Hi there

I return from a brief hiatus.
       As an update, I offer you my current state of condition.

I can still think.
I can still stand with help.
I  can still eat.
I can still smile.
I can still enjoy Amy.
I can still love.
I can still mumble.
I can still email.
I can still blog.
I can still facebook.
I can still read.
I can still be sarcastic.
I can still make love.
I can still get in trouble!
I can still be a jerk.
I can still influence others.
I can still have fun.

I can't think of anything I can't do.

Am I back?

If this post is lengthy, then my eyegaze is working for me. If not, not. I hate brevity by necessity. I grow instantly weary when my eyes fail to negotiate with the keyboard. I am far from aplomb in my recent optional dictation. I lack any visual dexterity today.
It's not an eye problem that denies me. It's the day. It's my present temperament. My position relative to the optics, tis. My mood, tis.
Soon I may have funding for my PC eye go.
Hypnosis helps me to sleep.
No more Percocet.
American Idol is on and my evenings are no longer my own.
American Idol allows me to spend the evenings with Amy.
Cold in Dallas is not cold in Peoria.


I'm sorry that people suffer because I do.
I'm sorry that my best friend cannot communicate with me because he fails to recognize that I am the same guy I've always been, at least as needy as he is sad. He has no words and I'm still all ears, wanting.
I'm sorry for being so often dismal.
I'm sorry for underappreciating everything and everybody I have.
I'm sorry that I can't teach my grandsons Taekwondo.
I'm sorry that I'm sorry.

I'm not sorry that I still live and breathe.
I'm not sorry that I belabour every point I make.

Don't allow yourselves to be uninfluenced by my words.
ALS is a vehicle for hypercommunication.

Take away mobility and speech and brace for a maelstrom perpetrated by the loss of both, a funnel projected outward from the constricted sources in my head. I have only one outlet. It packs a punch. It flows with nary a distraction, sans filter, a horn of plenty to be feted upon y'all. Ciao.

Short note

The reason I've not posted sooner is complicated. I'm very busy doing nothing and my eyegaze accuracy is on the wane. I will allow Amy to elaborate on my condition.

Hey! I'll be damned!

How does one slow down any process composed of the myriad mechanisms of decomposition of physical mobility without any education pertaining to the core aspects of the original malady?
    The answer is easy. Trick your mind into believing that the only thing wrong with you is being perpetuated by a miscommunication between the subconscious and the voluntary muscle activations delivered by the upper and lower motor neurons located at the rear of the brain and along the spine. Solve that riddle and all is fine.
      The key is also naturally simple. While the brain is a machine, the mind is the machinist. Whatever modality of belief you choose, whether real or imaginary, fact or fiction, if the mind perceives it to be true, the brain and the body will react to the instruction.
      It is not necessary to understand the science of ALS in order to defeat it. This statement is important. IT IS NOT NECESSARY TO UNDERSTAND THE SCIENCE IN ORDER TO DEFEAT ALS.
    It has taken me three years to figure this out. It may take me three more to figure out how to change my mind. Literally.

Clinic

On Friday I had clinic. I gave the letter to him. He was very well informed about the Israel study. He shared the unfortunate details of the study that I also discovered after having posted my letter on my blog. Boston is discussing the merit and authenticity of the study. While all is not lost, any expedition of a serious investigation is years away.
   The facts are : the only patient to show improvement was a man afflicted with both MS and ALS. The study may have merit, but is nowhere near a stage where I could try it out. The  Boston people will be initiating Phase one research if the particulars of the Israel research show promise. I have no chance of any participation in the study.
   A study involving nutritional parameters and the effects of such will be announced in the spring. It has been found that carbohydrate introduction via feeding tube proved detrimental to an ALSer's health. No kidding. Tell me something I don't know.

