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We wanted to share with everyone the link to an incredible multimedia package about us that is in the April 25 Morning Sun’s print and online editions.

The project started when Morning Sun photographer Ryan Evon approached us about following us around to develop a photo essay for the area daily newspaper. This package represents more than a year’s worth of his work, and we couldn’t be happier with how it turned out. We are grateful for the opportunity to share our story and increase MS awareness.

Click here to see the story, photos and videos that tell our story and how we try to help others to move forward. Please check it out and share it with others! Thanks for checking this out an for visiting us on our blog!

It’s been a little more than six months since Dan and my trip to Walt Disney World. My memories from that um, memorable trip are still pretty fresh. Let’s see, I remember theme park rides, amazing fireworks, images of Mickey Mouse everywhere and having a great time with my family and Dan. But really what I remember most is my late-night visit to Celebration Hospital in Orlando.

Dan & me at Walt Disney's Animal Kingdom

To treat my MS, I take a subcutaneous injection ever day, which is supposed to lessen the frequency and severity of my Multiple Sclerosis. After giving myself injections every day for the last 12 years, I guess it was bound to happen: I had to have an incident to remember.

And remember this one I will.

It was a little later than when I usually take my shot, but we were on vacation – getting away from it all. The day was pretty packed with activities. Eating dinner, taking my shot, and crawling into bed sounded like a perfect ending to a busy Disney day.

I took my pre-filled syringe from the refrigerator, pulled off the cap, inserted the needle into my stomach, and pushed on the plunger. But the plunger didn’t budge. This sometimes is typical because I’ve developed scar tissue from taking so many injections. And as usual, I asked Dan to push in the fluid. He pushed on the plunger, but it still didn’t move.

I gave it another try and in my brilliance, I thought, “Oh, just give it a little twist.” And the next thing I knew, I had a syringe in one hand, and a needle in my stomach. Understandably, I started to freak out. But I tried to stay calm, looking at Dan to fix it. I was pleading with my eyes, “Fix this,” and he was looking at me with confused, “I wish I could” eyes.

Just then, he took his fingers and tried to grab the pointed metal piece and well, you know how quicksand in movies looks? That’s how the needle disappeared into my belly.

Poof. It was gone.

“Oh no! Oh no! What am I going to do?” I frantically questioned.

Dan was as mystified as I was. What could we do? I tried to regain some calm and call the hotel front desk. They transferred me to safety, where I give the same story I just told you. Safety was as mystified. They told me to call paramedics, which I did. When the paramedics arrived I went through the whole story, again, and they said, “We’ve never heard of that. You should probably go to the hospital, and at least have an X-ray.”

So off to the hospital we went. X-rays were taken. At least three times, between doctors and nurses and X-ray techs, I heard, “Wow, never heard of that before.” Comforting, isn’t it? By about 2 a.m., after several X-rays turned up nothing, the doctor told me that he was going to let the needle work itself out, kind of like a sliver. After all, it would be more dangerous to perform surgery to remove something they couldn’t see.

And guess what I said? “Really, hmm, I’ve never heard of that before.” But I trusted him, and besides I just wanted to go home; home to Michigan, that is.

Because the reality is, when you live with a chronic illness like MS, you never really can get away from it all.

P.S. It really turned out to be a great trip.

P.P.S. Yep, the needle is still there

Moving to the music on the dance floor is nothing new for Jennifer and me. At weddings and parties we always go and claim an unoccupied corner of the dance floor – out of everyone’s way – and “dance.”

This dancing involves Jennifer elevating her powerchair seat so we’re closer to the same height and we either embrace and sway to a slow song or join hands and boogie with our arms to a fast song.  

But there was something different this time at WCMU’s annual Night of Louisiana.

This was our second year attending what the public broadcasting network flaunts as a way for people to cure the mid-winter blues. As for me, I always tell others they have to go because it’s just plain ridiculous fun!

