[img]2624|right|Diane||no_popup[/img]The coming Friday afternoon was to be Diane’s final day at her job. She was being forced into premature retirement by her progressing ALS, which was diagnosed eight months ago next Monday. Her ambulatory ability has sharply narrowed.
This would be the saddest week of our lives together.
Not only does she love her work more than anyone I have met, she is at the crest of her professional skills, as recognized daily by her adoring patients and her co-workers, who are faultlessly old-fashioned loyal.
Sunday afternoon while we were in a Pasadena movie theatre watching an hilarious film laced with pathos, I was thinking of Diane’s dreaded closing working days. What would she do thereafter at home? How she could occupy her time.
Her professional skills so finley honed they could slice at amoeba into five sections. Happily engulfed by a job that is ingrained in her, she had planned to work for three to five more years.
Diane’s forced decision is comparable to an athlete at 25 years old walking away from the field – just because. How bizarre.
At 10 o’clock yesterday morning, a co-worker produced an ingenious potential solution to at least extending Diane’s work schedule a few more weeks. Longer? I hope.
In the 239 days since the neurologist confirmed Diane’s amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, we have learned a fresh daily appreciation for the supposedly tired axiom, never give up. She hasn’t. I haven’t. Most importantly, One Other has not.
