Who am I?

Over the years, at least a thousand times, I've heard the term 'you are what you eat.' If I were to believe this to be true, a glance in the mirror would expose a cow with pigs feet, a chicken beak, fish for wings, onions sprouting from my back, pomegranates for eyes and a green bean mane. I don't see that. 

I must conclude that I am what I read. 

Looking back on my reading selections dating to early adolescence I find quite possibly my own personal escape from the realities of life that might have slain me years ago. 

I am entirely convinced that reading is an essential building block of coherence and survival. 

I'm also convinced that when one stops reading, one loses coherence and skates along the edge of ignorance. I am to this point today. I cannot read like I did in the past because the sponge that is my brain cannot absorb any more. I can only hope that I have sucked in enough information to sustain me in my new ignorance. 

You might be interested in what a guy like me liked to read. This is not intended to be a boastful narrative, but a simple compilation of the hunger my brain has sated through reading. If you find this a boring post, I offer no apologies because recalling these stories brings them to life once again. I guarantee this to be a very very incomplete telling. 

I started young, reading fairly well at 4 years old, though preferring mathematics at the time. In kindergarten, while the other kids were napping, I practiced addition and subtraction, even touching upon multiplication. I found Dick and Jane stories boring, realizing now that I was looking for more than practice to identify words. In first grade I wrote my first story, about a dinosaur, known in 1964 as a Brontosaurus. I wish I still had it. 

I jump ahead to fifth grade, when I read "Psycho Cybernetics" (the power of positive thinking). Within a year I somehow found a soft porn book called "Candy" and read it secretly, huddled with a flashlight under my sheets at night. I can still recall all the sexual innuendo. After that, I snuck into my mom's bedroom and found she was reading "Helter Skelter." Once I found out she was done with that paperback, I snuck it out of the room and read it, again, under the sheets, at night, with a flashlight. I found the Manson book to be far more intriguing than the horny chick in "Candy." 

My reading appetite was severely curtailed due to the fact I had no access to materials interesting to me until I was old enough to search them out. I went through a period of several years, having read only a few classics. When I was 14 I read the unabridged "Robinson Crusoe," the unabridged "Moby Dick," and most of Jules Verns' classics. The best of the bunch, at the time, was "Lord of the Flies." 

From here I jump around a lot. Often I find myself reading a work of historical fiction and then going on a rampage of discovery, consuming all the factual information I can and comparing it to the details contained within the fiction. Case in point: Caleb Carr's "The Alienist" and his "Angel of Darkness." Another case: "I, Claudius" concerning the early Roman Empire.  Yet another case: "The River God" by Wilbur Smith concerning early to mid Egyptian society. 

The best way not to run this post to infinity would be for me to more briefly list my obsessions. 

On horror fiction: I have read every Stephen King book in existence, many excellent, a few okay, some not so great and lately rehashed stories, likely because he's addressed every horror concept imaginable. Peter Straub stuff, the unequaled Edgar Alan Poe, crap like "Flowers in the Attic," a dozen authors not worth mentioning........

How about Voltaire? How about Nietsche, Aristotle, Sir Isaac Newton, Galileo? How about Nostradamus?

I told you I would jump around, and I'm not lying.

I've read biographies out the yin-yang. John Adams, Jefferson, John Quincy Adams, Lincoln, Teddy Roosevelt, FDR, Truman, Kennedy, Einstein and many more. 

For a couple years, thanks to my dad, Gus Errion, I delved into physics and quantum mechanics, reading Carl Sagan (billions and billions), Stephen Hawking ("A Brief History of Time" and everything else he has written), Brian Green ("Fabric of the Cosmos", "Elegant Universe"). I've studied Bjork, Hubble, Oppenheimer. I got into string theory before super string theory took over. I tried to read Einsteins Theory of General Relativity, doing okay until I reached the limitations of my mathematics education. I probably know more about physics and quantum science than the average idiot. 

About religion: I have read chunks of the Bible, concluding that it is a written filibuster, cloudying a simple message with volumes of unnecessary contradiction and confusion. I've read the Koran, easily understood; worded correctly, the Koran could be inserted into the Bible as a handful of chapters, either quoted or ignored. I've read the Book of Mormon, concluding that the religion needs to remove the second M in its title. If you don't believe me, read the book. After having had to suspend disbelief during my torturous journey through Revelations, I had no more suspension left when reading Smiths' fiction. Maybe if I had read the Book of Mormon before the Bible, I would have seen things in an opposite way. I read many accounts on Buddhism, Judaisms, Hinduism, Shintoism and other, more obscure concepts. Nothing really grabs me as individually significant. Rather than putting all my eggs in one basket, I prefer to keep my eggs for when I am hungry.

Other stuff that has formed my brain: I have read "Mein Kampf", the "Communist Manifesto". I have read "Mao." I have read the awesome and difficult Shirer work "The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich." I have read Ian Rand's "Atlas Shrugged." Let it be known that reading all this stuff does not mean I agree with or accept any premises or concepts contained within these sometimes radical publications. 

I will lighten the load now. I've read, under duress, "Silas Marner," "The Great Gatsby" (excellent), "The Scarlet Letter"  and other school directed books. Later on I appreciated the oppression of my teachers. 

Best books? Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein" (Some of the best sentence structure ever.) Cormac McCarthy's "Blood Meridian," "The Road," (anything Cormac). Alexander Solzhenitsyn's "Gulag Archipelago," Brahm Stoker's "Dracula."

