I've determined my condition to be a conundrum trapped within the Mediterranean Sea doldrums. Any escape from the stagnancy is predicated upon my decline to the sea floor, sliding along the continental shelf searching for the Atlantic abyss beyond.
I hate ALS.
I hate ALS (worth repeating)
I hate not being able to talk properly.
I hate not being able to swallow properly.
I hate not being able to walk.
I hate not being able to feed myself.
I hate not being able to scratch an itch.
I hate it when bugs, flies, mosquitoes and other insects land on me knowing I cannot swat them.
I hate that I cannot smoke a cigar because I lack the strength to draw.
I hate that my throat is ever in need of clearing, to no avail.
Mostly I hate that I have become that of which I have written. I plan to republish a few posts from the past based upon their content and how eerily they coincide with today. I also conclude that I was a much better writer a year ago when I could pluck at the keys myself. I'm just not particularly good at dictation. No heart, no soul.
Did I tell you that I hate the fact we have to consider a caregiver other than Amy? We've already interviewed a woman from Peru, Monica. I believe she is very competent but I still hate it.
I will now end this post to say that this hate list barely scratches the surface. Imagine yourself in a box, unable to move your arms or legs. That's how I feel. I promise an upbeat post prior to Christmas so as not to depress my readership. (A little late now, huh?)
I hate ALS.
I hate ALS (worth repeating)
I hate not being able to talk properly.
I hate not being able to swallow properly.
I hate not being able to walk.
I hate not being able to feed myself.
I hate not being able to scratch an itch.
I hate it when bugs, flies, mosquitoes and other insects land on me knowing I cannot swat them.
I hate that I cannot smoke a cigar because I lack the strength to draw.
I hate that my throat is ever in need of clearing, to no avail.
Mostly I hate that I have become that of which I have written. I plan to republish a few posts from the past based upon their content and how eerily they coincide with today. I also conclude that I was a much better writer a year ago when I could pluck at the keys myself. I'm just not particularly good at dictation. No heart, no soul.
Did I tell you that I hate the fact we have to consider a caregiver other than Amy? We've already interviewed a woman from Peru, Monica. I believe she is very competent but I still hate it.
I will now end this post to say that this hate list barely scratches the surface. Imagine yourself in a box, unable to move your arms or legs. That's how I feel. I promise an upbeat post prior to Christmas so as not to depress my readership. (A little late now, huh?)
I love you. I love your sense of humor, your strength, your intelligence. I love how connected you are to the grandboys.
ReplyDeleteI love how you love me.
As much as I welcome your upbeat posts, I can't imagine your readership would be begrudge any hate lists you feel compelled to put on your blog. This blog should be as much an outlet for you to vent as you need it to be. When the posts get dark, don't take it the wrong way if the replies are more scarce. My heart goes out to you, as ever. But sometimes it's hard to know what to say. But I'm reading, and I care about what you have to say--both good and bad.
ReplyDeleteI also hate als,
ReplyDeleteI also hate mesothelomia?? cant spell,my mother in law has it
I also hate breast cancer,my mom has it
I also hate ankle fusion surgery,my wife has to have it
I especially hate the fact that there is NOTHING I can do in all of my 'powers' to help ANY of these people I care so much about!
I REALLY hate hating,it has no positive outcome whatsoever
I miss you man!
Tracy--
ReplyDeleteHave never had to dictate. But your prose comes through so powerfully. I am amazed at your strength and love, as I am with Amy's and the rest of your beautiful family's. And I am amazed by your dictated prose, and so grateful to be connected to your thoughts.
Nick Thornton