Well, greetings. Let’s say my name is… Euler. It isn’t.

I am, at the time of writing this, 26 years old. Old enough to know a few things, but still young enough to think I know more than I do.

On August 16th, 2010, I was diagnosed with Spinocerebellar Ataxia. You can read up on it if you like, but you don’t have to. At some point, I’m sure I’ll give you a recap of how I got where I am and where I’m going. Let’s suffice it to say:

  • I used to play two varsity sports in high school. I even played some tennis in college. I can’t run anymore.
  • I fall over. A lot. I stumble even more. People look at me like I’m drunk wherever I go.
  • It’s only going to get worse. Eventually, I won’t be able to walk, talk, or swallow. Then I’ll die.

I spend a great many late nights in my office, working on mathematics. As I’m trudging home (one could hardly call what I do “walking” these days), I often see the university police driving around. I am currently employed at a relatively major university, in a not-too-small city, so this isn’t odd. What is odd is the way they look at me, making my way down the sidewalk in the middle of the night. (Un)fortunately, none of them has stopped to give me any guff yet. But every time I go home, I silently rehearse what I would say to the inevitable: “You been drinking tonight?”

“Do you know what Cerebral Palsy is? (No: brief explanation. Yes: continue) The funny thing is, if I actually had Cerebral Palsy, I’d dance a little jig for you. See, what I have is kind of like Cerebral Palsy, but the main difference is that what I have is going to kill me. So I think what you should do is apologize before you drive off and go back to being a prick for the rest of your life.”

The funny thing is, they aren’t a prick. They’re doing their job. I should probably just say I have a neurological disorder, proceed on, and let that be that. Maybe that’s the anger stage rearing its ugly head.

Thanks for reading.