Walking on Eggs With a Cane

Not exactly, not yet, but soon, I fear...............
I have a hard time accepting any of this ALS journey. To begin with, I am not the type of person to lay down my arms (I know there's a double entendre lurking here), and give up a fight. In fact, I am quite the opposite. All obstacles before me represent challenges I am ready to meet. I have lived my life to do battle. I cannot conceive of any other way. I've written before about this. I will perform redundancy again and again (snicker), because I continue to return to the same subject, the same debacle. I feel I'm taking on shrapnel as I forge (blindly) toward my enemy. My wounds are accumulating as I push forward, hands (hand) outstretched in search of the neck of ALS. I feel the heightening frustration, the ever chaotic frenzy of my own juggernaut flashing ground to snatch the jugular of the disease as I get tripped and pirouetted by it's constant barrage upon my body. I have no idea what I'm doing. I am blind and yet I thrash out. I trouble the thought that this is what will steer me to my demise. I worry the idea that this is what ALS wants. I cannot relax, as the relaxation feels like lost time, resignation. A deep breath feels like a sigh of relief and I am relieved of nothing. A pause in the onslaught seems a waste in time.
I am not exhausted yet. I have energy to take me forward, but I need to better assess my course. I never ran away before. A small part of me says to deny the existence of ALS will weaken it's resolve when it is not a factor to me, but the better part of me says it will creep up behind me if I turn my back. I know I can't run away, ALS has seen to that.................
No, I'm not yet wielding a cane, but soon I must cross that chasm of embarrassment and take up help. I need to keep driving toward my own goals and shed my encumberments and fight my fights. It appears I will someday move up from infantry to artillery.
OK, so I write and I write, and I drone on and on, ad nauseam. When I started this blog a little over a month ago, I figured only a few would ever read it. As it has developed, the blog has apparently collected more morbidity drawn readership than I would have thought. Now, folks are reading this with barely a clue about me. Tracy Boettcher. 53. A nephew with more insight than I'll ever have put out the suggestion I tell about myself pre-ALS. I plan to do so. In droplets. Small bites. Why? Because while I need to outline the life of a guy who has contracted this shit disease, I needn't bore readers with any more than would interest them concerning why a guy like me looks at this thing the way I do. A brief history in time to deliver a connection between what I have been and what I am now. So, I will be posting my gratuitous version of life as I have lived it in order for you to better understand why I would be very much pleased to continue it for quite some time.