You wanna know why?

There is a reason I'm still alive. It's not what you think. It's not what I think.

Do understand that, given the opportunity I'd have found a way to end my life years ago. It just never materialized. Something always got in the way of success. Either a grandson was coming or relatives were to visit or Dexter was on or Nick was playing or Rachel had to take me for a ride in her Jeep or Sarah had to ask me something about God or Amy needed my advice on something or my blog needed writing or Facebook was missing me or the nurse was coming over or I had to pee or the sun was out or the mosquitoes were too thick or Amy had to pee or it was Lent or it was too early or it was too dark  or a dog was barking or a little lizard was in the house or Alex was being Alex or Isaac built a Lego Spacecraft or Asa bit my toe or Rodney Dangerfield was alive and well, living next door or the van was broken or my newly ordered Tesla was pink with  Mary Kay sticker in the rear window, or, or, or........

I don't seem to have the time to get anything done.

Not about the problem with facilitation....

I'm just too busy.

Historical bearing

This blog will be four years old come July 12th. It has endured the decimation of my ability to communicate. The scope and creativity that thrived in the first year, when most of my degeneration was imagined and put to word, has been gradually supplanted with the reality of experience. Frightening is how horrific was my description. More frightening is how accurate was my prediction. Wordsmiths forgive my terrible sentence structure, but it works for me.

When I read my older posts, I find less naivete than I would have expected. In the grand scheme, I was all too "spot on" for my own good. The machinations of my ALS nightmare are crystallized before they were realized. How can this be? Perhaps my predictions were simply intended to be the guide to materialize my future. Maybe I'm living the prophesy according to Tracy, self fulfilling. Write what you believe, believe what you write. Think about it. I may have created my own monster. If I'd not been so graphic, so colorful, mightn't I be living a more sedate horror?

Far be it from me to expand on self blame. I've used up every morsel of that shit. There is nothing left but reminiscence. Look back at my early efforts. They spell out my future perfectly. Rather than having imagined my future in the entries of this blog, I created it.

Nobody can brainwash me like me.

Devices

An artificial appendage now protrudes from beneath my left front ribcage. The quarter inch device extends ten inches from wound to valve, a complexity of turn buttons and insertion points akin to a Rube Goldberg delivery device. It dangles to and fro, often tugging my flesh as gravity dictates from my position. Welcome to the Lopez Valve.

Even after a week my body is still trying to reject the tube. On occasion the muscles surrounding the insertion location convulse and move the tube in and out.

As fluid and sludge is injected into my stomach I feel it pour in; cool, warm, gassy, unpleasant......

The psychological effect brought about by observation of the process is stunningly depressing. I wouldn't have thought it so. For me, this is only until I'm cured or dead. An eternity either way.

The Trilogy breathing apparatus discussion is for another day.

Don't get me wrong, these devices help me. I'm just pissed off that I've come to the point where they are necessary.

Road to insanity

I'm out of ideas. The discomfort I'm feeling is only eclipsed by the pain that comes and goes like a cowardly harbinger of death continuously missing the mark of the Assignment. I'm simply the butt of a perilously close example of failed accomplishment, teetering on the brink of dumb luck success. Of this I am sure to be worthy in as much as a victim of his own circumstance can muster. I'm not saying more than is implied by my actions. I piss off the pious by not resigning everything to the mercy of God. I alienate those who bring alternative remedies too far fetched for my knockwurst brain to accept. I anger those who think I fail with intention to comprehend the mind/body experience.

The things that go through my mind are pathetic when compared to the entity that has infiltrated my body. I've largely failed to successfully render the key to unlock my debacle. If for some reason I were lucky enough to open the door it would likely kill my ass on the way out.

If you think I'm losing it you would be correct.

Feeding tube adventure

The feeding tube installation process included poking a large needle through my abdominal wall and perforating my stomach. The inside keeper is an inflated balloon and the outside keeper is a sliding Button of sorts, cinching the two together and positioning the gut against the abdominal muscle. According to the surgeon, I have significant muscle. This presents a problem. When my gut spasms, which is often, the action causes the button and balloon to separate. Upon the finish of the involuntary action the button and balloon slide back together. I feel it and swear I can hear it. Does it hurt? Of course. Will it continue? So far it has. We'll see.

Not worthy of title

One sentence : Still feel like dog shit but now I'm geared up with contraptions.

A downer

Being both tired and out of breath and unable to move and unable to talk and sick to my stomach and scared of the surgery and knowing I'm coming out of that surgery being both tired and out of breath and unable to move and unable to talk and sick to my stomach is disconcerting.

One thing is certain : Surviving is beginning to be a painful pipe dream. The realities are trumping my idealism. I need not to measure the quality of life on a daily basis as the length of the measurement tends toward the negative.

I apologize for my depressing post. This is just how I feel today.

If you think for one moment that I am brave or heroic, be aware that the only things keeping me from checking out are my cowardice and the lack of ability for me to call hospice. That, and the many friends and family members who would be disappointed and sad with the news of my exit. Add Amy to the mix and the deal is sealed. I'm just saying that this is no picnic. It's not like I have a choice.

Don't fret. In an hour I'll think differently. I never stay on task. I love that about me, so easily distracted and influenced