My speech from the 2016 MS Evening of Hope.

Good evening

Who here is angry at multiple sclerosis for what it has taken away from you? Who here is angry at multiple sclerosis for what it has taken away from your partner? I sure am.   Multiple sclerosis has taken things from me practically my whole life. My father had multiple sclerosis as well as three of my aunts.  I’d like to share with you a few of the ways multiple sclerosis impacted and is still impacting my life.

For those of you who don't know me, or don't remember, my name is Rudy Yanuck. I am a 49-year-old retired pathologist, the 2010 Gateway Area Chapter’s Father of the Year, a U.S. Navy veteran, and a 22 year survivor of multiple sclerosis.  

I am angry at multiple sclerosis for taking away my destiny, My dream of becoming an orthopedic surgeon. I am angry at multiple sclerosis for taking away my ability to run, then gradually over time, my ability to walk, and my balance. I am angry at multiple sclerosis for forcing me into early disability retirement at age 45, sooner than I had anticipated.

 I am angry at multiple sclerosis for taking away my ability to do the common household tasks and minor household repairs I used to do, such as cutting the grass, vacuuming, shoveling snow, and even opening string cheese packets.  Pretty much the only things that multiple sclerosis has not taken from me are my kids and my hair.

   

Who here is grateful for multiple sclerosis? I know you're saying grateful for multiple sclerosis? How can anyone be grateful for such a debilitating disease? Being grateful is having hope, you know, the thing with feathers.

I am grateful for multiple sclerosis for the gifts multiple sclerosis has given me, aside from the obvious, great parking and never standing in line at amusement parks.

I am grateful for multiple sclerosis that it’s just multiple sclerosis. This chronic disease, as debilitating as it can be at times, will not take my life, though it can make it miserable as hell.  To quote Richard Cohen, CBS producer, husband of Meredith Vieira formerly of the View and the Today show,  and fellow MS survivor, ”A troubled life is better than no life at all.”

I am grateful that multiple sclerosis took away my chosen career, my destiny. MS has given me the gift of time, time to be at home with my family. If it weren’t for MS, I would have been a slave to the hospital and my job.

Thanks to multiple sclerosis, I have spent every night in my own bed since the summer of 1994. As a result, I am a proud father, living the dream that most fathers, most parents, wish they could live. I am a full time at home dad getting to spend 24 hours a day, seven days a week raising my five children.

I am grateful to multiple sclerosis for the family, friends, and the multitude of strangers that have offered help when I do one of my frequent “gravity checks”.

I am grateful to have had a father with multiple sclerosis who showed me that life does not end with the diagnosis.  One can have a fruitful, joyous, long life in spite of multiple sclerosis.

This is by no means a complete list.

My friends, Nothing is ever all good or all bad. Even with multiple sclerosis, one has the ability to find bright spots, hope, things for which to be thankful and grateful.

I challenge you. Tonight or tomorrow or sometime this week, write a list. Actually, write two lists. For the first list, write down what you are angry at multiple sclerosis for what it has taken from you. For the second list, write down what you are grateful for thanks to multiple sclerosis.  Email me your grateful list if you wish. I will use these lists (anonymously of course) in my blog to show others that even with MS one can be grateful and find hope.

People, let’s face it. Multiple sclerosis has given each of us a heaping pile of steaming… lemons. To borrow a saying from Joe Salacki, fellow Gateway Area Chapter member and MS survivor, “it is what it is. It becomes what you make of it”. Friends, let’s take those lemons and make something better than lemonade. Let’s make chocolate milkshakes. Keep hope alive.

Readers I issue the same challenge to you as I did to the Evening of Hope. Write two lists. Send me your grateful list if you wish and I will post them.

rryanuck@gmail.com 

Having Fun repost

June 29 and 30th was Summer Splash 2016. I look forward to Summer Splash all year long.  In honor of this event I am reposting Having Fun. Thank you Missouri Disabled Water Ski Association and Vito Lucido for a fabulous time.

“Hit it!” I yelled.  A split second later, the boat engine revved, yanking me and my partially submerged water ski from its resting position, tip of the ski extending from the water towards the sky, to an upright, horizontal position.  I began gliding and cutting back and forth atop the wake of water created by the speeding boat.

I’ve been attending the annual disabled water ski event at Creve Coeur Lake for well over a decade. I look forward to these outings all year. It is a rare chance for me to feel ”normal”, or at least as close to normal as I remember normal feeling, if at least only for a few hours. The endorphin rush I get as I glide, balance, steer, and even sometimes jump across the water, wind in my face, water spraying over me, is much like the feelings I used to get while playing competitive sports, snow skiing, or performing music.  Even the “wipeouts”, though sometimes mildly uncomfortable, can be exhilarating.

This year’s event on Saturday, August 2, 2014, was my best ski outing to date.  I jumped the wake several times.  One time, I caught big air, but couldn’t stick the landing, resulting in a tail over tip somersault with a huge burst of water spray.  The next time I caught big air, I stuck the landing!  Only this time, the hard “thunk” of the ski returning to the water knocked my grip on the rope’s handle loose, and I coasted to a halt, then sank.

To individuals with a disability, water is the great equalizer.  Its buoyancy, which counterbalances gravity, diminishes its effects, and allows me to move my extremities more easily. In water, I feel free from my MS riddled prison of a body.   I find myself able to walk, run, and jump. Activities I have not been able to do on land for almost 20 years.  Although other water activities provide an opportunity for this feeling of freedom, they are nowhere near as fun as riding a ski atop the water at 20-25 mph.

New skiers and volunteers attend dry land training the day before the ski event.  Here, volunteers are trained, and athletes are water tested to ensure they can keep from drowning.  Basically, making sure they can at least turn their face towards the sky, keeping their mouth out of the water.  They are also taught to ski.  While the ‘newbie’s’ are oriented and trained, a few of us veteran skiers get the opportunity for more time on the water skiing by serving as “crash test dummies” for the new in-boat volunteers.  

My friend and fellow MS survivor, Pat, and her husband, Phil, drove 2 hours from Columbia, MO, to participate in waterskiing for the first time.  While I was on the lake skiing, being a “dummy”, they were on the beach getting trained and oriented.  Later that evening, Pat told Phil, in a glum somewhat defeated voice, reminiscent of Winnie-the-pooh’s friend Eeyore, “I don't think I’m going to ski tomorrow.”

The next day, after seeing the huge smiles on the faces of the skiers coming back from the water, she decided, with some trepidation, to ski.  After taking four laps around the lake, she returned to shore, hair still dry, with the biggest smile of anyone there, and exclaimed, “This is the best run event for the disabled I've ever been to. It's like walking into a big warm fuzzy hug.”