Monday, June 12, 2017

The Last Laugh....Based On A True Story-Chapter 1...Beginning With A Fine Ending

Chapter one has now been successfully translated... and is again attached to the bottom of the English version.

http://jasonwolfer.blogspot.com/2017/06/the-last-laugh based-on-true-story.html

Here is the audio version....www.youtube.com/watch?v=cYcECtvCAfM

Copy of IMG_0945.JPG
At First ….The words of Melissa Wolfer (wife)...

It was little things in the beginning.  It was hard to know if they meant anything, Jason had never been accused of being graceful if you understand what I'm saying.  There were more than his share of car wrecks, lost items and tragically gone awry projects. Lady Luck was not his friend.  So when he started running into door frames, taking multiple tries to pick up things and had some injuries at work, I wasn’t sure if it meant more than just general clumsiness.  When I asked him about it, it didn’t SEEM like it had been happening for a long time, it had happened so gradually. We thought it was probably an inner ear thing, easily curable.  We went to the family physician.  He put Jason through about two coordination tests and instantly referred him to a neurologist.  Looking back, I don't think that we were that alarmed.  Again, the minute-by-minute life as you live it out does not seem monumental.  

                                      

So, it began.  First, the neurologist ruled out a vitamin deficiency (by the way, I was hoping for this one), a heart condition, and a nerve condition.  Guess what that left?  The brain!  An MRI revealed that Jason’s cerebellum was about half the size it should have been.  The local neurologist referred us to the big city to confirm his initial diagnosis.



We loaded up the minivan and rolled into the dreaded traffic of a major city.  We nervously found our way to the hospital (this was before GPS) and found a parking space.  We sat in a waiting room and watched as patient after patient arrived and left.  These folks were in MUCH worse shape than Jason, what were we doing here? There must be some mistake.



The much-esteemed doctor arrived and observed Jason for what seemed like five minutes and loudly announced that he indeed had a neurological condition, he would be using a walker soon and in a wheelchair within the next five to ten years. Thank you very much, don’t let the door hit you on the way out and make sure to pay.



The drive home was a blur for us … tears, disbelief, uncertainty … what could this, what does this mean?  We shared the news with family and church, and then life continued. Jason would see a specialist every once in a while. His condition did slowly deteriorate but not in any significant way that appears to be noticeable to someone in the same house.



                               ……………………………………………………..

   The day had finally arrived: The day that I had decided on attempting to write a book.

   The results of this effort lay in the pages that you are holding in your hand, and yes, this was the best that I could do. When I began this project, I asked myself what is it that I wanted to say, what are the ideas that I wanted to impart to readers?

   I mean, I knew from the start how I wanted the book to end. I knew that I wanted to leave all of you with a summing up of just what it is that I believe my Spinocerebellar Ataxia had shown to me over the last thirteen years.

   The question in my mind then became one of wondering if I wanted to wait until the last chapter to finally become serious? No, I thought, that really wouldn’t do….because what if this whole writing-my-own-book thing doesn’t turn out, and most of the people who start reading this book don’t finish it? They would probably write me off as a very silly, out of touch person, and doing so would be a monumental tragedy. (Well, sort of a bad thing, and a monumental travesty in my eyes.)

   The other thing I considered was that I didn’t want to set my readers up for any form of failure. If you, the reader, would decide to quit before the last chapter, then this decision may lead to a feeling of inability to accomplish one of the goals that you may have established for yourself. Because goals are something that I see as important, and I have created two goals for myself where SCA is concerned: to take one day at a time and to keep moving forward always, even though I may stumble backward more than once (well, several times) each day.

   Therefore with the reader in mind, and with the whole staying-oriented-towards-personal-goals theme that I was just talking about, (refer to the above paragraph if you have already forgotten and need a refresher), I have decided to begin the book by starting with the last chapter.

   This way you can read all the way, starting with the daunting several-paragraph Foreword, and move on to the ending of the book. At this point, you can now quit in the knowledge that you have finished, officially having read the last chapter and therefore can check off another goal as completed: another book finished. Congratulations!

   Of course, who are we kidding here, because now we all know that the ending is, in reality, just the beginning and any declaration that you finished the book is only correct on a technicality. It is only a partial truth. Sorry if this all seems to be a tiny bit confusing, I will now endeavor to move on from this circular form of logic and put an end to the whole discussion by beginning the book now…. with my final thoughts, as promised:

   Everything that I have come to understand about my life with SCA, all that I have experienced from my diagnosis in 2003 to my current life experiences, lies in the body of one quote. It is a quote that I first became aware of about a year ago, and one that has become a part of the strength in my life. It has also begun to play an integral role in my desire and motivation to see that others grasp their physical handicap in a positive and constructive way.

   “The hammer that shatters the glass is the same hammer that shapes the metal.” It is a quote that is said to be an old Russian saying. Was it? Well, I can’t say that I know anything about whether it was, or it wasn't, as this quote was heard on a television program….but whatever the case may be, I feel that it fits here perfectly. Because for me, the hammer in this quote was and continues to be Spinocerebellar Ataxia, and when it arrived unannounced on my doorstep it did indeed shatter everything that I thought I knew about my life.

   Thirteen years ago I didn’t have a clear picture; I didn’t understand, what SCA would eventually look like in my life. I did, however, quickly come to feel that ataxia was going to try to break me through intimidation, general frustration, and discouragement. I felt that SCA wanted to push itself into my life while at the same time force the real me out, change me at my core. Why? Because it felt like it wanted to be the one to call all the shots and make all the decisions. My physical life was about to be moved in a direction that I never knew existed or had even thought was a possibility for my future. It made me more unclear than I had ever been before, and this hurt. I experienced uncertainty, and within that experience, I had a broad range of emotions and feelings to choose from, all of them leaning heavily towards being negative: anger, despair, and isolation.

  As time passed, I came to realize that I didn’t have to stay in that place. I came to understand that I now had two new possibilities before me: I could remain shattered, or I could work with, through and in spite of my new physical challenges. I grabbed any lifeline that I could grab that promised to pull me past myself and my newly-shattered life. However, I soon discovered that I was trying to move forward under my own power and through self-motivation. (I was still trying to assert control on my terms.) Ataxia was proving to be a force that was bigger than what I could handle on my own.

  In May of two thousand and twelve, I had to leave my full-time job because of the ceaseless and remorseless inner workings of SCA. This circumstance led to a time of re-evaluation in my life. I began to reach out … and for the first time, I earnestly searched for the support and encouragement from other people whose lives were presently undergoing an invasion, in the same way as mine.

   Before I go any further, however, allow to me to back up a little, and explain to anyone who is reading this, and yet does not have a clear understanding of just exactly what the facts surrounding Spinocerebellar Ataxia are. SCA is a neurological disease that causes an atrophy or breakdown of the Cerebellum. The Cerebellum is an organ that has come to be known as the little brain. It is known by this name because it lies just below and slightly in back of the brain. The Cerebellum is responsible for filtering messages from the brain…. And then in turn re-sending those messages to various nerves located throughout the body, via the Spinal Cord. Once the impulses, and messages have been received by the relevant nerve, the corresponding muscles are then directed to do their part, in the performance and movement of routine tasks. Everyday movements, such as walking, running, and coordinated arm movements are just a few examples of this process. Many or most of an affected body’s motor functions are grossly limited to one degree or another.