Boogying the night away

So, Jennifer and I donned our Mardi Gras beads and headed out for a night of southern-style cuisine and live Cajun and zydeco music by The Pine Leaf Boys and Lil’ Nathan and the Zydeco Big Timers.

After meeting up with our friends, we swiftly forgot about the frigid late January freeze. Trusting in the sweet fruitiness of overpriced and fully liquored Hurricane drinks to cool the burn from our spicy Cajun dinner, Jennifer and I watched as people swarmed the dance floor three notes into The Pine Leaf Boys’ opening song.

The people’s dancing to the fiddle- and accordion-laced Cajun music was contagious. Jennifer and I quickly claimed an unoccupied corner of the dance floor and throughout the night we danced – swaying and boogying while Jennifer sat in her powerchair.

But with one song, everything changed: Jennifer was standing – honest to God standing! – with me out on the dance floor.

Lord know what led us to give this a try (Jennifer thinks maybe it was a little liquid courage), but all I remember was her looking up at me as the slow song started and I asked, “Did you want to try standing a little for this one?”

Certainly, I always help Jennifer stand to make transfers at home, but never had we stood together like this in public, especially on dance floor with hundreds of people around us.

Jennifer didn’t hesitate to say, “Yes,” and as we always do to stand, she put her arms around my neck and I straddled her right leg, slightly squatted, wrapped my arms around her back and locked my hands together. And she counted, “1, 2, 3.”

A picture of us slow dancing, but not of our first real dance (Remember? We were the only ones there when it happened).

And there we were. Dancing our first slow dance. Jennifer and I standing together swaying to the slow song. And all we really could do was smile as we looked into each other’s eyes (although, I do remember telling her how awesome it was to see her standing because she knows how much I enjoy the fact that she’s two inches taller than me). 

While her MS-weakened legs likely limited our dance to less than a minute, I truly had lost track of time. I was really dancing with my wife. I’ll bet with Jennifer standing with me we looked just like everyone else on the dance floor.

But I couldn’t tell you for sure. For that moment in time, we were the only ones out there. 

Does standing room only apply to me anymore? After all, I no longer stand.

Yes, I’m being cheeky but something that happened earlier this week got Dan and I thinking.

Central Michigan University hosted many events to celebrate Martin Luther King Week, highlighted by a keynote performance by Danny Glover  – yep, Lethal Weapon Danny Glover.

He, along with his lifelong friend Felix Justice, presented An Evening with Martin & Langston. This performance intended to “bring audiences inside the worlds of two of the greatest orators of the 20th century: Martin Luther King Jr. and Langston Hughes.”

Sounds pretty interesting, right? It was a free performance with no tickets required. But, again, it was Lethal Weapon Danny Glover! How were Dan and I going to get accessible seats?

Dan knew I wanted to go so he called ahead and they were able to accommodate us. And they weren’t just any accessible seats: They were in the front row!

When we arrived 30 minutes before the performance, there was a line all the way down the hall with people trying to get seats in an already packed Plachta Auditorium. The ushers spotted us, called us forward and showed us to our seats right at the foot of the stage.

I was so excited and was so appreciative that CMU made the performance accessible for me as well as two other people in wheelchairs. We were the front row! For Lethal Weapon Danny Glover!

As Dan and I turned around to see the mob of people lining the walls at the back of the auditorium, I leaned over and whispered to him, “Membership has its privileges.” It’s wrong to say, but I guess great seats are a perk of being disabled.

It was a powerful performance that we both enjoyed. When it was over, Dan leaned over to me and whispered, “Membership does have its privileges, but all things being equal, I would have given anything for you and I to be among those standing at the back of the auditorium for the entire performance because it would mean you didn’t have MS.”

And you know what? I would have too.

