Friday, 23 June 2017

Finding Fulfilment

It would be fair to say that I am exhausted. It would also say that it takes very little to make me that way. In what was a wonderful drive down from Fort Augustus to Furt William, then further down to Oban for a stop at the distillery, and finally the long push from Oban to Glasgow by way of Loch Lomond, I did not get out of the car even once. Yet all that time in the car, sitting, watching the scenery drift by, has left me more than just a bit tired.

Part of the reason is that I am still recovering from that damned bladder infection. Part of the reason is that the effort in simply sitting is tiring. Part of the reason is that, while I am on the road, I want to see as much as I can, craning my neck at every corner, looking up every hillside in the highlands, along every shore of the lochs, at every building in the many small towns we passed through

There were people who were worried that this excursion would tire me out. I knew it would. I knew it would take a lot from me, never giving an inch in return. I also knew that if I didn't do this now, I would never do it. I may have other opportunities, but I don't see them all that well in my future. With the amount of work David has had to do, this is our last "road trip" without additional help. He can't do it. I can't do it.

Yet here I am still trying, still working at living my much as much as I can. Today that included buying the single most expensive bottle of Scotch I have ever purchased. It included a stunningly beautiful drive down the Argyll coast. It included a stop beside Loch Lomond where David took my picture with our stuffed Nessie, as well as the lock, in the background.

I don't know how much longer I can live like this, or live at all. But it is better to be alive, out here, than at home fearful of what might happen to me. In the end, I know what will happen. It's just a matter of time. Better that I find fulfilment in that time.

Thursday, 22 June 2017


It's been another tough day on the road. I didn't sleep at all last night, so I slept as we journeyed today. We started at Culloden, the last Jacobite battlefield on Scottish soil, fought in 1746. This Jacobite rebellion against the English Hanoverian king George II. David was kind enough to wheel me though the interpretation centre, until I started falling asleep in my wheelchair. We took a quick look outside, then headed back to the car.

I fell asleep almost immediately, or as asleep as I could get sitting upright in the car's bucket seats. David drove us down Loch Ness, past the Nessie museum where he stopped, then onwards down the loch to Fort Augustus. We are staying the night in a lovely old Scottish lodge. Right now David is sitting in the great room, by the fire, checking out locations for tomorrow. We are fairly sure we will stay in Glasgow for the next couple of nights, but you never know what David will come up with.

Speaking of coming up with things, we appear to have a solution to my periodic incontinence due to the bladder infection. Diapers. Not Depends, but full blown industrial strength adult diapers like they use in a hospital. These things hold a lot of moisture, are very secure, and I can pull down the front to pee in a jug as needed. They are not perfect, but they are much better than the pinching catheters or trying get to the jug while seated in the bucket seat of the car.

I am largely unable to dress or undress myself, but David does not see, squeamish in the least when it comes to helping. For this I am truly grateful/

Wednesday, 21 June 2017

Troubles Come In Threes

They say trouble comes in threes. Just who is "they" anyways? Regardless, trouble has come in threes for us today. I have managed to develop a bladder infection. It's a nasty one, with blood in my urine and the usual incontinence. It's another day of more towels, cleaning up, wearing a catheter, staying in bed. This happens whenever I fly. The airline seats tend to pinch my bladder and any catheter I might be wearing, causing urine to be retained. The retained urine causes the infection. Trips in my truck can do it, but are not so likely as the truck seat is more amenable to voiding. However seats on an airplane and the bucket seats in the rental car make for a real problem.

Fortunately I have a plan for this kind of situation. I have a single dose antibiotic I carry with me, one designed specifically for bladder infections. It starts working within a couple of hours of taking it, and will continue working for the next few days. I can already feel some relief in that the urgency and incontinence have receded somewhat. However my urine is still a shockingly deep red.

The second trouble comes from David, of all people. He seems to be coming down with a cold, most likely also from the airplane ride. He went off today to get some cold medications; we are hoping that will stay the worst of it. This cold, and having to help me so much, is also making his muscles sore and tired, especially his back. So today I stayed in bed all day. He has had to do very little lifting, giving not just his back but the rest of him a rest.

