Saving me from myself

I cannot escape me. I can, in fleeting form, escape ALS. I can tuck it away as I lounge in my living room watching TV. Then I pick up my coffee, or milk, or Carnation Instant Breakfast (rarely), with my right hand. You know. The good  one. I can lift the cup, I can drink from the cup, but it shakes slightly and feels heavy. I've experienced this before- last spring- in my left hand. Here we go.

I may be able to escape my ALS in times of sedentary inaction (redundant), but there's no escaping the reality of the progression of the disease. I'm having more difficulty walking each day. I imagine I'll need help eating as I lose dexterity in my right hand. I can't use a walker because my arm strength is too diminished. I can't roll a wheel chair for the same reason. (and that's a fact, Jack).

Enough with the gloom and doom. I'm tired of self assessment. I run the assessment program every morning. I'm sick of it. That old saying "a watch pot never boils" is inapplicable in my case- I watch and that pot boils right away. It's almost as if I cause it to boil. I wish it were so easy as to ignore my problems, sending them away, or to see them as at least partially psychosomatic so they would be partially non existent, but the truth is, every morning I'm reminded that they are real, and that one day I might face plant right out of my bed. Did I start this paragraph with "enough with the gloom and doom"? I was supposed to turn myself around and climb up the slippery slope. I'll turn around now.

Bulbar onset ALS affects the ability to speak, swallow, breathe, to drink thin fluids, to ingest solid foods. I don't have Bulbar onset ALS. I can eat, swallow (my pride is a tough mouthful, though), breathe and digest normally. My speech is as slurred as its always been, no worse. Eventually, even my form of ALS, which has concentrated on my limbs (all of them) will present me with these other problems. To what extent depends on the sometimes fickle nature of ALS. I consider myself lucky to be able to function as well as I do. As my arms and legs may cease to function, I might have to change my name to Matt (as in door mat), but at least Matt can eat a cheeseburger and thank the cook.