We were toying with the idea of posting a blog that ties up some loose ends, and inspired by the recent post on Brain Cheese, here are some of the things we’ve been meaning to tell you:

Bruce didn’t play “For You.” Despite our valiant efforts from the not-so-cheap seats, Springsteen didn’t see our sign and play “For You” when we saw him at the Palace Nov. 13. But no hard feelings. He, along with the “heart-stopping pants-dropping house-rocking earth-shaking booty-quaking Viagra-taking love-making legendary E Street Band” instead gave us nearly three hours of rock and roll insanity, highlighted by a performance of the entire Born to Run album. Thanks for everything, Bruce.

123 days and counting. Michigan native Joe Fairchild has been running across America to raise money and awareness for Multiple Sclerosis. According to his news release, “Though covering 25-30 miles most days is a challenge, to Joe the journey is about much more than a physical feat. He will be making the journey alone, pushing all of his essentials—a tent, sleeping bag, clothes, food, water—in a modified baby stroller.” Now 2,415 miles into his trip, he’s hoping to reach Los Angeles by the end of the year. Learn more about him and his journey at runsomemore.com.

Coverage in the media. The beginning of December brought a one-two punch of excellent media coverage of our efforts to increase awareness of MS and inspire others living with the disease. It started on Dec. 2 when we learned that our friend Lindsay Allen featured us in her guest blog “Dan and Jennifer Digmann: Fighting MS, hand-in-hand, one day at a time” on Justin case you were wondering. Thanks, LA! Then, two days later Central Michigan Life ran the story, “Mount Pleasant couples copes with multiple sclerosis, inspires others with disabilities.” Thanks to the reporter Jake Bolitho and photographer Ashley Miller! We appreciate all your support in helping to get the message out.

We cleaned up a little bit. To add the above media coverage to our “In the news” section, we took a little time to clean up our blog, which included adding Michael Gerber’s blog, Perspective is Everything, to our home page. We enjoy his writing and, well, his perspective and we encourage you to check it out regularly. We also added Dina Kawer’s blog, How Will I Get Back Down?, to share with you her inspirational story of climbing historic Masada, despite her MS. Or perhaps it was to spite her MS. We had the honor of meeting her at the NMSS annual meeting a few weeks ago and hope you have a few minutes to read her story.

Little did we know. Yeah, come to find out our parents knew we were going to receive the MS Achievement Award all along. Apparently they had been informed of the award so they would do their part to encourage us to attend the annual meeting in Livonia. So this is why Dan’s mom offered to pay for a hotel room for us to make it an easier decision to go and why Jennifer’s parents were eager to say they’d go with us so Dan didn’t have to drive the whole way. They keep good secrets. No wonder we never knew what we were getting for Christmas :-) And a cherry on top of the MS Achievement Award? Jennifer’s Walk MS team, Team MonsterS, also was recognized at the annual meeting as the 40^th of the top 100 fundraising teams of 2009 for the National Sclerosis Society, Michigan Chapter. Go MonsterS!

There! All loose ends, tied up …

Dear Bruce Springsteen,

As you scan the sea of signs surrounding the stage that plead for you to play one of your vintage classics at the Palace of Auburn Hills on Nov. 13, my wife, Jennifer, and I won’t be there.

Instead, we’ll be holding up our “4 U” request all the way across the arena in one of its handicap-accessible areas. To see us, you gotta look hard.

While we could play the ticket lottery and get our numbers called to stand near the stage the entire concert, our multiple sclerosis forces us to stay in our reserved seats.

Combined we’ve had MS for more than 20 years, and we each are living with very different forms of this disease. While I have the relapsing-remitting form and regularly compete in 5K runs, Jennifer has secondary-progressive MS and can no longer walk.

She uses a power wheelchair and this is why we, along with two of our friends coming from Iowa, must stay in the handicap-accessible area to experience the euphoria that you bring night after night after night after night.

Your music has 
pulled me through every phase of my life with MS:
 from fear and self pity, to anger and frustration and finally to acceptance and moving on with the vision of a brighter future. For that, I gratefully thank you.