   A degenerating Cerebellum means that these messages, or reflex impulses, are now either being sent as incomplete signals to the nerves or not at all.  Individuals with this disease are now highly compromised in areas of balance, like walking, and most of the areas that are common everyday processes…. things that are done on a regular basis, and that most people don’t even think about from one moment to the next. Everything now becomes a challenge...from eating and breathing to tying your shoes or getting yourself dressed.

   So, back to May of 2012, it was exciting for me to discover that there was indeed a support group that met on a monthly basis near where I live, and in September of that year, I began attending. I learned many wonderful things, including this thought that occurred to me almost immediately: The idea that my life had always been in need of involvement on a personal level. I had been needing the personal interaction, the kind that only comes from meeting with other people, and letting them share and project themselves into my life. I was long overdue to have an honest face-to-face meeting with my disease.  I needed to confront my neurological nemesis, look it straight in the eyes, and let it know that it was no longer the one who was going to call all the shots.

   The social and emotional interaction with other people in the support group setting soon became a precious thing in my life. I went on to become the leader of this support group, and later, because I believe so strongly in the concept of meeting with other people who live with SCA, I started a second meeting in another city where I saw a need.

   I have come through many experiences with SCA, and I now find myself at a place where I firmly believe that I need to see the hammer-that-shatters instead as, or also as, the-hammer-that-reshapes-the-metal. For me, this concept plays out in the thought that SCA has allowed me to begin to blend with other people, like a strong metal. It has allowed me to share in, and about other experiences, which has made me a stronger, a better understanding, and a more compassionate person.

   Please don’t misunderstand what I am saying. There are still many undesirable physical effects of SCA, for which there has been absolutely no love lost. I really can’t imagine that I will ever enjoy the experience of making multiple attempts at putting a lid back on a bottle or walking like a drunken sailor, or randomly choking on any and everything, including the air that I breathe.

   However, there were several steps that I had to take before I could arrive at this place (the place of being able to feel and acknowledge any form of acceptance, or even gratitude).

   The beginning of the journey for me was the road to acceptance. I had to realize that all of my wishes that the diagnosis was not real, and my anger at the whole seemingly unfair situation were not going to change a thing. As a matter of fact, I realized that those empty wishes and a hostile attitude would only produce other unhappy people around me. I could become entrenched in bitterness, and live to be a grumpy and miserable old man, or I could choose to give myself the permission that I needed to be me, (while acknowledging that I would still feel frustrated at times) and to move on from that place. I also had to embrace my disease, and learn to work with it, around it, and in spite of it. I had to arrive at a place where I am okay with who I am, and the challenges that are continuously a part of my life.

   I have also come to understand that I am in the position that I find myself currently in, because of the SCA. Which leads me to a final thought, and encouragement to you the reader that I would like to leave with you as the book comes to a close … (you know before you might go on to start the book). It is the idea that we all have struggles and frustrations that have been brought about by our different forms of handicap. Those of us with disabilities have also experienced varying degrees of success, have discovered large quantities of valuable knowledge, and over the years have found a wealth of humor. Humor that helps us deal with the reality of our situation. Let me tell you, humor is incredibly valuable, and it can be a very powerful thing in someone else’s life. Humor can bring a certain amount of healing, and give us a boost of strength as we try to cope every day with our struggles.

   Do not ever underestimate your importance, my friend. I encourage all of you to take any opportunity you can to share your life experiences with SCA with someone who might be currently struggling. Hearing from other people who were open and willing to share their struggles, victories, and successes showed me that a victorious life inside SCA is possible. It made a world of difference in my life. I would like to see it make a difference in someone else’s life also.




Aqui está uma versão áudio (inglês)....www.youtube.com/watch?v=cYcECtvCAfM


No início....As palavras da Melissa Wolfer (minha esposa)...
Eram poucas e pequenas coisas no início.  Era difícil saber se estas tinham algum significado, o Jason não era conhecido por ser gracioso, se entende o que eu quero dizer.  Teve mais que a sua cota de acidentes de carro, percas e projectos que tragicamente não tiveram sucesso. A Sorte não estava do seu lado.  Então, quando ele começou a ir contra os aros das portas, fazer várias tentativas para pegar as coisas e fez alguns ferimentos no trabalho, eu não tinha certeza que isso significava mais do que apenas uma falta de jeito geral.  Quando o questionei sobre isso, não parecia que estava a acontecer já algum  tempo, foi acontecendo de forma gradual. Nós pensamos que era, provavelmente, um problema do ouvido interno, facilmente tratável.  Fomos ao médico de família.  Ele fez dois testes de coordenação ao Jason e encaminhou-o imediatamente para um neurologista.  Olhando para trás, penso que não ficámos muito assustados.  Então a vida que se vivia  no dia-a-dia, não parecia um problema monumental.  
                                      
Então, assim iniciou.  Primeiro, o neurologista descartou a possibilidade de uma deficiência de vitaminas (eu desejava que fosse isso), um problema cardíaco ou neurológico.  Adivinhe o que sobrou?  O cérebro!  Uma ressonância magnética revelou que o cerebelo do Jason tinha cerca de metade do tamanho que deveria ter tido.  Os neurologistas locais referiram-nos para a cidade maior para confirmar o seu diagnóstico inicial.


Nós carregámos o carro e enfrentamos o temido tráfego de uma grande cidade.  Nervosamente descobrimos o caminho para o hospital (isto antes do GPS) e encontramos  um espaço para estacionar.  Sentámo-nos na sala de espera, e vimos como paciente após paciente entrava e saía.  Estas pessoas estavam muito pior que o Jason, o que estávamos a fazer ali? Deve haver algum engano.


O muito estimado médico chegou e observou o Jason durante o que pareceu cinco minutos e em voz alta, anunciou que ele, de fato, tinha uma doença neurológica, e que brevemente iria necessitar de um andador e nos próximos cinco ou dez anos uma cadeira de rodas. Despediu-se com um muito obrigado, não deixe que a porta lhe bata ao  sair e não se esqueça de pagar.


A viagem para casa foi muito confusa para nós ... lágrimas, a descrença, a incerteza ... o que seria isto, o que é  que isto significa?  Nós partilhamos a notícia com a família e na igreja, e depois a vida continuou. O Jason iria ser seguido por um especialista, de vez em quando. Ele piorou lentamente, mas não de maneira significativa perceptível para alguém vivendo na mesma casa.
   Finalmente chegou o dia: O dia que eu tinha decidido tentar escrever um livro.
   Os resultados desse esforço está nas páginas que tem nas suas mãos, e sim, este foi o melhor que eu podia fazer. Quando comecei este projecto, eu questionei o que é que eu queria dizer, quais são as ideias que eu queria transmitir aos leitores?