A letter to my neurologist

Dr. Heitzman,
     Briefly-
Please update me on the status of research initiated in Israel involving the extraction of stem cells from a patients bone marrow for the purpose of cultivation, colonization and re-introduction, either by injection into limbs or directly into the neck and spine.
   I am aware that this study is being pursued in Boston. Is it required that said study must be re-started here in the United States, or will it be continued at level Phase II?
    May I assume that this study will be given orphan status, thus creating a fast track to implementation?
    I would like to know what requirements exist that may preclude my involvement in this study. If it may be required that I travel to Israel in order to expedite treatment, I am ready to board a plane to Tel-Aviv today. What kind of medical communication exists between your office and the Boston clinic doing this research? Also, since it appears, on the surface, that this process does not involve the introduction of a foreign chemical or drug, why is it required that the standard, lengthy, protracted, politically influenced and financially weighted process be adhered to?
   I am more than ready to rid myself of this insidious disease. I am more than willing to take the road less traveled in search of any modality that can produce results. I don't have the luxury of time required to allow for science to get behind treatment.
     Please investigate the "out of the box" possibilities for me. My simple goal is to solve this riddle on your watch. I have great respect for you. I ask for the moon and the stars, I know. Be aware that I am anything but typical, that I am stronger than anybody knows, and I have too much to offer the world to be locked up in this physical prison.
   A segue: why do the nutritionists at clinic not educate us about MSG, free radicals, cell health, detoxification, auto-immune system nutrition, brain health or proper alkaline/acid balance?
   And yes, I personally wrote this on my Tobii, using my eyes, one painstaking letter at a time.
      I am SO done with this.
Thank you for your patience,
Sincerely,
      Tracy Boettcher

A teaser. Ha Ha He He

Shorty 1

      Martin caressed the Glock and put it down on the table, kicking the footrest out and pushing back on his broken down recliner. Every day had grown long lately but today had been exceptionally bad. He hated collateral damage, especially kids. Sometimes the situation called for improvisation, which usually meant killing a wife or a girlfriend or, in this case, the guy's daughter. Yessir, today was bad. One of the worst.
      The room was dark enough for Martin to ease into a light sleep. He dozed for about an hour when his cell jarred him awake. It was after eleven, and he knew who it was. He let it ring. After a few moments he picked up. "Yeah". Martin listened, frowned, hung up. He instinctively reached for the Glock, checked the magazine, fingered the trigger, momentarily slipping the barrel into his mouth, tasting oil. One small squeeze would solve everything, but it didn't come. He sucked the metallic grease as he pulled the gun free and returned it to the table.
      The kid didn't die. A bullet to the head and she didn't die. Strangely, he was relieved. A part of him smiled inside. A single tear slipped to his cheek. He again lifted the pistol, determined to finish the job, hesitating with his mouth half open, breath like gun oil. He moved the Glock to his temple and thought of the girl, alive, with a wound in her temple. Martin moved the weapon to his chest. It was pointless. He never suspected that killing himself would be his toughest task.
      The movies never got it right. Guys got hit on the head and fell unconscious. They got shot and fell dead. Nobody he shot ever just fell dead. Nobody. The movies glamorized killing, dying. Most of his targets continued talking or crying after he shot them and all of them shit their pants. A man dying was a sad and pathetic sight. They always suffered, even the ones shot in the head. He always shot them twice to shorten their death throe. Always. Except for the girl tonight. It was a sign.
     Martin picked up his cell and stared at the touch pad, almost bringing himself to call. He tossed the phone on the table and grabbed the Glock.

To be continued........

Kite segue

Kites. On the first of January Me, Amy, Tim, Sarah, Alex, Isaac, Rachel and Asa strolled down to the lake with the idea of flying a kite and feeding some of the multitudes of birds post perching and wind gliding upon the variant gale.  
     
      I used to be a rather creative kite enthusiast.

   Second grade. Set aloft my first box kite, paper not plastic, lost it to a low flying airplane bent on landing at a nearby airport.
   Set a kite 1200 feet up, lost it.
   At a rest stop, with my kids, spun a kite off the end of the reel.
   More later.