And if it’s not too much to ask you for one favor: When you’re searching for requests at the Palace Friday night, please look straight across the arena for my baby and me waving our sign asking you and the E Street Band to play a full-rocking
“For You,” for us.

All the best,

Dan Digmann
Mount Pleasant, Michigan 

Like it or not, it’s fall. The leaves are changing - lots have already fallen off the trees. Temperatures are dropping. The heat is on at our house. And I’m sporting sweaters way more than T-shirts. Yep, as much as I dislike it, fall is here. Which means winter is around the corner.

Depressing, isn’t it?

Rather than sulk (because sulking is fruitless), I’m remembering one of my favorite memories of this summer.

It all came about because of my rambling at a church gathering that was at a beautiful home in Mt. Pleasant situated on the Chippewa River.

“You know this is the year I’m floating the river. Not sure how, but darn it, I’ve lived here 4 years and that is something I’ve always wanted to do!”

I just assumed that because I can no longer walk, this dream was just that. A dream.

But as I soon learned, my rambling was heard by the right people ­- a Can-Do Bunch of people.

One quiet Sunday this summer, our phone rang. I answered and heard, “It’s a beautiful day to go canoeing and floating. What do you think? Can you meet us at 3 p.m. at Buckley’s? We sure think this might be the last nice day. And Gary, Peggy, Charlie and I think we’ve found the perfect spot to put you in. So what do you think?!?”

After a moment, I recognized the excited voice. It was Sue, a very excited Sue. And after another moment, I realized Sue was serious. That little statement of mine a few weeks earlier was heard by her, Gary, Peggy and Charlie, and they were going to get me on that river. And I was getting on it TODAY.

“Really, Sue,” gulp, “Today? You want to float the river today? Like today, in 5 hours?”

My mind’s racing: Come on tough girl, you’re not scared are you? Duh! Of course, I’m scared. Think Jennifer, think. Dan, surely he’ll object. He’ll think it’s a crazy idea too.

“Let me check with Dan, Sue. Just a sec, okay?”

“Hey Dan, Sue et al (truly that’s what I said, apparently fear brings out my slightly academic side) want to float the river today …”

“Sure, sounds great! What time?” he calmly asks.

Um, okay. Didn’t see that coming, but if Dan thinks I can do it, I probably can.

“Well it’s a plan, mind if I ask Sue and Dave to join us? And what does one wear when floating the river?” I quickly ask.

“Sure, call them, the more the merrier. Um, shorts are good. See you later this afternoon!” Click.

Ah, jeez, “Dan let’s go get me some shorts at Target. And then, I’ve got to shave my legs. Yikes, we’ve got to hurry. I’m floating the river at 3 o’clock.”

I say it again quietly to myself; I’m floating the river at 3 o’clock.

To be continued … I promise

Here's proof I made it onto the river!

’Cause in the darkness I hear somebody call my name

And when you realize how they tricked you this time

And it’s all lies but I’m strung out on the wire

In these streets of fire

From “Streets of Fire” by Bruce Springsteen

I glance down at my feet and I see them striding in time with this opening song of my iPod’s “Running” playlist. It’s an aggressive stride for my regular half-mile warm-up, but this is how I’m feeling today. I’m in a bad mood. Although I guess it doesn’t really matter how I’m feeling any day.

Warming up and running using the same carefully crafted Springsteen-powered playlist—I turn to his music daily for audiological shots of emotional energy—for more than two years I just know that, regardless of what mood I’m carrying with me, by the time Streets of Fire reaches these lines, give or take 10 steps I’m striding over the makeshift asphalt patch near the final curve going out of our quiet neighborhood. It’s an oblong asphalt patch about the size of an overgrown zucchini. I only notice it because with these lines of the song, I always glance down at my feet.

Perhaps it’s just out of habit that I glance down at this point and see where my feet are in location to the oblong asphalt patch. It certainly isn’t because I am physically warming up on what anyone could honestly consider streets of fire. I start out jogging down our sleepy little Southgate Subdivision’s Concourse Drive, which essentially is a big circle around the neighborhood with no through traffic.

