Michelle

Hello, my name is Michelle Moskal and I would like to tell the story of my father's battle with scleroderma. I am 22 years old now, but my father died of this horrible disease when I was 17 years old.

My dad and I had a very rocky relationship. For years I truly believed Daddy hated me, that he didn't want me. I never understood him and after a while I stopped trying. Through my early teens I watched my dad getting thinner and thinner. I really began to worry. I voiced my concerns to my family but received no information. For years my family knew about this disease but no one told me until I went to my step mother in May '91 with concerns about my dad's rapid weight loss.

Then she told me that he has this disease, scleroderma. It affects his skin. He will be okay. Dying is not an option. You know your father, he is too stubborn to die. I believed her. In late July '91 I went to the emergency room with a severe headache. I was diagnosed with spinal meningitis. I remember laying in the bed, I couldn't move, I couldn't speak, I though I was going to die. I remember my dad coming into my room, dressed in full hospital garb bringing me a terrarium with a little yellow butterfly in it. I began to rethink the feelings I had for my father. Maybe he did love me. I recovered very well and was out of the hospital in 5 days. My doctor said he had never seen such a miraculous recovery as I had.

In August 91 my dad retired. I began to spend more time with him. We began to have a real father-daughter relationship. By that Autumn we had become very close. We had a wonderful Christmas. Dad was using a cane by now. On Jan 2, 1992 it was my dad's turn to go into the hospital. I thought no big deal. He will be okay. In the middle of the night on Jan 12, 1992 there came a phone call. Daddy had gone into heart failure. I rushed to the hospital and stayed all night with him. I remember my dad's friend Hunter telling him he had to get better so he could get to work on his garden for the coming spring. My dad replied in what voice he had left, "I ain't having a garden this year".

I remember this sinking feeling in my stomach and thinking "he has always had a garden, every year". Maybe it was naive of me or maybe I just didn't want to hear what every one was saying but I still didn't realize my dad was going to die. I heard my mom and step mother talking about Dad being transferred to another hospital for surgery to remove a blockage between his liver and kidneys. I remember the doctor canceling that trip, saying there was no point. I thought that must be a good sign. I was wrong. My daddy died on January 14, 1992.

Everyone knew he was going to die. No one bothered to tell me. Not the doctors, not the nurses, not my own family. I was 17 years old when my father died. It is still as painful today as the day he died. This is a terrible, terrible disease and my heart goes out to everyone who has been touched by it. My one wish is for every one who reads this to please remember that all the while we are here, we can hold someone's hand and make their pain a little easier to bear. That was the purpose in telling this story. Thank you for reading it.

Michelle Dawn Moskal Music Iz Magick@aol.com Written in memory of my father.

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