The third trouble is my laptop. The hinge on the right hand side broke during our travels. The video screen is holding on by one hinge. I hope it holds on until we get home. Once home, I will take it into Best Buy and see if they can repair it. If not, the I will need another laptop.

David and I both came to one conclusion today, a sad one. It's highly unlikely that we will do any more travel. My needs have expanded. He is out of holidays until next year when my needs will be much greater, if I am here at all. It's too hard for David to do all this lifting and pushing. The light weight stuff is fine, but I am heavy and difficult to get into and out of the rented car. Again, my truck is easier. There is the bed transfer, the wheelchair transfer, the commode chair transfer; all of these are increasingly difficult.

Troubles come in threes. Let's hope for a better day tomorrow.

Tuesday, 20 June 2017


We are in and down at the Daviot Lodge in Inverness. The town itself is about five miles away, while we are in a country setting just up the way from Culloden Moor, of the A9 on a narrow country lane, half the time paved, half the time gravel. There is even the obligatory Highland Coo in the yard here. Bucolic to say the least. Quiet, comfortable, relaxing after a long day of driving for David and a difficult day of bodily functions for me.

How I would do this without David I simply do not know. I can only say thank you so often, only apologize for my mess so often, only ask for help so often. It is difficult to deal with my physical failings on my own yet he seems so casual and calm about it all. He does all the loading, all the unloading, pushing my wheelchair, helping me with my commode chair, getting things I need, helping me dress, ensuring I am okay. It's amazing, and for this I am truly grateful.

This morning, after I got cleaned up from a night time disaster and not the jug kind, we headed out of Edinburgh, crossing the Firth of Forth, driving north into the Highlands. Our first destination was St. Andrews, ostensibly to take a look at the famous Old Course. In reality we were more interested in the University, the old castle and the old cathedral. Both the castle and cathedral are mere remnant walls, ancient reminders of what once stood proud against the sea and all enemies. Time and battle have taken their toll. All that remains of the castle is some of the outer wall. The cathedral is almost completely gone except for the two bell towers at the front and an aging graveyard.

We left St. Andrews, heading north to Inverness. The drive through Cairngorm Park was lovely, a classic highland setting, steep hills covered in low green browse, gorse here and there, heather abounding. We passed any number of distilleries as we moved down the Spey valley. Perhaps the most exciting sign I saw all day was the Speyside Malt Whiskey Trail. It is a further drive down the Spey, a few miles back of us. That is our plan for tomorrow.

We are taking it easy, not pushing too hard. Both of us are struggling with the seats in the car, bucketing us back into discomfort. For me, the seat makes it almost impossible to use my jug with any sort of ease. I had a catheter on this morning but the angle of the seat caused it to pinch, and ultimately to come loose, something I discovered just as we started touring St. Andrews Castle. I've done my best since then, continuing to struggle with dampness and leakage all day.

This is the real challenge of travelling in the wheelchair, of travelling with ALS. If I get wet, I cannot change easily. If I spill on myself, I just leave the stain until end of day. I can do little to help David, and even less to help myself. Yet here I am, thanks to David's help, touring the Highlands of Scotland, ready to explore the Speyside Scotch region tomorrow. It's still pretty good.

Monday, 19 June 2017

Fire Alarm!

It has been a relaxing kind of a day today, yet not completely spent in the hotel. David was worn out after yesterday, so chose to sleep well past noon. I am unable to get up and going without help, so I slept until will past noon as well. No matter, I needed the rest just as David did. By the time we got up and got going, ti was probably around 2:30 PM.

Fortunately for us, the HMS Britannia is a very short walk from our hotel, just across the street and down at the other end of the shopping mall. In fact the entry to visit this reminder of days past is actually a part of the mall itself. So you can't do one without the other. We walked over, through the mall, and took the tour.

