and boisterous. But then there are other times when, after it smacks you, it slinks away, returning periodically. Quiet. Sneaky. Stalking you like a cat.
Quiet and sneaky. Quiet and sneaky is what MY MS is.
About eight years after I was diagnosed I began to experience more difficulty in walking. My right leg just didn't seem to want to move like it had since... well, always. It wouldn't maintain the pace -- or balance -- I wanted. I began to stumble more frequently. And fall. I would trip over rocks, curbs, stairs, uneven terrain, even flat surfaces. And shadows! Walking in general became more challenging. But I listened to my body -- eventually -- acquiescing to the inevitable: it was time for a cane.
In my late 30s at this point and shopping CVS for something I was hoping I wouldn't consider until well into retirement, I needed to know more. I sought the insight of my neurologist. After an examination and some balance/coordination/walking tests, he determined I have clonus, a muscular spasm of the ankles involving repeated, often rhythmic, contractions and relaxations. Clonus is diagnosed in infants, stroke victims, and people with upper motor neuron disorders. Disorders like MS. This new challenge causes me foot drop, further increasing my walking challenges. Stairs are hard to navigate. So are hills, though going down is considerably easier than going up. And I'm not talking big hills. Small changes in grade are difficult to maneuver even with a cane in my hand.
Walking with a cane means I'm limited in what I can do for myself and/or in a timely manner. Maintaining balance is always at the forefront of my mind no matter what routine chore or activity I'm engaged in. I guess "routine", though, is relative. It "routinely" takes me longer to perform household chores, grocery shop, walk the dog, and... live. And I've been battling clonus for about four years now.
If you’ve read this far, perhaps you’ll read a little more. This is where you, kind reader, can make a DRAMATIC impact in my life.
There is a medical device called a WalkAide. It's about the size of a... well, if you'll pardon the reference, it's about the size of a flip phone. It attaches with Velcro around my leg just below the knee. There is a sensor that can detect a change in "level" when I take a step and sends an electric impulse to the muscles around my ankle, allowing me to pick my foot up with enough clearance to take a normal step. It again senses when I've "stepped through" and discontinues the impulse, allowing me to return my foot to the ground. And be stable doing so. There is an "exercise mode" that stimulates contractions to strengthen my muscles and improve my gait. But the best part: I would no longer need a cane!
I have health insurance through my employer, but the WalkAide isn't covered because it's viewed as "experimental". I had a consultation with a therapist and experienced the benefits first hand, if only for a short time. "Experimental" or not, I can tell you one thing: It works.
It's also expensive. The cost of a device is about $6,000. I don't have the resources to cover this and my life would be so different if I was able to walk freely, no longer impeded by a cane. Free to use both hands, able to climb stairs, exercise again to rebuild lost muscle tone, do more around my home, and have more energy and less fatigue, no longer dreading walking in crowds. It would also allow me to get a second job so I can catch up on the mounting expenses I have. Evening jobs are difficult to step into – again, pardon the expression – because they’re more physical than the 9 to 5 grind. It’s hard to perform at 100% constantly carrying a cane.
Your donation would bring me that much closer to regaining some of the normalcy I’ve lost. And I thank you in advance for your generosity.
With a WalkAide:
Without a WalkAide:
With a WalkAide:
I was diagnosed with MS 12 years ago after seeking medical assistance for what I thought was a pinched nerve. A visit to a chiropractor and a check-up by my regular physician yielded no diagnosis or remedy for the problems I was having, and I was referred to a specialist: specifically, a neurologist.
My heart raced...
The neurologist performed a few clinical exams to gauge my muscle control, sensation, and reflexes and decided to order a series of MRIs. A few days later, we met to read the scans I'd undergone and, in all, they revealed over a dozen lesions -- areas of scar tissue -- in both my brain and cervical spine. It was undeniable: I had MS.