Indeed this glance at my feet is habitual because it’s always at this point of the song and at this point in the road that the novelty of “going out for a run” wears off and the reality of what this actually means settles in. And when this happens I no longer feel like I’m running alone. MS is always with me.

“Those feet feel unusually heavy today, don’t they, Dan? I made them pretty numb, huh? You’re right. It’s not just your feet, Dummy, it’s both of your flippin’ legs. You’re barely a minute into what’s going to be nearly a 35-minute run. That’s about how long it takes to drive to Midland, isn’t it? You sure you got it today? You so could just turn around and go back home and rest. Tomorrow, Dan, you can be a hero and run five miles instead of your regular four. Because tomorrow you could feel so much better. What do you say, hero? Let’s call it a day.”

That’s the MS talking, every single time I go out for a run.

I run to prove to myself and to MS that after all these years, he still doesn’t have control over me. And I imagine that it always takes MS until this point of my route to realize that I was serious when I said I was going to go for a run. He always must think I’m just bluffing with that whole stretching thing and double-knotting my Reebok running shoes, putting the Garmin GPS-enabled sports watch on my wrist, strapping the iPod headphones over my head and onto my ears, and then stepping out the door and pressing “Start” on the Garmin and “Play” on the iPod.

Seems like a lot to do for somebody who’s just bluffing.

And in less than two-tenths of a mile, right about at the overgrown zucchini-like patch, MS catches on and every single time starts in with, “Those feet feel unusually heavy today . . .” Striding over the patch and rounding the Concourse Drive curve to leave Southgate, I refute his questioning with, “Today, I can be a champion and run my regular 4.6, including a half-mile warm-up. Because tomorrow, much to your doing, I could feel so much worse.”

MS makes an almost convincing argument for me to quit, but I never have turned around and gone home without first completing my regular route.

A few years ago I watched a television interview with Kevin Spacey, one of my favorite actors. He has a quiet charm that I find very appealing. Plus, he seems pretty smart and I think this helps make him a believable actor. I liked his performance best in the 1999 Oscar winning film, American Beauty. I especially loved it when his character, Lester Burnham, delivered the line, “I’m just an ordinary guy who has nothing left to lose.”

Really, haven’t we ALL felt like this before? And while I know it’s only a line from a character in a movie, I bet Spacey understands this sentiment. But, as usual, I digress. Back to his interview.

In it, Spacey talked about a trip he had taken to Paris or the Great Wall in China, you know, someplace beautiful and historic like that. Anyway, he talks about feeling bad for people who travel to these magnificent sites but are so worried about taking a photo to remember the place or moment that they generally miss experiencing it. He believed that we want so badly to capture these moments in photos that we end up letting them pass us by. His advice was to just put down the camera and live in and enjoy the moments as they happen.

This is great advice I often try to follow. I have repeatedly used my self-coined phrase, “Kevin Spacey moment,” to remind me to live in the now. Be there. Enjoy the present. Plus, it makes me feel better when I don’t have my camera with me

Our lunch this past weekend qualified as a “Kevin Spacey moment.” Stacy, the best man from Dan and my wedding, surprised us with a quick visit while he was in town from Indianapolis. The last time we had seen Stacy was when Dan and I went to visit him and his family (and see Dan’s favorite, Bruce Springsteen!) in March 2008. But this last weekend, not only did we get to see Stacy, we got to see his wife, Heather, and their son, Kieran. I would have loved to have taken a photo to remember their surprise visit, but oops, as usual, no camera. 

Instead I savored our time together talking, laughing, and taking plenty of mental pictures. We had a great visit which alas, will be remembered as another “Kevin Spacey moment.”

So the next time you forget your camera or your batteries aren’t charged, remember Kevin Spacey’s words to live in and enjoy the moments as they happen … and this is great advice to follow even when you have a camera with fully charged batteries.