It has become clear that I can no longer push my wheelchair any great distance, nor over any sort of rough surface. David clearly sees himself more in the role of caregiver and wheelchair pusher than in the role of travelling companion. It doesn't seem to matter to him; he just plugs along, pushing me and enjoying himself. I will be forever grateful to him for this, for his approach and for his willingness to help me enjoy both this trip and the others we have taken. I may be fading fast, but he is definitely keeping me going

Visiting the Royal Yacht HMS Britannia was interesting enough. What was more interesting was that the tour was suggested as an hour and 45 minutes, yet we managed to make it more than three hours. Certainly stopping for tea on the Royal Yacht was a highlight for us. David enjoyed the luxury of it all, along with the individual bar in each of the many messes on board.

For me, I enjoyed seeing the working parts of the ship. It reminded me of being on my Dad's ship as a child, and of the many other tours I've taken of various naval vessels around the world. The ocean and the ships which sail on her has long been a theme of my life. I was less interested in the luxury of the top decks; I will never live that life nor enjoy the splendour of being a "royal".

Our day finished with a bit of excitement. David and I returned to our hotel, to sit in the bar, enjoy a beer, and plan our tomorrow. We are headed north, first to St. Andrews, then to Daviot, just short of Inverness. As we were sitting, planning, the fire alarm went off. They cleared the hotel. I grabbed my laptop and beer. David grabbed my wheelchair handles and pushed. As we and all the other guests gathered in the parking lot, the fire department arrived and went into find the source of the alarm.

As it turned out, it was sort of a false alarm. One of the female guests was using her hairspray, far too much hairspray, in the vicinity of the fire alarm. The alarm sensed the gas and chemicals in the hairspray, and the game was one. She got her overly sticky hair while all the rest of us ended up in the parking lot.

David has called it a day. I am writing, drinking a beer, and relaxing out here in the bar. Some little fire alarm ain't gonna scare me off!

Sunday, 18 June 2017

The Royal Mile

It looks like my morning blog is going to become an evening blog for the next little while. Getting up in the morning is tough and time consuming, so getting underway is now more important than any morning commentary I might have. In addition, I have the evenings to recap the events of the day.

Speaking of which, it was an eventful day for us today. First of all, I got up at 8:30 AM, voluntarily. I blame it on vacation timing. The downside of an early start is that my eyes are near closing now.I am fairly sure I can stay awake long enough to finish this post. On top of the early start, we had a tremendously long day today, storming Edinburgh Castle then walking down the Royal Mile to Holyrood Castle. The real challenge was cobblestones; those things do a number on my back while in the wheelchair.

The upside is we got to see Edinburgh Castle. Because I am i a wheelchair, the cab was able to take us right up to the main gate. From there, a castle shuttle bus took us right to the top of the castle. After a great visit there we headed out of the castle and came immediately to The Whiskey Experience, just outside the castle main gate. These two stops took up most of our day.

I'm not strong enough to push myself around. My arms are too weak for the hills, and far to weak for the cobblestone streets, so David did all the pushing today, up and down the hills and across the cobblestone streets. He pushed me in and around Edinburgh Castle. In and out of halls and shops; through St. Giles Cathedral, all the way down to Holyrood Palace, and then around the Scottish Parliament building.I am not sure which is more tired; his back or mine, his arms or mine.

After a full day of exploring just this one part of Edinburgh, both David and I are ready to take it easy. We had dinner along the Royal Mile.I think sleep counts higher than food for both of us right now. No late night beer or Scotch, Just sleep, precious sleep.

Saturday, 17 June 2017

Glasgow Tenement Tour

After a massive day and night of travel yesterday, we landed in Glasgow at 8:10 AM UK time this morning. As with every other transfer on this flight, things went smoothly. WestJet has done a great job so far in ensuring smooth transfers from flight to flight, from wheelchair to seat, and back again. We did have quite the way to go to pick up the rental car. It was nice that one of the Glasgow Airport ground staff stayed with us the whole way, pushing me so David could focus on the luggage.

It was 9:30 AM before we finally got our car. Driving on the "wrong" side of the road was no challenge for David, however the stick shift and car turning radius has proven to be a challenge. It's fine, nothing that a bit of practice won't cure. I will say that my truck seats remain the most comfortable I've been in, although this car was pretty good.