I was prescribed an interferon and began the routine of injecting medicine every Friday. Intramuscularly. Think of a needle about as long as your pinky. My body wasn't a fan of the medication and favored me with weekly side effects typically lasting 24-48 hours post-injection. The side effects felt like having the flu: the muscle aches, headaches, and general malaise -- not the other stuff. Every. Weekend. These weekly bouts with the post-injection flu-like symptoms continued for the next two years, unusually long for someone on this particular medication. But, finally, my body worked through its adjustment period and I was on my way to just "living with MS".
And thus began the new normal in my life. But MS doesn't usually just bump into you, pardon itself, and go about its business. No. Sometimes it smacks you in the face and decides to move in. That's when MS is loud and boisterous. But then there are other times when, after it smacks you, it slinks away, returning periodically. Quiet. Sneaky. Stalking you like a cat.
Quiet and sneaky. Quiet and sneaky is what MY MS is.
About eight years after I was diagnosed I began to experience more difficulty in walking. My right leg just didn't seem to want to move like it had since... well, always. It wouldn't maintain the pace -- or balance -- I wanted. I began to stumble more frequently. And fall. I would trip over rocks, curbs, stairs, uneven terrain, even flat surfaces. And shadows! Walking in general became more challenging. But I listened to my body -- eventually -- acquiescing to the inevitable: it was time for a cane.
In my late 30s at this point and shopping CVS for something I was hoping I wouldn't consider until well into retirement, I needed to know more. I sought the insight of my neurologist. After an examination and some balance/coordination/walking tests, he determined I have clonus, a muscular spasm of the ankles involving repeated, often rhythmic, contractions and relaxations. Clonus is diagnosed in infants, stroke victims, and people with upper motor neuron disorders. Disorders like MS. This new challenge causes me foot drop, further increasing my walking challenges. Stairs are hard to navigate. So are hills, though going down is considerably easier than going up. And I'm not talking big hills. Small changes in grade are difficult to maneuver even with a cane in my hand.
Walking with a cane means I'm limited in what I can do for myself and/or in a timely manner. Maintaining balance is always at the forefront of my mind no matter what routine chore or activity I'm engaged in. I guess "routine", though, is relative. It "routinely" takes me longer to perform household chores, grocery shop, walk the dog, and... live. And I've been battling clonus for about four years now.
If you’ve read this far, perhaps you’ll read a little more. This is where you, kind reader, can make a DRAMATIC impact in my life.
There is a medical device called a WalkAide. It's about the size of a... well, if you'll pardon the reference, it's about the size of a flip phone. It attaches with Velcro around my leg just below the knee. There is a sensor that can detect a change in "level" when I take a step and sends an electric impulse to the muscles around my ankle, allowing me to pick my foot up with enough clearance to take a normal step. It again senses when I've "stepped through" and discontinues the impulse, allowing me to return my foot to the ground. And be stable doing so. There is an "exercise mode" that stimulates contractions to strengthen my muscles and improve my gait. But the best part: I would no longer need a cane!
I have health insurance through my employer, but the WalkAide isn't covered because it's viewed as "experimental". I had a consultation with a therapist and experienced the benefits first hand, if only for a short time. "Experimental" or not, I can tell you one thing: It works.
It's also expensive. The cost of a device is about $6,000. I don't have the resources to cover this and my life would be so different if I was able to walk freely, no longer impeded by a cane. Free to use both hands, able to climb stairs, exercise again to rebuild lost muscle tone, do more around my home, and have more energy and less fatigue, no longer dreading walking in crowds. It would also allow me to get a second job so I can catch up on the mounting expenses I have. Evening jobs are difficult to step into – again, pardon the expression – because they’re more physical than the 9 to 5 grind. It’s hard to perform at 100% constantly carrying a cane.
Your donation would bring me that much closer to regaining some of the normalcy I’ve lost. And I thank you in advance for your generosity.
With a WalkAide:
Without a WalkAide:
With a WalkAide:
Organizer
Chadd Bartlett
Organizer
Atlanta, GA