   Quero dizer, eu sabia, desde o início, como eu queria que o livro terminasse. Eu sabia que eu queria deixar a todos vós, um resumo de exactamente o que é que eu acredito que a minha Ataxia  Spinocerebelosa me tinha mostrado ao longo dos últimos treze anos.


   De seguida a minha pergunta era,  se queria esperar até ao último capítulo para, finalmente, tornar-me sério? Não, eu pensei, que realmente isso não iria acontecer .... caso isto de escrever o-meu-próprio-livro  não acontecesse, e se a maioria das pessoas que iniciaram a leitura deste livro não o terminarem? Provavelmente iriam classificar-me como parvo, fora da realidade, e fazendo isso seria uma tragédia monumental. (Bem, de certa forma, uma coisa ruim, e uma monumental farsa a meu ver.)


   A outra coisa que eu considerei era que eu não queria induzir os meus leitores em qualquer tipo de erro. Se você, leitor, decidir parar antes do último capítulo, esta decisão pode levar a um sentimento de incapacidade para cumprir uma das metas que você poderia estabeleceu para si mesmo. Porque os objectivos são algo que eu vejo como importante, e eu criei dois objectivos para mim no caso da SCA: viver um dia de cada vez e seguir sempre em frente, mesmo que eu possa tropeçar para trás mais do que uma vez (bem, várias vezes) a cada dia.


   Portanto, com o leitor em mente, e com tudo a permanecer-orientado-para o tema das-metas-pessoais que mencionei, (consulte o parágrafo acima se você já se esqueceu e precisa que o relembre), eu decidi começar o livro, começando com o último capítulo.


   Desta forma, você pode ler todo o percurso, começando com os vários parágrafos devastadores do Prefácio, e passar para o fim do livro. Nesta altura, você pode agora acabar sabendo que terminou, oficialmente depois de ter lido o último capítulo e, portanto, pode marcar este objectivo  como concluído: mais um livro terminado. Parabéns!


   Claro, com quem estamos nós a brincar aqui, porque agora que todos nós sabemos o que é o fim, na verdade  apenas o início, e qualquer declaração que você terminou o livro é correcta apenas por uma questão técnica. É apenas uma verdade parcial. Desculpe se tudo isto parece ser um pouco confuso, agora sigo  para sair  deste formato circular de lógica e acabo com toda a discussão, iniciando o livro agora.... com os meus pensamentos finais, como prometido:


   Tudo o que aprendi sobre a minha vida com a SCA, tudo o que eu vivenciei com o meu diagnóstico, em 2003, para a minha vivencia actual, vive no corpo de uma citação. É uma citação que eu tornei conhecimento há cerca de um ano atrás, e que se tornou uma parte da força na minha vida. Também começou a desempenhar um papel fundamental no meu desejo e motivação para que outros entendam a sua limitação física, de um modo positivo e construtivo.


   "O martelo que quebra o vidro é o mesmo martelo que molda o metal." É uma citação dita ser um velho provérbio russo. Foi assim? Bem, eu não posso dizer que sei alguma coisa sobre se era, ou não era, pois ouvi este provérbio num programa televisivo....mas qualquer que seja o caso, eu sinto que se aplica aqui perfeitamente. Porque, para mim, o martelo nesta citação, foi e continua a ser Ataxia Spinocerebelosa, e quando chegou de surpresa a minha porta, atirou por terra tudo o que eu pensava saber sobre a minha vida.


   Há treze anos eu não tinha uma imagem clara; eu não entendia, o que SCA iria ser eventualmente na minha vida. Eu porém, rapidamente comecei a sentir que a Ataxia ia tentar destruir-me através da intimidação, da frustração geral e o desânimo. Eu senti que a SCA queria forçar a sua entrada na minha vida, enquanto, ao mesmo tempo, forçava a minha saída, mudava o meu ser. Por quê? Porque parecia que ela queria ser a única a gerir tudo e tomar todas as decisões. A minha vida física estava prestes a tomar um rumo que eu não  conhecia ou tinha mesmo pensado que fosse uma possibilidade para o meu futuro. Deixou-me mais confuso do que eu já tinha estado anteriormente, e isso dói. Eu vivenciei incertezas, e dentro dessa experiência, eu tive uma ampla gama de emoções e sentimentos para escolher, todos eles se inclinavam pesadamente no sentido de serem negativos: raiva, desespero e isolamento.


  Como o tempo, eu vim a perceber que eu não tinha que me manter naquele lugar. Eu comecei a entender que eu tinha agora duas novas possibilidades diante de mim: Eu poderia ficar destroçado, ou eu poderia trabalhar a favor, através e apesar dos meus novos desafios físicos. Eu agarrei-me a tudo o que me prometesse dar um empurrão para lá de mim e da minha actual vida destroçada. No entanto, logo descobri que eu estava a  tentar avançar com a minha própria força e, através da auto-motivação. (Eu ainda estava a tentar afirmar o controle nos meus termos.) Ataxia estava a ser uma força muito maior do que, o que eu poderia enfrentar sozinho.


  Em Maio de dois mil e doze, eu tive que deixar meu emprego por causa da incessante e cruel funcionamento interno da SCA. Esta situação levou-me a um momento de reavaliação da minha vida. Comecei a procurar ajuda ... e, pela primeira vez, eu sinceramente procurei o apoio e incentivo de outras pessoas cujas vidas estavam também a sofrer uma invasão, tal como a minha.


   Antes de ir mais longe, porém, permita-me recuar um pouco, e explicar ao leitor que está a ler isto e ainda não tem um entendimento claro sobre exactamente os fatos que cercam Ataxia Spinocerebelosa. A SCA é uma doença neurológica que causa uma atrofia ou colapso do Cerebelo. O Cerebelo é um órgão que se tornou conhecido como o cérebro pequeno. É conhecido por este nome, porque está em baixo  na parte de trás do cérebro. O Cerebelo é responsável pela filtragem de mensagens do cérebro.... E por sua vez reenviar essas mensagens para vários nervos localizados por todo o corpo, através da medula espinal. Uma vez que os impulsos e as mensagens foram recebidos pelos relevantes  nervos, os músculos correspondentes são, então, accionados para fazer a sua parte, no exercício e movimento de tarefas de rotina. Movimentos diários, tais como caminhar, correr, e movimentos dos braços coordenados, são apenas alguns exemplos destes processos. Muitas ou a maioria das funções motoras do corpo estão grosseiramente limitadas de uma forma ou outra.


   Uma degeneração do Cerebelo significa que essas mensagens, ou reflexo de impulsos, estão agora a ser enviados como sinais incompletos ou nem sequer são enviados aos nervos.  Os indivíduos com esta doença estão fortemente comprometidos em áreas de equilíbrio, como andar, e na maioria das áreas que são necessárias nos processos diários comuns.... coisas que são feitas regularmente, e que a maioria das pessoas nem sequer pensam nelas de um momento para o outro. Tudo agora se torna num desafio...desde comer e respirar até atar os sapatos ou vestir-se.


