By Bill Connellan
I’ve always believed that life has a sense of humor. I started my career as a newspaper reporter in Detroit, and before I was even 21, I had my first Page One story. Eventually I traded the newsroom for academia, where I spent the next 51 years at two different universities.
I had never even heard of inclusion body myositis until the day it barged into my life uninvited. I had no symptoms until, one morning at a bridge tournament, I fell. It took two people to get me back on my feet. When I fell again that afternoon, my friends insisted I see a doctor.
Denial is a wonderful thing—until it smacks you in the face. Instead of asking what could be wrong, I blamed my “balky knees.” That explanation lasted until I went to the University of Florida orthopedics center. My knees were fine, they told me, but when I fell again while the doctor was examining me, they told me the problem was neurological.
Seven months of testing followed, ending with a muscle biopsy that confirmed it: IBM.
At first, I treated it like an annoyance. I kept walking, using a walker when I needed it. But IBM doesn’t care about your plans. As it progressed, I found myself in the hospital more than once. One visit sent me to Lake City, Florida for rehab. Another fall landed me in the ICU with paralysis. It took eleven days before I was strong enough to return to Lake City for another three‑week rehab stay.
Through all of this, my siblings have been my lifeline. Their encouragement kept me going on the days when I wasn’t sure I could. My sister Cindy, a nurse, has been especially invaluable, guiding me through the medical maze with equal parts expertise and love.
I meet with my medical team every six months, and we stay in touch by email when needed. My advice to medical students is simple: make sure your patients truly understand that IBM is progressive, with no cure and no treatment. Most people can’t wrap their heads around that. They assume there must be a medication, a fix, something. There isn’t…yet.
TMA has been a tremendous partner. They’ve encouraged me as I’ve begun writing a book about my experience—something I never expected to do, even after all those years in academia.
Despite the severity of the disease, my spirits remain good. I’ve lived a full life, and I’m still living it. So I’ll leave you with this:
Vaya con Dios — go with God.
