Confessions Of A “MMA Fighter”, How one fall taught me it was finally time to let go of my walker!

dancinwithalsandlife.blogspot.com

AI ART, ‘THE MMA VICTORY’

Yesterday, I was minding my own business when, all of a sudden, out of nowhere, I found myself in a full-blown cat fight that resulted in gushing blood, scratches across my forehead, a swollen nose, sore ribs and chest, two black eyes, and—once again—a broken pair of glasses.

You should see the other bitch. I doubt she’ll be coming around here anytime soon.

I really wish I could say I was some badass female MMA fighter like Amanda Nunes.

But in all honesty, the fight that left me bruised and bleeding wasn’t with another fighter. It was with the fiercest opponent I've ever faced-ALS.

For those of you who aren’t familiar with Amanda Nunes, she’s considered by many to be the greatest female MMA fighter of all time. Nicknamed “The Lioness,” she built her reputation through strength, grit, and a fearless fighting style.

Now you’re probably wondering…

How exactly does someone get into a MMA fight with themselves?

Again, drumroll please! 

ALS.

My ability to walk is slowly slipping away—no pun intended.

My muscles are weakening. My strength is fading. Foot drop and ankle instability have turned every step into a gamble.

With ALS, falls are no longer a matter of if—they’re a matter of when.

Over the past six months, I went from occasional little trips… to minor falls… to falls where I couldn’t get back up by myself.

One time after a fall, I kept trying to sit up- poor upper body strength, I was inching across the floor like an inchworm getting absolutely nowhere. Eventually, I just gave up and decided to lay there waiting because my husband was due home from work any minute.

Imagine walking through your front door and finding your wife lying on the living room floor.

Now, let’s get back to the MMA fight, on this particular day, I was simply walking over to the window to admire my new solar garden light while my husband stood right beside me.

One second I was standing.

Half a second later…

I was face-first on the hardwood floor.

The scariest part is that I no longer have the arm strength to catch myself or roll.

The truth is, there wasn’t anything my husband could have done either.

It happened too fast.

The moment I hit the floor, blood started pouring everywhere.

I remember crying hysterically and repeating,

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

In that moment, I honestly thought I was dying.

Then another thought crept into my mind.

I wish I were dead because this is no way to live.

I’m tired.

Worn out.

Exhausted from fighting my own body every single day.

My husband, who will celebrate 30 years of marriage with me this year—and who also happens to be a nurse—immediately shifted into assessment mode.

He gently lifted me, applied pressure to stop the bleeding, looked me straight in the eyes, and said,

“I will always be here with you on this journey.”

That moment meant more to me than I can ever explain.

I truly believe I would have given up long ago if it weren’t for his unwavering support.

At the same time, I know this journey is incredibly difficult for him too.

I cannot imagine facing something like this completely alone.

To those of you who are…

I pray for you every single day.

Once the bleeding was finally under control, another problem became obvious.

How exactly were we supposed to get me safely off the floor?

This time my husband looked at me and simply said,

“We can’t do this alone.”

So we called my brother-in-law.

He’s a tough construction worker on the outside…

…but secretly one of the softest-hearted people I know.

Ironically, this all happened on Cinco de Mayo.

When he walked in, he looked at me and said,

“Stacy, this would be acceptable if you’d had a few margaritas and fell because you were drunk. Otherwise, this is complete bullshit.”

All three of us burst into laughter.

Because honestly…

He was absolutely right.

There I was staggering around like I’d closed down the neighborhood bar—without having a single drop of alcohol.

As they carefully lifted me and helped me upstairs, we all kept repeating,

“Life isn’t fair, and this is f-ing bullshit.”

Even in one of the worst moments of my life…

Somehow…

Laughter still found us.

My husband and brother-in-law finally got the “MMA fighter” into bed, where I was monitored closely throughout the night.

Eventually I drifted off to sleep hoping the entire thing had just been a nightmare.

Reality hit hard the next morning.

Every inch of my body hurt like I’d gone ten rounds inside the octagon.

When the imaginary referee raised someone’s hand…

It definitely wasn’t mine.

The next day I texted my brother-in-law, just like I’d promised.

I told him how sore I was and sent him a picture of a T-shirt that read:

“I’m Not Drunk. I Have ALS.”

At the time I joked that it was amazing I didn’t have two black eyes.

He agreed.

Unfortunately…

The following morning the official results of my “MMA match” appeared.

Two spectacular black eyes.

Mother’s Day was just around the corner.

Guess what my brother-in-law bought me?

Yep.

The T-shirt.

“I’m Not Drunk. I Have ALS.”

The thing is…

This wasn’t even my first major fall.

Just two weeks earlier, another fall had landed me in urgent care and eventually the emergency room with a fractured shoulder.

Falls eventually become part of living with ALS.

The question changes from…

“Will I fall?”

…to…

“How do I fall while minimizing the damage?”

Every day I find myself walking the fine line between preserving my independence and respecting the reality of this disease.

I’ve heard people on ALS support calls ask one of the hardest questions imaginable:

“How do you know when it’s time to stop walking?”

I think the answer is deeply personal.

Logically, the safest thing to do is stop walking once your balance becomes unreliable and your risk of serious injury becomes too great.

Emotionally…

It’s heartbreaking.

Let’s be honest.

Nobody wakes up one morning and says,

“You know what sounds great? Spending the rest of my life in a wheelchair.”

If you have ALS, eventually you know when the time has come.

The hope is simply that realization comes before a catastrophic injury does.

I guess I’m entering my next chapter now.

It’s time to retire my beloved “Bugatti Nitro Rollator” and transition to my motorized wheelchair.

On the bright side…

It’s definitely faster than my walker.

I’m already considering custom license plates for the back.

“Hot Wheels 4 ALS.”

It has a nice ring to it.

One thing is certain.

My goal moving forward is to avoid another MMA fight with myself…

Because this most recent championship match is one I never want a rematch with again.

ALS may have won this round, but I’m still in the fight.

And unlike an MMA match, there isn’t a final bell in this disease. Every morning I wake up, I step back into the ring. Some days ALS lands a few punches. Some days I do. But as long as I have breath in my lungs, I’ll keep fighting—with humor, with hope, and with the people I love in my corner.

Until next time…….. Stay strong. Keep moving forward, one day at a time -Stacy

Rarely do I show such horrific pictures of myself, the result of my fight with my fierce opponent, ALS

May 2025