   Então, em Maio de 2012, foi emocionante para mim, descobrir que havia de fato um grupo de apoio que se reunia mensalmente, perto da minha residência, e que em Setembro do mesmo ano, comecei a frequentar. Eu aprendi muitas coisas maravilhosas, incluindo este pensamento que me ocorreu quase que imediatamente: A ideia de que a minha vida tinha sido sempre necessário o envolvimento num nível pessoal. Eu tinha a necessidade da interacção pessoal, do tipo que só vem de se reunir com outras pessoas e deixá-las partilhar e projectar-se na minha vida. Eu há muito deveria enfrentar a minha doença.  Eu necessitava de enfrentar a minha nemesis neurológica, enfrentá-la, e que não era eu que mandava em tudo.


   A interacção social e emocional, com outras pessoas no ambiente do grupo de apoio, rapidamente se tornou uma coisa preciosa na minha vida. Tornei-me no líder do grupo de apoio, e, mais tarde, porque eu acredito fortemente no conceito de reunir com outras pessoas que vivem com SCA, eu iniciei uma segunda reunião noutra cidade onde eu vi, que havia a necessidade.


   Passei por muitas experiências com SCA, e agora estou numa posição onde eu acredito firmemente que preciso ver o martelo que despedaça ao invés de um, ou também, o-martelo-que-molda-o-metal. Para mim, este conceito desempenha no pensamento de que a SCA permitiu-me começar a lidar com outras pessoas, como com um metal forte. Tem me permitido partilhar em, e sobre outras experiências, o que me tornou mais forte, uma pessoa mais compreensiva, e com mais compaixão.


   Por favor, não entenda mal o que eu estou a dizer. Existem ainda muitos efeitos físicos da SCA que são indesejáveis, para os quais não sinto absolutamente nenhuma paixão. Eu realmente não posso imaginar que nunca vou ter a experiência de fazer várias tentativas de colocar uma tampa numa garrafa ou andar a pé como um marinheiro bêbado, ou aleatoriamente engasgar-me com tudo, inclusive o ar que respiro.


   Porém, existem vários passos que eu tinha de fazer antes que pudesse chegar a este lugar (o lugar de ser capaz de sentir e reconhecer qualquer forma de aceitação, ou mesmo de gratidão).


   O início da viagem, para mim, era o caminho para a aceitação. Eu tinha que perceber que todos os meus desejos de que o diagnóstico não era real, e a minha raiva na aparentemente injusta situação não iam alterar  nada. De facto, eu percebi que esses desejos vazios e a atitude hostil seriam apenas fazer outras pessoas  à minha volta infelizes. Eu poderia mergulhar em amargura, e viver para ser um velho mal-humorado e infeliz, ou eu poderia escolher permitir-me a ser eu, (apesar de reconhecer que eu ainda me sinto frustrado, às vezes), e sair daquele lugar. Eu também tive que aceitar a minha doença, e aprender a funcionar com ela, em torno dela, e apesar dela. Eu tinha que chegar a onde eu estou bem com quem sou, e os desafios que serão continuamente uma parte da minha vida.


   Eu também comecei a entender que eu estou na posição em que me encontro actualmente, por causa da SCA. O que me leva a um pensamento final, e um encorajamento para si, o leitor, que eu gostaria de deixar para si no final do livro ... (você sabe  antes que você inicie o livro). É a ideia de que todos nós temos lutas e frustrações que foram trazidas pelas nossas várias formas de deficiência. Aqueles de nós com deficiências também vivenciaram variados graus de sucesso, descobriram grandes quantidades de conhecimentos valiosos, e ao longo dos anos têm encontrado uma riqueza de humor. O Humor é que nos ajuda a lidar com a realidade da nossa situação. Deixe-me dizer-lhe, que o humor é muito valioso, e pode ser uma coisa muito poderosa na vida de alguém. O Humor pode trazer uma certa quantidade de cura, e para nos dar um impulso de força conforme tentamos lidar todos os dias com nossas as lutas.


   Jamais subestime sua importância, meu amigo. Eu encorajo-vos a todos a aproveitar qualquer oportunidade para partilhar a suas experiências de vida com SCA com alguém que possa estar a enfrentar a mesma luta. Ouvir outras pessoas que estejam abertos e dispostos a partilhar as suas lutas, vitórias e sucessos  mostrando-me  que uma vida vitoriosa dentro de SCA é possível. Fez uma grande diferença na minha vida. Eu gostaria de ver também fazer a diferença na vida de alguém.

Sunday, June 4, 2017

The Last Laugh.... Based On True Story-The Foreword

the link to the audio version:www.youtube.com/watch?v=MyYFcZfx3T0&t=37s

About a year ago, over the period of several months, I wrote a foreword, seventeen chapters, and a conclusion. My reason for doing this was to one day publish a book. My whole family was involved, with Melissa providing the artistic work for all the chapter headers. The children (who are now young adults) and Melissa also wrote little introductions at the beginning of each chapter....providing their feelings and views of my life as I have dealt with Ataxia over the last fourteen years.

As I said, my aspirations were on the publication of a book. Over time it has become evident that it would fit better into my current life circumstances to simply post each concurrent chapter on my blog. One of my purposes in writing the book was to get it into the hands of all of you who regularly read my blogs. Over the three-plus years that I have been sharing my thoughts with you all I have been encouraged by several people that I should write a book.

So, that's what I did....and I can think of no better way to get that project to you, my friends than to share it through my blog. So the plan, starting with this foreword, is to post a new chapter every Monday. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did in writing it.

Foreword

  Life, for me, began just a little over fifty-two years ago at my conception. The first nine months were a time that was marked by several changes (a few too many to mention) and personal growth. Even though it was a very sheltered kind of life for those first nine months, a lot of fascinating things and adventures happened to me during this period…… but these are stories for another day.

  However, once I was born, that's when I began to accumulate some very intriguing life experiences. I don't remember much….okay, I don't remember anything, but I've heard stories, and they sounded very absorbing. A full-blown, firsthand account of my childhood doesn't begin to come into focus in my mind's eye until I'm the age of twenty-one. I'm joking, of course….I have small flashes of memories starting at the age of four or five when I was awarded my first set of eyeglasses, (really, there was fanfare and everything), which stayed with me until they were gone, somewhere around the age of eighteen.

  I will never forget the love/hate relationship that I had with my glasses. For the better part of my childhood and adolescence, I felt naked whenever my glasses were not resting snugly in position on my face because I had a lazy eye that would only stay straight when it was being encouraged to do so by the prescription lenses.

  I was very cautious about being seen without them, as I always felt that if someone were to look straight into my face for more than a half a second, that they might start to wonder if I was the product of inbreeding. Once the muscles around the eye began, themselves, to go to the gym to workout and build their own muscles up, they were gradually able to start to do their job again.....which was to work towards the goal of keeping things straight.

  After a time, during which the varying strengths of the lenses were gradually reduced as the muscles were growing in strength, the glasses were no longer needed. I guess I should clarify and admit that I had, for the most part, stopped wearing my glasses whenever possible several years before this. I mean, it was the eighties, and glasses just were not cool, and they were cramping my style, (or at least they would have if I had had the forethought to get a style).