Right out from the airport we headed for Greenock and Port Glasgow, both small towns along the Firth of Clyde where once shipping and ship building ruled, hard towns of tenements, shipyards, and warehouses. My great-grandfather, Adam McBride, was born in Greenock in 1879 at 24 East Crawford Street. The building is no longer there, having long since been torn down to make way for new tenements. My Mom's mom, my grandmother Rebecca Howie was born in 1910 in Port Glasgow, just a mile or so east of Greenock. I don't have an address to check out, so we just drove through on our way back to Glasgow.

Our next stop was on Duke Street in Glasgow where, according to the research David has been working on, my great-great grandfather, also Adam McBride, was born. As with the other locations, the buildings have long been torn down. It seems the homes of the rich are built to withstand the test of time while the homes of the poor bring no history with them and so are destroyed as time goes by. The one notable thing is that the location of my great-great grandfather Adam McBride's home is directly opposite one of Glasgow's oldest breweries. How convenient!

Our last Glwasgow stop was on Wolseley Street, Glasgow where my Dad's dad was born in 1902. Once again the old homes have long been torn down to make way for a newer set of row houses and small, working class homes in a village style setting. The most interesting thing was the old church on the corner, just a block or say away from where my grandfather was born. I can just imagine him as a child being trooped of to church on Sundays while his own father recovered from one too many glasses of Scotch the night before.

By this time both David and I had had enough. We left Glasgow and made the 90 minute trek to our hotel in Leith. This is the port city for Edinburgh, an area being reformed from old docks and warehouses to new government buildings, a major shopping center, and trendy loft homes and apartments. Ten years ago, when I first came to this hotel, there was little here. Now it's all new buildings or restored older buildings.

We checked in at around 2:00 PM. After a five hour rest and nap, David and I walked over to a nearby pub for dinner, a beer, and for me a shot of Scotch. Nothing like keeping the family history intact. Tomorrow, we attack the Royal Mile!

Friday, 16 June 2017

In Halifax

And we're off. David and I left this morning for our road trip to Scotland and Ireland. I managed to get up early, at 7:30 AM. David was knocking on my door at 7:38 AM asking if I was getting up. As is usual, the act of getting up and out of bed took some time, so I was just sitting up in my sling when Micheal arrived at 7:55 AM, to get my up showered, and dressed for the road.

So far things have gone well. The transfers to and from the car were not majorly difficult. The airport transfers have gone smoothly. WestJet has done a good job of communicating things as well as getting the right people in place to assist with the transfers. Not one person, other than the check-in agent, as even begun to ask if I can stand. They all seem to be singing from the same song sheet, an airline rarity.

As I write this post, we are flying over Lake Ontario, having made the first of our stops on this trek. We're headed for Halifax, where the plane will take on more fuel. It is also a security check stop, as we are headed on to the UK from there. So I will have to deplane, even though we are not changing planes.

Our plane change in Toronto was tight, only one hour, not enough time to get dinner and a beer. The same will be true in Halifax. Then, from there, it is only five hours to Glasgow, leaving little time to sleep on the plane. I'm going to try, but I will be avoiding the Zopiclone. If I take one of those with only five hours to sleep, more realistically four, it could really mess me up for tomorrow.

We arrive in Glasgow at 8:05 AM. From there we are planning to look around the city, check out some of the homes where my ancestores lived, then head to Edinburgh. David calls it the Tenement Tour. He's right. We were never a family of wealth; always a working man's family.

Since I am getting off the plane in Halifax, I am hoping to get a burger and a beer there. I will sleep better having eaten, and the beer might help a bit too. It's going to be a rough night tonight and a long day tomorrow.

Thursday, 15 June 2017

Packing For Adventure

I'm almost ready to start packing. In a few minutes, as soon as I finish writing this entry, I will get a load of laundry going. It will be the rest of the clothing I want to take on a trip. Packing used to be such a simple thing for me. I could get it done in just a few minutes. The clothing side is still like that for me. I can get my clothing ready fairly quickly still, although it does take longer thanks to ALS. On the other side, however, there is the medical packing. There are several things I need to pack in a separate suitcase, things I never needed before ALS and before the wheelchair.