I am very tired of talking, so I need to truncate this post and take a nap. Don't for a second believe this to be even half of my reading adventures. I haven't yet begun to explain who I am with this post.  To be concluded at a later date.

Oh hell, I got a second wind. 

How about Isaac Asimov? Ray Bradbury? Robert Heinlein? Orson Scott Card? 

How about "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo" series? How about "Sometimes a Great Notion"? 

How about I quit before Rachel passes out? Bye.



    

Informational content

Amy now has the ability to drive my wheelchair. Wait. I'm not sure she has the ability. She has access to controls tethered by a five foot cord. I'm not sure whether this is an advantage or a recipe for disaster. 

Today we attended ALS clinic. I was last at clinic 3 months ago. The purpose of these clinics is to assess my progress (or lack thereof). I see the physical therapist, the occupational therapist, the speech therapist, the breathing therapist, the social worker, the MDA representative, the mobility guru and my neurologist. To varying degrees they pick and poke and query and council. I can say that every individual I deal with is professional, courteous and friendly. I really like everyone there. I still believe I have the highest tech wheelchair of the bunch, though many of the other chairs give me a run for my money. I prefer to study the chair than the occupant. Much less depressing. 

I believe physically I'm holding my own, however some issues have come up that let me know that this battle is anything but won. My oxygen level, more accurately my oxygen movement, is now sub-par, basically meaning that my diaphragm and ribcage muscles are weakening and I cannot draw as much air as I should.  I have ordered a B-pap, quite unlike a C-pap, that will help me inhale and exhale more fully as I sleep. Apparently, those who use this device have more energy.  

I have lost 7 pounds and my doctor has suggested a feeding tube. By the end of the weekend I will make my decision on this matter.  

Amy and I asked my neurologist if he had heard of the Deanna Protocol, which he had, offering advice that I should not take anything that would affect my blood since I take a thinner.  As expected he saw the protocol as a scam unsupported by science.  I understand his position but plan to take whatever supplements I can without affecting my other medications. 

A good news point: my doctor is visibly excited about a new drug that shows to be effective in energizing mitochondria, specifically in the nerve cells, potentially offering a solution to nerve cell degeneration. Three months ago he mentioned it would be available around Christmas and if it shows itself as an effective product, every ALS patient would have access to it.  The announcement will be worldwide. Cross your fingers.

Merry Christmas to all the suckers who tune in to my blather. Be prepared for a massive post entitled "Who is Tracy Boettcher and What is Responsible for his Brain?"

Hate Mail

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?)

A Quick Note

Recently, a system for relief of ALS symptoms was brought to our attention by a good friend. It is called the Deanna Protocol. The treatments are experimental and we understand that some people have seen a reduction in such symptoms as tremors, excess saliva, spasms and swallowing issues. One man found his ability to speak improved. The website for this protocol is called www.winningthefight.net.  As of Wednesday we started following the directives of the protocol. Primarily consisting of a series of supplements designed to combat symptoms, the regiment is fairly massive.

If I follow the protocol, which I'm planning to do, I will be consuming, along with my regular medication, over 1000 pills a month. The last couple of days the going has been rough as nausea and vomiting have pervaded each day so far. From what I understand, results should come soon. Not soon enough. I think I'll throw up now. Wish me luck.

Still mobile

I may only be able to move my right arm a few inches but it doesn't stop me from putting miles on my Permobil chair. Even if Amy has to guide my hand to the joystick (not what you think), I can propel at speeds up to 6.4 mph. If I had it to do over again I would have paid the extra money for the extra speed. 

I asked the Permobil dealer the highest mileage he had observed on a chair, and he said around 300 miles.  In a few months I have accumulated 152 miles without breaking a sweat. I can only assume that people die shortly after acquiring their chair. Either that or they don't get out much. 

I might mention that last Thursday Amy and I circumnavigated White Rock Lake, stopping for lunch, liver sausage and cheesies with Gatorade, before completing the trip. Amy had difficulty keeping up with me on her bike. I wore a short sleeved shirt and sweats.  She wore two shirts, heavy pants and a coat.  

A few things to mention involving my current condition: It sucks, I'm trapped, it could be a helluva lot worse. 

Life here in Dallas, despite ALS, despite missing friends and family, is great. I can't say enough about how well it has worked out living with Sarah and Tim, Alex and Isaac.  I might add it is tolerable to have Rachel and Amy lingering around too. Of course I'm kidding.  Unfortunately for her, Rachel will be leaving the household soon. She has found an awesome apartment and will be moving after Christmas. Amy, however, can't find anywhere to live, so she's stuck with me. 

A very important note: Sarah, my eldest daughter, is pregnant.  It gives me another reason to hang around. I've discovered that life revolves around events that make everything worthwhile no matter my condition. If she has a boy, she and Tim will be remaking "My Three Sons." If she has a girl, the networks refuse to give her a series.  Nevertheless, we'd like a girl. 

Sarah having a baby is a classic example of out with the old in with the new. If she birthed a dad, I'd be history.  

If I could get back any particular function, I would ask that I could scratch my own nose. My second choice would be to gain the ability to hug back.

Finally, let me wish everyone a great Christmas. I won't see extended family this year, the first time in at least three decades, but they need to know my heart and love still resides with them.