  Besides, they used to fog up something terrible whenever I came inside from the cold, rain, or the mere hint of outside air. My mother at the time (and still my mom) however, remained convinced that this was a rather significant mistake, and that I would someday remember all the special times that I had had with my glasses. She liked to remind me that I had formed a friendship and a bond with the spectacles. One day I would come to miss this connection, and this would cause me to come crawling back. I have to admit that a small part of mom's prediction did come true, too….as I discovered around the age of thirty that I actually did begin to miss being referred to as four-eyes by my peers. It was such a special feeling.


  However, that's enough about the glasses. The current writing is supposed to be a book about my experiences, and views concerning the time in my life that I spend with the existence and very real presence of Spinocerebellar Ataxia, or SCA for short. You may be a skeptic, and as you read these words are doubting the very existence of SCA. Let me assure you right now that SCA is real….oh yes, my friends, it is all too real.

In the following few chapters, I will endeavor to spell out for you exactly how Ataxia has affected my current life.


This is me pretending to be a tree...... can you tell where I stop and the tree keeps going? 
The forward of my book... The Last Laugh, Based On A True Story...has now been translated into Portuguese.... Thanks to the work of Isabel Alfaiate! Cerca de um ano atrás, durante o período de vários meses, eu escrevi um prefácio, dezassete capítulos e uma conclusão. A minha razão para isso foi a de um dia publicar um livro. Toda a minha família esteve envolvida, com a Melissa oferecendo o trabalho artístico para todos os títulos de capítulo. As crianças (que são agora jovens adultos) e Melissa também escreveram umas pequenas introduções no início de cada capítulo....dando as suas impressões e pontos de vista da minha vida como eu tenho lidado com Ataxia nos últimos catorze anos. Como eu disse, minhas aspirações eram na publicação de um livro. Ao longo do tempo, tornou-se evidente que seria melhor na minha actual situação de vida simplesmente postar cada capítulo no meu blogue. Um dos meus propósitos ao escrever o livro foi para pô-lo nas mãos de todos vós, que lêem os meus blogues. Durante os três anos em que tenho partilhado os meus pensamentos com todos vós, tenho sido encorajado por várias pessoas, que deveria escrever um livro. Então, foi o que fiz....e que não há melhor maneira de conseguir que o projecto vos chegasse, meus amigos, compartilhando-o através do meu blogue. Então, o plano, começando por esta introdução, é de postar um novo capítulo cada segunda-feira. Espero que vocês gostem tanto de o ler como eu do escrever. Prefácio A vida, para mim, começou há pouco mais de cinquenta e dois anos, quando fui concebido. Os nove primeiros meses foram um período de tempo que foi marcado por várias mudanças (muitas para mencionar) e de crescimento pessoal. Apesar dos primeiros nove meses ter sido muito protegidos durante esse período vivenciei um monte de coisas fascinantes e aventuras ....... mas essas histórias são para outro dia. Porem, depois de nascer, comecei a acumular algumas vivencias muito interessantes. Não me lembro muito bem.... está bem, não me lembro de nada, mas já ouvi algumas histórias, e estas soaram muito absorventes. Um relato completo, em primeira mão da minha infância não começou a entrar em foco, na minha mente até aos meus vinte e um anos. Estou a brincar, está claro....Eu tenho pequenas flashes de memórias, a partir dos quatro ou cinco anos, quando eu recebi os meus primeiros óculos, (houve fanfarra e tudo), experiencia que guardei até que eu me livrei deles por volta dos dezoito anos de idade. Eu nunca vou esquecer a relação de amor/ódio que eu tinha com meus óculos. Durante a maior parte da minha infância e adolescência, eu sentia-me nu sempre que meus óculos não estavam descansando confortavelmente no seu ligar sobre o meu nariz, porque eu tinha um olho preguiçoso que apenas permanecia alinhado quando estava sendo encorajado a fazê-lo pelas lentes de prescrição. Eu tinha muito cuidado de não ser visto sem eles, eu sempre senti que, se alguém olhasse directamente para o meu rosto durante mais de meio segundo, poderiam pensar que eu era o resultado de pais com parentesco entre si. Depois dos músculos em redor do olho iniciarem, por si, irem ao ginásio para treinarem e construir os seus próprios músculos, gradualmente conseguiram funcionar novamente..... que era trabalhar compara o objectivo de manter as coisas em ordem. Depois de algum tempo, durante o qual as intensidades variadas de lentes foram gradualmente reduzidas, ao mesmo tempo que os músculos foram melhorando em termos de força, até que os óculos não foram mais necessários. Eu devo esclarecer e admitir que eu tinha, durante a maior parte do tempo, vários anos antes, deixado de usar meus óculos, sempre que possível. Devo dizer, que estávamos na década de oitenta, e simplesmente usar óculos não era moda, e eles não iam com o meu estilo, (ou pelo menos, se eu tivesse pensado nosso, teriam que ter um estilo). Além disso, eles tornavam-se baços sempre que eu vinha do frio, da chuva, para dentro de casa, ou a mera sugestão de ar exterior. Minha mãe na altura (e ainda a minha mãe) estava convencida de que isto era apenas um erro significativo, e que um dia eu me iria se lembrar de todos os bons momentos que eu tive com meus óculos. Ela gostava de me lembrar que eu tinha formado uma amizade e uma ligação com os óculos. Um dia sentiria a falta desta ligação, e isso poderia causar-me rastejar de volta. Eu tenho que admitir que uma pequena parte da previsão da minha mãe tornou-se realidade, muito....como descobri por volta dos trinta anos, tive saudades de ser chamado os quatro-olhos pelos meus colegas. Era um sentimento especial. Porém chega de falar sobre os óculos. O actual texto supostamente será um livro sobre minhas experiências e pontos de vista referente à altura da minha vida em que eu passo a viver com a existência e a presença muito real de Ataxia Spinocerebelosa, ou SCA. Você pode ser um céptico, e enquanto você lê estas palavras está a duvidar da própria existência de SCA. Eu asseguro-lhe agora que a SCA é real....ah, sim, meus amigos, tudo é muito real. Nos próximos capítulos, esforçar-me-ei para lhe explicar exactamente como Ataxia tem afectado a minha vida actual.Cerca de um ano atrás, durante o período de vários meses, eu escrevi um prefácio, dezassete capítulos e uma conclusão. A minha razão para isso foi a de um dia publicar um livro. Toda a minha família esteve envolvida, com a Melissa oferecendo o trabalho artístico para todos os títulos de capítulo. As crianças (que são agora jovens adultos) e Melissa também escreveram umas pequenas introduções no início de cada capítulo....dando as suas impressões e pontos de vista da minha vida como eu tenho lidado com Ataxia nos últimos catorze anos. Como eu disse, minhas aspirações eram na publicação de um livro. Ao longo do tempo, tornou-se evidente que seria melhor na minha actual situação de vida simplesmente postar cada capítulo no meu blogue. Um dos meus propósitos ao escrever o livro foi para pô-lo nas mãos de todos vós, que lêem os meus blogues. Durante os três anos em que tenho partilhado os meus pensamentos com todos vós, tenho sido encorajado por várias pessoas, que deveria escrever um livro. Então, foi o que fiz....e que não há melhor maneira de conseguir que o projecto vos chegasse, meus amigos, compartilhando-o através do meu blogue. Então, o plano, começando por esta introdução, é de postar um novo capítulo cada segunda-feira. Espero que vocês gostem tanto de o ler como eu do escrever. Prefácio A vida, para mim, começou há pouco mais de cinquenta e dois anos, quando fui concebido. Os nove primeiros meses foram um período de tempo que foi marcado por várias mudanças (muitas para mencionar) e de crescimento pessoal. Apesar dos primeiros nove meses ter sido muito protegidos durante esse período vivenciei um monte de coisas fascinantes e aventuras ....... mas essas histórias são para outro dia. Porem, depois de nascer, comecei a acumular algumas vivencias muito interessantes. Não me lembro muito bem.... está bem, não me lembro de nada, mas já ouvi algumas histórias, e estas soaram muito absorventes. Um relato completo, em primeira mão da minha infância não começou a entrar em foco, na minha mente até aos meus vinte e um anos. Estou a brincar, está claro....Eu tenho pequenas flashes de memórias, a partir dos quatro ou cinco anos, quando eu recebi os meus primeiros óculos, (houve fanfarra e tudo), experiencia que guardei até que eu me livrei deles por volta dos dezoito anos de idade. Eu nunca vou esquecer a relação de amor/ódio que eu tinha com meus óculos. Durante a maior parte da minha infância e adolescência, eu sentia-me nu sempre que meus óculos não estavam descansando confortavelmente no seu ligar sobre o meu nariz, porque eu tinha um olho preguiçoso que apenas permanecia alinhado quando estava sendo encorajado a fazê-lo pelas lentes de prescrição. Eu tinha muito cuidado de não ser visto sem eles, eu sempre senti que, se alguém olhasse directamente para o meu rosto durante mais de meio segundo, poderiam pensar que eu era o resultado de pais com parentesco entre si. Depois dos músculos em redor do olho iniciarem, por si, irem ao ginásio para treinarem e construir os seus próprios músculos, gradualmente conseguiram funcionar novamente..... que era trabalhar compara o objectivo de manter as coisas em ordem. Depois de algum tempo, durante o qual as intensidades variadas de lentes foram gradualmente reduzidas, ao mesmo tempo que os músculos foram melhorando em termos de força, até que os óculos não foram mais necessários. Eu devo esclarecer e admitir que eu tinha, durante a maior parte do tempo, vários anos antes, deixado de usar meus óculos, sempre que possível. Devo dizer, que estávamos na década de oitenta, e simplesmente usar óculos não era moda, e eles não iam com o meu estilo, (ou pelo menos, se eu tivesse pensado nosso, teriam que ter um estilo). Além disso, eles tornavam-se baços sempre que eu vinha do frio, da chuva, para dentro de casa, ou a mera sugestão de ar exterior. Minha mãe na altura (e ainda a minha mãe) estava convencida de que isto era apenas um erro significativo, e que um dia eu me iria se lembrar de todos os bons momentos que eu tive com meus óculos. Ela gostava de me lembrar que eu tinha formado uma amizade e uma ligação com os óculos. Um dia sentiria a falta desta ligação, e isso poderia causar-me rastejar de volta. Eu tenho que admitir que uma pequena parte da previsão da minha mãe tornou-se realidade, muito....como descobri por volta dos trinta anos, tive saudades de ser chamado os quatro-olhos pelos meus colegas. Era um sentimento especial. Porém chega de falar sobre os óculos. O actual texto supostamente será um livro sobre minhas experiências e pontos de vista referente à altura da minha vida em que eu passo a viver com a existência e a presença muito real de Ataxia Spinocerebelosa, ou SCA. Você pode ser um céptico, e enquanto você lê estas palavras está a duvidar da própria existência de SCA. Eu asseguro-lhe agora que a SCA é real....ah, sim, meus amigos, tudo é muito real. Nos próximos capítulos, esforçar-me-ei para lhe explicar exactamente como Ataxia tem afectado a minha vida actual.