To start with, I need a second suitcase. Fortunately the airlines, at least most of them, don't charge for a suitcase with medical equipment and supplies in it. Still, two suitcases, twice the packing work, both of them going slower each time I do it. The medical stuff includes the bucket for the commode chair, the seat for the commode chair, the small transfer board, an M-rail, at least one grabby stick, catheter supplies, and the bulk containers of my medications. The weekly container for meds will go in my clothing bag, along with a small portion of catheter supplies.

Weight is an issue. It has never been an issue for clothing, but the medical gear can get heavy. I need the larger suitcase for that gear, but not the largest one. I try to avoid that monster as much as I can. Oddly enough, the medical gear mostly folds down and comes apart for packing. That makes it better. But it is all metal or heavy plastic, not much light weight stuff at all. So the gear bag is inevitably heavy.

My clothes mostly fit in my carry-on bag. I can pack for a week in the small suitcase, with some leftovers going into the medical equipment suitcase. The benefit of this is I have my clothing with me at all times, an important thing if I need to change pants for some misbegotten reason. Catheters break, even on airplanes, especially on airplanes. My medications for a week and my parking pass also go in that carry-on bag. This time, no book. I suspect I will have little time for reading.

Today is it. My last day at home for a couple of weeks. My next adventure begins at 8:00 AM tomorrow morning. Let's hope it all goes well.

Wednesday, 14 June 2017

I Can Still Do Stuff

Yesterday I wrote about needing more and more help to live my daily life. It's true. I do need more help. There are now more things where I need help than there are where I don't need help. However this does not meet I am completely helpless. That will come in time, sooner rather than later. I suspect I have 6 months or so before I lose the use of my arms. After that, the end will come quickly. I do not plan on being tube fed or using a breathing machine.

In the meantime, I do plan on living as much as I can. As much as possible this means independent living, here in my home. It means living within my abilities if I have to, all the while stretching the boundaries of what I can do by changing the ways I do things. Yesterday was a good example of this.

I wanted to go see the Wonder Woman movie, so I posted on Facebook last week asking if anyone wanted to go with me. Jessica, a friend since I first came to Calgary, posted that she had already seen it but would like to see it again. She also suggested that we get dinner before going to the movie. So I said yest to both.

In the past I would have gone in my truck. These days I don't go anywhere in my truck without a helper, not only so I can get in and out, but just in case I get over-tired or somehow my driving becomes compromised. Also, wheeling around parking lots, into and out of buildings, can be very tiring for me. I need a pusher. So both my truck and my manual wheelchair are no longer the tools for this. Instead, I used my power chair and Calgary Transit.

I transferred myself to the power wheelchair, the one provided by the ALS Society, using the lift and sling, also provided by the ALS Society. New tools for new methods. I powered out to the bus stop, took the bus and C-Train to the where we were meeting for dinner and the movie. I left extra time so I could go shopping for a new doorknob for my front door, one of the lever kind. Doorknobs are getting difficult for me. I also picked up a couple of extension cords for my new deck lights.

Today I will install the lever doorknob by myself. If I work slowly but steadily, I can do this from my wheelchair using lightweight household tools. I will also plug the deck lights in to the outdoor outlet on my balcony. Oh, that outlet needs a new cover. I can also likely fix this myself too, although it is a bit low down for me. I bought the outlet cover yesterday as well. We'll have to see if I can do it.

Overall, there are lots of things I still do for myself, lots of things where my abilities are not limited by my illness. I know that will change as time goes one. That's one of the terrible and terrifying things about ALS; you know what's going to happen. You even have an approximate timeline, although you can never be completely sure of timing. That light at the end of the tunnel is a train, 100% of the time.

Nonetheless, you need to keep going, to keep living within your abilities, even pushing them at times. It's worth the exhaustion, the ache, the pain, the trouble. Otherwise you are left with just giving up. I'm really not much for giving up.

Tuesday, 13 June 2017

Me Do

My energy level is returning to normal, or as normal as it gets for me. Sunday, with Betty's Walk and the party afterwards, wore me out. I suspect all the wine I drank had an impact as well. Regardless, one busy day, along with a late night, can clearly knock me out of the saddle for a while. I am back in the saddle again, folks. Tonight I plan on going out for dinner with a friend, then the two of us will go see Wonder Woman.

