When I was diagnosed with ALS, it was hard to fully explain what that moment felt like. As you can imagine, it was a combination of sadness, weirdness, oddness, and almost incomprehensible to tell friends and family. How do you even begin that conversation? How do you put into words something you’re still trying to process yourself?

To make it even more surreal, I had just started a new job three weeks before receiving my diagnosis. Three weeks. I was learning a new role, meeting new colleagues, and planning for the future — all while quietly carrying news that would change the course of my life. I was able to hide my diagnosis from the company for two years. That, in itself, was a challenge. Every day required focus, discipline, and a whole lot of determination to keep going without anyone knowing what I was navigating behind the scenes.

What I didn’t realize at the beginning was how much of my life would come to be about adopting and adjusting. Setting up properly for our family’s future became a daily mindset — not just something we handled once, but something I continue to think about and work on even today.

Thankfully, my ALS progression has been slow. Thank God for that. But “slow” doesn’t mean “easy.” It just means the changes come gradually — and with each new challenge, I’ve had to adapt.

As weakness set in, I began to lose the ability to play the sports I love. Shooting a basketball. Playing golf. Competing in all the games that fueled my competitive spirit. Little by little, my body changed. And as it did, I got worse at the things that once came naturally.

But instead of walking away immediately, I adapted as long as I possibly could.

When gripping a golf club became difficult, I changed how I held it so I could still hit the ball. When my right hand could no longer operate a computer mouse, I switched to a left-handed mouse. It wasn’t ideal. It wasn’t pretty. But it worked.

That has become a theme in my life: figure out what works now.

To this day, I’m still adapting. With the help of incredible ALS nonprofits and the devices they’ve provided, I continue to find new ways to navigate this disease. Technology. Equipment. Creative problem-solving. It’s all part of the journey.

ALS is a strange disease. It takes, but it also teaches. It forces you to think differently, to adjust constantly, and to appreciate what you can still do. For me, it has been about adopting to the strategy of this disease — meeting it where it is and responding with resilience.

And that will continue going forward.

We don’t control the diagnosis. But we do control how we respond.

Thank you for walking this journey with us.

— Frosty