It is true, I will soon have help from a care giver. For now, my helper comes in the form of my daughter, Rachel, who has been acting as such since she returned from the Baltic. I'm relieved that the whole process of qualification is behind me. Any re-evaluation is months away and by then I'll welcome the upgrade. Macho Tracy would refute any need of help with everyday maneuvers and tasks, but macho Tracy is getting his ass kicked. I try not to dwell on what I can't do, which helps, but my current problem lies within that which I do with great (and increasing) difficulty. Dressing is so time consuming I ask myself "why bother?" My left arm is no more than a meat glove and my right is taking notes. I walk like a walrus on stilts and will face plant if I try to hurry myself. I bring this all up because it is real, but I must reiterate that my attitude has changed recently. Instead of dread, I carry defiance. I just read an inspirational post written by an ALS sufferer. She, who has had ALS for 17 years (11 on a ventilator) , stated, sensibly, that ALS can kill you but it cannot take your life. She is my new hero.
Probably my worst anxiety strikes at the heart when I recall that barring some miraculous event I will get sicker each day. Only a little, mind you, but it remains an evil constant I can no longer deny. I deal with it lest it deals upon me. A constant reminder revolves around preparedness. Help and equipment is available, it simply takes forever to complete the acquisition process. I like to think Amy is on top of it, and she is. Thank some unnamed supreme entity for Amy. Most times, a worst case scenario is one that rarely comes into play. In my case, it is the more likely end game. My arm will not heal, it hurts at night and it serves no real purpose. Shoulder roast, anyone? All kidding aside, each day I must count my digressions, count my blessings and thank my Lucky Charms the latter still out numbers the former. Meanwhile, there's a wheel chair in the car and a Jazzy motorized high tech scooter in the garage. Guess I'll keep on chooglin'
Probably my worst anxiety strikes at the heart when I recall that barring some miraculous event I will get sicker each day. Only a little, mind you, but it remains an evil constant I can no longer deny. I deal with it lest it deals upon me. A constant reminder revolves around preparedness. Help and equipment is available, it simply takes forever to complete the acquisition process. I like to think Amy is on top of it, and she is. Thank some unnamed supreme entity for Amy. Most times, a worst case scenario is one that rarely comes into play. In my case, it is the more likely end game. My arm will not heal, it hurts at night and it serves no real purpose. Shoulder roast, anyone? All kidding aside, each day I must count my digressions, count my blessings and thank my Lucky Charms the latter still out numbers the former. Meanwhile, there's a wheel chair in the car and a Jazzy motorized high tech scooter in the garage. Guess I'll keep on chooglin'
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