The last few days, especially Sunday, have convinced me of one thing for sure. I have to let people do stuff for me, do more stuff for me. I have to let people help me, allow others to take care of me. I simply am unable to care for myself anymore. I am clearly no longer independent, no longer able to do things for myself. This inability runs right the way through from dressing in the morning to undressing at night, although I still do that on my own.

Kathy, my Home Care Aide, calls it my "me do" attitude. It's what her little granddaughter says whenever she goes to help her. "Me do, Grandma. Me do." the language may be somewhat imprecise but it certainly reflects an attitude I share. I want to do for myself, even at the price of exhaustion. On Sunday I could not. I could not push myself along the walk. I could not get myself in or out of my truck. I could not get myself a post-walk hot dog. There was no "me do" present.

After the walk, Brad took over in the kitchen. There was no "me do". I know he is better equipped and more able to handle preparing food and cleaning up. Tanya and Brian did dishes afterwards; I can no longer wash a sink full of dishes. I can barely wash a single pot or plate. Various people brought my wine. David and Brian helped with my failed transfer to the couch. Dan planted flowers for me. Andrea bought my new deck chair and a pretty string of lights for my deck. Kate helped get my laundry out of the way, as well as helping me in and out of my truck.

Today I let Kathy dress me, completely, although I did do some of the underwear work. The effort with my underwear left me tired enough that she just took over. I know Micheal will not do this, so I still have some "me do" in me for the next couple of days. David will help a bit, but there will be a lot of "me do" on our trip. Still, I cannot do it all for myself. I am compelled to accept assistance.

This has been a difficult mental and emotional transition for me, the change from feeling independent with some assistance to being fully dependent on the assistance of others. It's hard to lose that sense of self-reliance, of self-capacity. It's hard to give up "carrying my own water", as my Dad would have said. It's hard to accept that I am unable to look after myself these days. There is very little "me do" left in me. I'm sad to see it go.

Monday, 12 June 2017

Tired Of Writing

Yesterday was Betty's Run. It was a very busy day with an early start, so I didn't write. Today there is nothing on my agenda, nothing planned, yet I don't feel like writing today either. I am wearing down, running out of steam, and out of things to say. I've had lots of sleep, but I am tired. I've had plenty to eat, but eating itself takes energy out of me. I have water beside me and I've had my morning coffee, so I'm not dehydrated, nor am I lacking in stimulus.

I just don't feel like writing. So let's leave it at that.

Saturday, 10 June 2017

Another Bed

I have another one of those difficult financial decisions to make. I need a new bed, not just a new mattress but a new type of bed, an adjustable bed, one that will life me up into a sitting position. I am not yet in need of a full hospital bed, not by a long shot. However I do need something that will assist in my sitting up when there is nobody here to help me.

There are two choices. One is to take a hospital bed from the ALS Society. This choice is the cheapest; the will provide one for free until I die. However it means losing my current double bed and going down to a hospital single, including the loss of my headboard and footboard. It means not being able to turn over in bed from side to side; there's not enough room. It means my bedroom will look increasingly like a hospital room, increasingly sterile and lacking in my personal things, the things which comfort me when I am alone.

The second choice is to go out and by an adjustable bed, queen size, which will work with my existing headboard and footboard. The downside is that it will cost about $2,500, which is the last of my remaining travel budget. It will mean no more travel, no "fun" stuff. It will also mean cutting down on my winemaking kits and Scotch. However it will leave me with "my" bed intact, my bedroom looking at least a little less like a hospital.

One of my friends, when posed with this dilemma, basically said to take the hospital bed because it was free. I don't think people understand that saving money has little value to me these days. I know that I will run out of money again, eventually. I know that I will be begging again, eventually. It is only a question of time. That $2,500 will give me four or five more months. I will also give me the possibility of a cruise, or another trip to the coast. It leaves me with money to give my kids, so they can come to Calgary this summer.

