My older brother has ALS (otherwise known as Lou Gehrig’s Disease.) How Mark, in excellent health and with no family history of ALS, got this disease is a mystery. It took almost a year, with trips to multiple diagnostic centers, including the Mayo Clinic, to finally conclude that it is ALS.
At my retirement, Mark and his wife, Joy, came for my last Sunday in the church where I had pastored for 20 years. Joy recalled him having trouble lifting the carry-on luggage on their return flight.
Then, when he landscaped his son’s yard, he thought he had torn the rotator cuffs in both shoulders. He dreaded the thought of surgery—a procedure he would now trade for ALS in a heartbeat.
ALS can affect anyone, anywhere, at any age. Currently, it is considered a fatal disease, with the patient surviving an average of 2-5 years after diagnosis. We pray for a medical breakthrough. 1 in 300 people will receive an ALS diagnosis in their lifetime. Of course, my older brother is the one we are most concerned about now.
Our sister-in-law, Rebecca, had a friend with ALS who had seen the renowned ALS specialist, Dr. Stanley Appel, former chair of the Stanley H. Appel Department of Neurology and currently the Director of the Ann Kimball & John W. Johnson Center for Cellular Therapeutics in Houston, Tx. So, Mark and Joy traveled to a conference where Dr. Appel spoke.
Mark had a brief but significant personal conversation with Dr. Appel, in which Mark shared a capsule of his story. Dr. Appel looked directly at Mark and said, “You’re one of the good guys.”
As Mark shared this story with me, I immediately thought, “Of course, Mark’s one of the good guys. He’s the good guy who showed up for me when I was a kid, and some older boys had taken over our sandlot football game, pushing us around. Looking at them, Mark said, “You wanna play rough?” Then he fired the football at one of the bullies so hard that the boy couldn’t catch it, the ball thumping him in the chest. “Pick on someone your age,” Mark told them.
He’s the good guy who spent countless hours hitting ground balls to me, trying (with little success) to make a decent baseball player out of me.
He’s the good guy who threw me football pass after football pass, was willing to coach our sandlot football team, and later cheered for me when I played in elementary, junior high, and high school.
He’s the good guy who was first a teacher and then a principal, influencing countless students and teachers in public education for 40 years.
He’s the good guy who taught his son to play ball, hunt, fish, and be a good man.
He’s the good guy who was there for his daughters’ proms, weddings, and grandkids’ births.
He’s the good guy who stood by his wife through every breast cancer treatment, and today, after 54 years of marriage, is burdened that he can’t help her as he once did.
He’s the good guy who looked after Mom and Dad in the retirement center.
He’s the good guy there for his family today, traveling hours to be with them, even though his physical capabilities increasingly limit how much and how often he can.
That’s what I thought.
But that’s not what Dr. Appel meant.
ALS is known as the “good guys” disease because so many who are diagnosed with it seem to have pleasant personalities. Doctors have made this observation so frequently that some see it as more than an unfortunate coincidence. Researchers surmise there may be an unknown genetic connection, an interplay between the properties of such traits and the disease. Studies at the Center for Disease Control are currently exploring the possibility.
It only underscores the mystery of the disease and the need for more funding for research.
But, while so much about ALS is unknown, one thing is certain.
With or without ALS, my brother is one of the “good guys,” exemplifying Matthew 7:16: “By their fruit, you shall know them.”
He always has been.
And he always will be.