Friday, May 12, 2017

The Two-Pronged Security Breach

the link to the audio version: www.youtube.com/watch?v=7hHg7BvMBPs&t=9s




There is a little known, but highly vicious viral attack going around, and in two-thousand and three, my personal life was hacked by this Ataxia Worm. The beauty of this kind of attack (I know, I know...using the word beauty to describe any facet of Ataxia is difficult at best...and as I write this I have a little bile rising in my throat) is that it is able to do its destruction right out in plain sight! It doesn’t have to hide and slink it's way around in the shadows...but, Ataxia gets away with worming itself into seemingly secure systems because no one has yet figured out how to stop it.

How is it getting in, you ask? Is there a backdoor that allows Ataxia to infect a host? No, the problem one hundred percent of the time is that the attack comes in the form of a neurological phishing scheme. This is just the beginning of the problem, though. A technician (Neurologist) has to figure out how the worm gained access in the first place. Secondly, they have to try and figure out which part of the system was vulnerable and responded once the worm was in. As soon as it gets accepted into the system, it expands itself throughout...and begins to cause havoc. Not long after the Ataxia worm has been identified, the infected system will start to lag and perform sluggishly.

This system-wide infection is only the first stage of the attack, though. Ataxia, it would seem, is not content with just scrambling the inner workings of the host...oh, no! I said it was a two-pronged attack because Ataxia also goes after your identity...trying to tarnish your good name, reputation and trash your well-established credit. Ataxia is a viral worm AND an identity thief....and since Ataxia uses a two-pronged mode of attack, I will be from this point forward referring to the viral bug of Ataxia as the scourge.  

There are, unfortunately, numerous ways in which the scourge manifests itself once it gets past the Cerebellum Firewall, and it takes on many different forms. Although, as of this date there exists no way in which my infected system can be completely cleansed of every trace of the scourge, luckily, there are steps that I can take to help ensure and maintain a positive outlook and to help things run a little smoother.

#1. A Sense Of Humor….I find to be an invaluable first line of defense. Laughter is something that I can control...not Ataxia, but me. My attitude is that I will keep poking fun at the scourge, and when he has had enough, he knows where the door is. I’m hoping that he will get fed up and leave. This wouldn’t hurt my feelings.

#2. A Proper And Realistic Understanding Of Who I Am….in a lot of ways, I am the same person that I was before the scourge found me. Sure, I’m older, wiser, and just a wee bit more mature….but my basic personality is the same. I still have the same emotions….I still like the same foods, have the same desires, have the same capacities to show love, compassion, and to extend friendship. The bottom-left here is that the scourge will change all of us physically, but it also will go after and try to change us at the very core of who we are. It didn’t need my permission to infect me physically….but in every other area, it does need my consent. Sorry...but I’m not giving it.