So compare the choices. Another trip, maybe even a cruise. Going to the coast to see my Mom and kids one more time. Giving my kids money so they can come and see me. Or having my own bed in my own space where I sleep every night. And begging for more money in what is becoming an increasingly shorter future for me.

It begs the question. Will I need a hospital bed eventually? I hope not. Most PALS have a hospital bed so that it is easier to sit up, or adjust for fluid retention in the lungs, or lift feet to help with edema. Both types of beds will do this. My progression is such that I will likely exit when my arms fail completely, in perhaps six months to a year. But you never know with ALS. There are no certainties, just as with all mankind. Except the certainty of eventual death, in my case likely sooner than yours. Still, I cannot say for sure what will happen, or how long it will be.

So, spend the money on a decent adjustable bed? Spend the money on travel and make by bedroom into a hospital room? Beg sooner? It's a tough decision. I already know what I am hoping for. The rest of you likely don't want to hear it.

Friday, 9 June 2017

Rant On!

It would be reasonably fair to say that I have been under intense medical coverage since I was diagnosed with ALS on November 22,  2012. This is not to say constant medical treatment; I have gone weeks and even months without seeing a doctor or medical professional, other than my pharmacist across the road at Safeway. And up until today, I have had few, if any, reasons to complain about my treatment, both medically and as an individual.

I've gone through a lot with doctors and other medical professionals. I've been poked, stuck with needles, assessed, undressed, prodded and pushed. I've had every muscle in my body tested on a continuing basis. I've been handled by medical students, new neurologists, doctors covering for other doctors, and nurses beyond measure. In all of this, only once or twice did I get a feeling that the doctor was not listening or the nurse failed to pay attention. Even then, it was forgivable; there's a lot of pressure on these folks, not from me so much as from the demands of their work.

Well, today it finally happened, with, of all people, my family doctor. I am new to him and he is new to me, so perhaps this is just a learning curve, but I think not. He has a policy of not renewing prescriptions or providing any other services unless he sees the patient in person. This is understandable in many cases, and, thanks to our medical system, he only gets paid if he sees the patient. Therefore it is in his best interest financially to insist on seeing me before renewing a prescription. I get it.

On the other hand, getting in to see him is difficult. In addition the prescription for which I was seeking renewal, using the common practice at the pharmacy of faxing the request to his office, is one he issues for one month at a time, therefore guaranteeing I go to see him at least once a month. Furthermore he does the prescription with no renewals. So I have to get into his office to get what is a constant and chronic medication, for a constant and chronic issue.

So today I called his office. His receptionist was extremely aggressive and rude to me, saying that I was a chronic problem for the doctor in terms of my medications and medical needs. I found it both insulting and funny at the same time, that she would call me a chronic problem. No kidding. I have fucking ALS. That's a chronic illness! She made me feel terrible simply because I wanted the medications prescribed by my doctor.

She was even more aggravated when I told her I was going away next Friday and wanted these medications before I went. She said the doctor needed at least a week to ten days notice before any appointment. I pointed out that I was going away next Friday, a week from today, and that they had already had the request for three days. She offered one choice for an appointment, that one being Wednesday morning right in the middle of my Home Care appointment.

When I told her I couldn't make that one, that's when she hauled out the lecture about me being a chronic problem. I think I may have had four interactions with the doctor's office, so I guess I am a chronic problem. That's four interactions! She basically said that was my only choice if I wanted my medications.

What this doctor and his receptionist don't understand is that I have a terrific support resource in the ALS Clinic and the ALS Society. I call the Clinic and asked if one of their doctors could renew the prescription by fax. After I explained the situation to the nurse at the Clinic, she said I needed to look for another family doctor. She also said "No problem. Fax it over and I will get is signed on Monday."

Every single medication I take is a life long medication, with the notable exception of the odd time when I need an antibiotic for a bladder infection. There is no need for a month by month approach. The doctor could easily prescribe for a year in advance. The pharmacy will fill 90 days in advance, four times a year. It's a good system and I have it for most of my other prescriptions, those prescribed by other doctors.

