A number of years ago, my Mom gave me a copy of this poem because she said I reminded her of the fellow in the poem. When the "doctor" told me that I had two years to live, I thought to myself, "Who died and made you God?"... And that seemed to be contradictory. God knows when I'm going to die, and He is the only one who knows. Doctors who predict death are contemptible. I choose to believe that ALS is not going to kill me today. It didn't kill me yesterday, and probably won't kill me tomorrow. ALS is a "fatal" disease only insofar as it historically has been a fatal disease. But with the tremendous advances that are being made in neurological research, I believe history is about to change. I choose to believe that I am going to die of old age.

As long as you don't wake up dead, it is going to be a great day...

- Doug






Somebody said that it couldn't be done,
 But he with a chuckle replied
That "maybe it couldn't," but he would be one
 Who wouldn't say so till he'd tried
So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin
 On his face. If he worried he hid it.
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
 That couldn't be done, and he did it.

Somebody scoffed: "Oh, you'll never do that;

 At least no one ever has done it";
But he took off his coat and he took off his hat,
 And the first thing we knew he'd begun it.
With a lift of his chin and a hint of a grin,
 Without any doubting or quiddit,
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
 That couldn't be done, and he did it.

There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,
 There are thousands to prophesy failure;
There are thousands to point out to you, one by one,
 The dangers that wait to assail you.
But just buckle in with a bit of a grin,
 Just take off your coat and go to it;
Just start to sing as you tackle the thing
 That "cannot be done," and you'll do it.