Peculiarities within the scope of ALS.
I'm acutely aware of my hands. They never lie naturally. They appear every bit as useless as they are. There is a waxen deadness, a reflective cellophanic sheen that prevails over any signs of function. My wrists are spent hinges, folded downward forever.
My arms are at rest always. The left elbow slipping from my armrest at the least movement of my chair, at every sneeze. I cannot lift it. My thumb often jams inward and downward. I cannot move it. Ouch.
It is difficult to manipulate food in my mouth. Sometimes the flavor of a bite escapes my lips and fills my beard. I'm unable to chew with my mouth closed. I am thus rude.
My sense of touch is altered. All skin feels rough.
I've become a lousy kisser. Check that. Lousier.
I'm unable to control the breathing function. I breathe randomly from my mouth and nose. This makes it hard to blow my schnozz. Congestion is a nightmare.
My neck is balancing a leaden gourd.
Fingernails continue to grow at an alarming rate.
Less friction means more hair. Lots of it. Everywhere.
I can no longer sit up because my ass has apparently reformed itself into a beach ball.
I have much more time to think but I don't.
I don't talk for various reasons, primary of which I would prefer people presume me to be ignorant rather than to know it.
While dying is not an option, neither is living like this. Something has got to give. It will.
I'm acutely aware of my hands. They never lie naturally. They appear every bit as useless as they are. There is a waxen deadness, a reflective cellophanic sheen that prevails over any signs of function. My wrists are spent hinges, folded downward forever.
My arms are at rest always. The left elbow slipping from my armrest at the least movement of my chair, at every sneeze. I cannot lift it. My thumb often jams inward and downward. I cannot move it. Ouch.
It is difficult to manipulate food in my mouth. Sometimes the flavor of a bite escapes my lips and fills my beard. I'm unable to chew with my mouth closed. I am thus rude.
My sense of touch is altered. All skin feels rough.
I've become a lousy kisser. Check that. Lousier.
I'm unable to control the breathing function. I breathe randomly from my mouth and nose. This makes it hard to blow my schnozz. Congestion is a nightmare.
My neck is balancing a leaden gourd.
Fingernails continue to grow at an alarming rate.
Less friction means more hair. Lots of it. Everywhere.
I can no longer sit up because my ass has apparently reformed itself into a beach ball.
I have much more time to think but I don't.
I don't talk for various reasons, primary of which I would prefer people presume me to be ignorant rather than to know it.
While dying is not an option, neither is living like this. Something has got to give. It will.
Right. Finally! You have NO option but to heal so let's get about it! We have healed every other symptom except the muscle weakness. Time to get up off your beach ball butt and start working out!!
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