My Dad had Muscular Dystrophy.
My chances of inheriting it are small, but still there.
When he was diagnosed the Hospital said it was Facio-scapuro-humeral (spelling wrong but I don’t care) which is Dominant. If this diagnosis was correct, I have a fifty percent chance of inheriting, period.
Well, this freaked me out a good bit, so I went to my Dad’s doctor, who told me by the way my Dad’s weakness was presenting he had Limb-Girdle instead. Limb-Girdle has too many different strains to specify but with most, it’s recessive. Which means I have a twenty-five percent chance of inheriting if my Mom has the same defective gene, which I doubt. Or there are some rarer strains that are Dominant. Fifty-percent. Or my dad, jerk that he was, might’ve developed a whole new mutation, and then who knows?
I’m not showing any signs, thank god. But I’m forty-six, and my dad was fifty when he was diagnosed. I get nervous about this.
What does this have to do with exersize?
Every small muscle weakness, every muscular hesitation, every slight strain sends a chill through my soul. All I can do is tell myself, “Hey, there’s no cure, you either have it or you don’t. So all you can do is wait and see, and get on with your life.
Don’t dwell on it.” I do this as best I can for life’s little muscular aches and pains.
I went to Curves for two years, and every stumble, every wince made me wonder, “Maybe…maybe…”
I’m one of those who exersize is NOT enjoyable. I don’t get a runner’s high. I get athsma, and the lingering fear that haunts me regardless of what I do.
So, no, I’m not exersizing now. I know I should. But I hate it. I have my reasons.