In November 2016, I was diagnosed with muscular dystrophy, an incurable disease. The last few months have been the most trying of my life. I have a new reality now, and a new purpose.
In 2011, I started to notice that my right pec was deteriorating. I could see it in pictures and in my reflection in the mirror. So I started to seek the help of specialists all over the country, and even several in Canada. That was the beginning of a five-year period of misdiagnoses, frustration and confusion. I visited over 25 doctors. While they were “racking their brains,” my weakness progressed, my swing speed decreased and I continued to lose muscle in my chest. Today my entire right pec is almost gone.
About a year and a half ago, I visited a neurologist in New York City who decided to conduct blood tests. He said that — because he was looking for a specific analysis — the results wouldn’t come back for three months. Six months later, I still hadn’t heard anything. I called my trainer, Don Saladino, and we decided that reaching out to the doctor was the best idea. I hung up and started searching for his number.
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