#3 Actively Giving And Seeking Support….I believe that we were not created to isolate ourselves but to share ourselves with others...and dealing with the scourge certainly falls within this belief. I didn’t move in any significant way towards a positive life lived in the midst of Ataxia until I sought out other people whose struggles were like mine. There is a strength that comes from sharing our frustrations and victories with others, and hearing theirs. We can learn about ourselves, and see truths about dealing with our personal Ataxia that we may have never seen before….and probably wouldn’t have come to on our own. I embrace the support as being a necessary part of who I am.

#4 Being Honest With Myself And Others About Every Part Of Me….One of the lessons that I learned along time ago is that denying the existence of my Ataxia was not helpful. Doing so was not reducing the problem, but only magnifying it. I discovered that I needed to give myself permission to be me….in the area of the scourge. This may sound obvious to some people…..because really, who else was I going to be? But, if you are dealing with the scourge like I am...or any other personal thorn that’s wormed its way into your system….then hopefully, you’ve come to understand like I have that we don’t get to pick and choose what baggage in life that we have to drag around with us. These things want to weigh us down and hopefully, stop us from making any more forward progress. I found that the best way to combat the scourge that introduced itself into my life was to deny it the power to stop me or shape my outlook on life. (By the way, a thought just occurred to me that if the scourge is really baggage….then I am going to check it the next time I fly anywhere...and then hope that for once the airline loses my luggage)!

Anyway, those few examples are some of the ways, that for me, work to help keep the scourge at bay. I would really like to hear from others about those things that you find helpful….so please leave a comment


Tuesday, April 25, 2017

...And Yet, Another Winter's Battle In The Cold War

    Here is the link to the audio version of my latest blog: https://youtu.be/APWPCRe3FSI

     With Ataxia, there exists nothing that will knock me off my feet quicker than an ill-timed wrenching cough.....which is better know as the dreaded kamikaze-cough. The diabolical little enemy will swoop in silently, in an attempt to try and catch me totally unaware. If I am not able to reach out and grasp something solid to anchor myself to in about a nano-second, then all is lost. The surprise coughing raid was a success, and as the coughing spree flees the battlefield and the latest devastation that it has reeked upon me, I am left crumpled on the ground in a burning heap. Sometimes, during a severe cold, the ruthless little enemy will circle around and hit me again with another round of racking coughs before I have even had time to assess the damage done from the first wave. Talk about taking advantage of a situation and hitting a man when he is already down...

     The common cold doesn't just limit itself to only one weapon, though. It will also use the sneeze, often with excessive frequency, trying to knock me down and keep me off my feet. Although another favored attack in the cold war, the sneeze-maneuver is considered to be slightly less efficient in the realm of sneak attacks because it will pre-announce its impending arrival. Often the warning will be only half a second, but almost always, this advance notice will provide me with just enough time to batten down the hatches. Of course, the sneeze makes up for the slight shortfall in sneakiness, with its sheer ferocity, and the multiple attacks of its delivery.

     Being rather unstable on my feet anyway (thanks, Ataxia)... what I would find to be helpful in these situations would be a backpack that held a heavy metal anchor...one that could be instantly released onto the ground via a door on the bottom of the pack. The weight would be attached to a thick steel chain (the chain would also be very rusty...therefore making it more realistic). This system might actually serve a dual purpose...the extra bulk may help my balance, and it would also allow me to "drop anchor" at any time, thereby stabilizing myself, and significantly reducing the damage done by coughing or sneezing attacks.

     As if being constantly vigilant for sneak attacks by coughing, and frequent sneezing wasn't enough, the cold war comes with some other goodies....like the ever popular nasal congestion. The endless need to blow my nose is bad enough, but the continual necessity to be seated, or to hold on to something first, is really putting a limit on what I can do. It has been said before that some people find it challenging to walk and chew gum at the same time. Well...I am hard pressed to be able to blow my nose and walk at the same time! Between waves of coughing, sneezing, and frequent nose blowing.....I spend most of my time in my recliner.

     For someone who already slurs his words (I find it continually challenging to portray my deep sense of overwhelming debt to Ataxia)...I find the cold to bring with it a further impediment to clear and precise speech. Because of the congestion, my cursive speech will now have noticeably more of a dramatic flair to all the loops, swirls, and overall general flow (refer to the last blog for a definition of cursive speech).

     The cold will soon have run its course though, and I will once again be free from the germ warfare of the cold war for a while....that is, until next winter's campaign.


Saturday, April 15, 2017

And Then I Went On To Say....

   After posting my last blog, which was a compilation of some previous quotes and pictures from previous writings, I decided to do a follow up. This blog contains more samples of things that I wrote in previous blogs, and again, I am including some pictures that I had used in some of those past writings. Hope you enjoy......

                                    ....................................................................................  

   There have been times when I will get the sudden impression that I can run, or at least jog slowly. I used to be a runner, it shouldn't be too hard, my leg muscles should remember this and know what to do, right? Uh, yeah, they're like, "What's this thing called.....running? Nope, sorry, don't believe we've ever heard of it before or ever had the pleasure."

     I suppose it is a good thing that I never aspired to run off with the circus as a kid, although I probably could have had a lucrative career as Clumsy The Clown, where everything I try ends up in an epic comedic disaster.

     For example, is it so crazy to want to simply get out of bed at three a.m. to check the plumbing in the bathroom without the drama of shaky legs, and feeling like I am trying to stay on my feet in a ninety-mile an hour cross wind? 

     Apparently, there is a smaller office behind the main mind's office that is a control room of sorts. The way it was explained to me is that the job of this little office is to translate orders from the main office, and then to send them out as mandates to the other departments. The problem that has developed is that the person in charge of the little office and ensuring that it runs smoothly has become unstable and highly unreliable. He calls in sick half the time, and when he does show up....well, he's not all there if you know what I mean. The lights are on but nobody's home. And I can't fire him. Believe me, I've looked into it but he 's got some kind of iron-clad contract. I don't know, it all seems like internal politics to me. 




    I never received any external summons, but thirteen years ago at the age of thirty-eight, I did accept delivery of an internal call to a version of Mission Impossible, named Ataxia Impossible. Actually, I didn't so much as accept the delivery as I had it thrust upon me, and over these last few years, it has been like watching a movie.   

     Cords are another thing that I have issues with.  If they are not jumping up off the floor to try and trip me as I am walking by, or stepping over them, they are forever wrapping themselves around my ankles. I really don't understand their problem because I treat them nicely. I never harshly yank them out of the wall sockets or use them for a quick pick-up game of jump rope. 



     The Venetian Stairs.- Stairways everywhere, in every part of the world, would be required to be fitted to have this capability. The idea would be that every stairway would have a rod at the top and one at the bottom that could be accessed by a handicapped person and twisted so that the stairs would fold flat, like window shades, and become a ramp. Not a bad idea, huh? There should be an official watch group set up to go around and identify all the public hazards that are caused by stairs. Maybe I should form a group, named, Be Aware, Don't Forget Ataxians Living Life, or B.A.D. F.A.L.L. for short.

     I know now that food packaging which claims to be, "easy-seal", is lying.  It is most definitely not truth in advertising.... at least for me it isn't.  I will waste somewhere between two minutes and a entire month just trying to get the two sides of the bag to line up and....interlock, mesh, grab a hold of each other and form a bond....to do something, ANYTHING that will resemble that the two so-called self-sealing sides are working together as a team!




.....a-not-so-distant time when I could walk straight without appearing as if I were trying out for a position on the latest dance-related reality show or to be an extra in an earthquake disaster movie. A time when I could chew and swallow without the need to update my Life Insurance Policy beforehand, when I could descend stairs or step off a curb without the need to first anchor a repelling rope, prior to my descent down the four or five-inch sheer cement wall. And, yes, even a time when I could mix myself a simple tuna spread for lunch without first having the need to rent a small cement mixer to contain the mess made by mixing a 4 ounce can of fish with mayonnaise. There were so many simple things that I did in my life that I never had to think about, or that I ever needed to stop and contemplate beforehand.


     I might be sleeping peacefully, when out of nowhere, wham! A kamikaze leg cramp will decide that it is zero hour, and time to strike. I might be drinking my morning coffee, and suddenly, just like that, kablam! My throat decides to close up shop, puts up the sign that reads, "Be Back In Ten Minutes", and goes on a break. I know my throat doesn't smoke, so maybe it went to take a coffee break? Wouldn't THAT be ironic? Or, I might be walking on flat ground, when my legs will just decide that they have had enough of my feet, always having to lift them up. "We're tired of always being the ones to carry their weight, why can't they take care of themselves for a while?" (By the way, this really is how my legs talk, I heard them once....it was the same day I heard my money say goodbye.)

     I start the day off, in a very similar fashion I suspect that most of you do, by waking up. Right away I start my day off on a positive note, as I have already accomplished the first goal that I have set for myself. 

.....in the present, I DO think of Dominoes every time I reach into a cupboard, attempt to put something away or reach into the refrigerator. I am not making this up when I say that sometimes, what should have taken me seconds, now takes me minutes because of all the things that tumble out of the cupboard or that fall off of the counter when I reach for something else.

.....there is a large benefit that has come into my life because of my current Neurological situation. Hand-holding. Lot's of hand-holding, and other forms of physical contact. 




     I would also find it immensely helpful if my SCA would put just a little more effort into working with me. I mean, really, how hard could this be? It seems like such a small request to me. It's already there, re-shaping my Cerebellum and adding a bunch of weird side effects. It seems to me that it would be a small thing if it could throw in a helpful symptom once in awhile.

    The panic would first take a firm grip on my young mind when I heard from the adult authority in my classroom that the test would require the use of a number two pencil. This statement was said with such surety, and in a commanding voice, that I was utterly convinced that if I had anything but the required number two, say even a pencil that was a two-point-one, that I would fail in every aspect of life from this point on.

    Lately I have begun to envision that there is a highly contagious, and rampant neurological disease spreading around the globe that has been tagged as the Upright-Bug. Symptoms manifested by the infected are perfect balance, clear speech, and the ability to eat without spilling or choking. There are several different manifestations, and groups, that are resistant to the virus, and these people have come to be known as handicapped, or uniquely gifted.

    Just once I would like to walk to my recliner or the bathroom at night without Ataxia tagging along. But it really doesn't matter how silent I am, (or think I am), Because the second I even open my eyes, there he is, staring at me like he has been watching me sleep, just waiting for me to wake up, and is now ready for anything. "What are you doing? Where are you going? I better come with you....." Ugggggghh, I can't make him stop! GPS units have nothing on Ataxia, he is the ultimate stalker.  




    However, lately, I have come to refer to "it" as a "him". This is because in my last blog, giving him his own persona is how I associated with my handicap. It struck me the other day that even the vilest of criminals and villains have names, and so it only seemed appropriate for my personal Neurological-thorn to have one too. And once that was decided, I really took the task seriously. I pondered, I paced, I meditated, I wanted a name that would perfectly sum up his persona in one simple phrase. I enumerated, struggled mentally, and reached for a perfect name...and then, three seconds later I landed on the name Brutus the Crippler or The Crip for short. He really hates when I call him that, but it seemed fitting. The guy's an animal, a brute with absolutely no compassion.

    An example of this kind of system would be, to only order, say, the Guacamole Burger when I am wearing a green shirt. This way I can walk out of the establishment with my head held high, and not resemble someone who has just spent a month engaged in a high-intensity food fight. 

   I don't know much, but one thing I do know is that over the years I haven't always done the best job with being able to immediately handle the changes that have come barging rather rudely into my life.  I usually land somewhere in the middle of a sliding scale comprised of kicking-and-screaming on one end, and an epic temper tantrum on the other.  

    I really don't want to brag, but it only took me thirteen years to discover that I can't just jump up out of my seat and rush somewhere when any old thought or mood strikes me. Those days are also long gone, and now I need to stand up slowly, while holding on to something, (something other than myself, because that just wouldn't be of any help), and just stand...frozen until I am confident enough to step forward, being sure that my legs will stand-up in their duty to support me.

    I am finding that there seems to be a connection between my diagnosis of SCA and my struggled attempts to find any kind of synchronized rhythms or patterns. The mere act of bringing my two hands together more than twice in a coordinated clap is proving to be a real challenge. Often it appears more to be the swatting away of imaginary spider webs.

....at a party, I wouldn't introduce the obvious elephant in the room as,"a close and personal friend of mine". He showed up at my door one day, (Ataxia), thirteen years ago.....just like that, not even a phone call, a text, a letter, a fax, a tweet, or even a smoke signal first to announce his impending arrival, and decided that he liked it so much here that he has no plans to ever leave my side......lucky me".




    I even use more effort than necessary when sliding the shower curtain closed. If it was possible to make a loud crashing sound when a plastic shower curtain was being closed, then I would most definitely be the one to make it happen! Luckily for me, my shower curtain doesn't shatter like glass, or we might be having a different conversation right now, probably something along the lines of being more.....uh, medical in nature, if you follow me.

    I have considered before trying to sell him at a yard sale....but even with a drastically reduced price (in which I don't come close to breaking even but actually losing money), I'd still wind up being stuck with him for the remainder of this life. Even a good ol'fashioned unsuspecting buyer wouldn't be able to see themselves owning an SCA.

    Do you think that if I requested The Police's Don't Stand So Close To Me, that Ataxia would get the idea that I need some personal space?

    I walk around my house all day feeling like I am trapped within a giant Pinball venue, and all that is missing is the large scoreboard that tallies the growing score, with the sound of the constant beeps and whistles.

    Either one type of day will be dominate and be the only one to show...like dropping EVERYTHING, constantly stumbling, and continually walking into objects. Or the other reality will present itself...where I fall, stumble, and walk into stuff only HALF the time...which is also known as a good day.

    While laying on my back in the driveway, having just finished a grand fall backward, I realized that I don't know my neighbors very well. They seem to be good people, but at that moment I realized they are not anything like the good people at State Farm....who, by the way, were not there. ( Take a second, it will come to you.)