This doctor's approach is basically a money issue. I get it. We all need money, especially a doctor, with high expenses and medical school to pay for. But putting me at risk, refusing to refill a prescription in a timely manner, is unprofessional, and completely lacking in compassion. I agree with the nurse at the ALS Clinic. It's time for a new family doctor.

Thursday, 8 June 2017

Telling It All

I'm tired. I'm tired and my biceps hurt, especially in my left arm. I'm tired because I am always tired, even after a night like last night where I finally slept well after several days of insomnia and exhaustion combined. I can sleep for 36 hours and wake up feeling tired, ready to go back to sleep. As to my arms, especially my biceps, almost anything is too much for them these days, so what muscles that actually work do so under duress. They are over-stressed, constantly pulled too hard, and thus subject to ache and pain.

What would I give for a day without tiredness, or a day without ache and pain? What would I give for a night where I slept well and a morning where I woke up refreshed? I don't know what I might give, but I am already giving my life to this illness, so I suspect that's as good as it gets.

The whole tiredness issue is frustrating because it takes away from my willingness to do anything. I am fortunate that people around me encourage me to ignore the tired feelings and get on with living. Even this morning Bobbi urged me to get up, waited for me to get dressed, helped with my wheechair transfer; all to get me out of my apartment, across the street to the mall. She even bought me a Peanut Buster Parfait!

The ache and pain part is much more subtle, surreptitious, hidden by efforts on my part to do as much as I can. It's also much more widely spread than I let on. To be honest, right now my feet sting from edema as do my lower legs. My thumbs and fingers have a background ache, as it I had arthritis, and maybe I do. My arms have had their say. My  neck is sore right at the base of my skull, where the muscles do all that work to hold my head up straight.

There is a lot that I don't say, a lot that people don't see. I smile. I make jokes. I chat. It seems I am doing well. At least that's the comment I get so often. I wonder what would happen if I just let it all hang out, showed the pain and exhaustion, talked about all the aches and muscle cramps, told people more about the pins and needles in my legs and feet, cried more with the frustration of this illness.

I suspect if I did that, there would be fewer people around me. Laugh and the world laughs with you; cry and you cry alone. Still, it would be nice sometimes to feel like I really could let it all out, let it all be known, tell the whole story. Of course, that's part of what I just did. So why don't I feel better?

Wednesday, 7 June 2017


Insomnia. It seems to be a common problem for PALS. I know it is a problem for me, although I wonder if last night's lack of sleep was a rebound from the Zopiclone episode of Monday and Tuesday. I don't really know. All I know for sure is that I went to bed at 11:00 PM and was still awake at 9:00 AM this morning.

I wonder if I am becoming dependent on the Zopiclone to put me to sleep at nights. It would make sense. While the drug is not supposed to be as addictive as other sleeping pills, it is entirely possible to develop a dependence on it. It is also possible to build up a resistance to it, so that you need more and more for it to be effective. I'm trying to avoid that but my sleep patterns are so messed up these days that it seems impossible to do anything but drug myself to sleep.

It's not hard to figure out, from a removed perspective. My body and mind are in complete disharmony. My body wears out quickly, so it needs rest. My mind is alert and active, even though my body is exhausted. Between the two, it's hard to get some sort of sleep alignment, where both my mind and my body are ready to shut down. Hence the Zopiclone; it shuts my mind down when I want it to shut down, forcing sleep upon me, even when my mind says I don't need it.

There are so many "side benefits" to this disease, insomnia only being one of them. This, along with constipation, belly fat, shaking, appetite problems, and just plain frustration make it even harder to sleep at night, or to wake during the day. I'm going to try again tonight, try to get to sleep without taking a Zopiclone. However Scotch may be involved as an alternative.

Tuesday, 6 June 2017

Zopiclone Overdose, Sort Of

WOW! Talk about a heavy hit from a drug! Now that I am awake, now that all the effects of the Zopiclone have worn off, I can look back and see how powerful that drug really is, especially in the right circumstances. Sunday night was the perfect storm of circumstances.

Sunday was a modest day when it began. The whole toenail thing amped me up a bit, but beyond that there was nothing too serious. In fact I felt well enough to attack a bunch of different chores. I did laundry, two loads, during which I had to move the dryer and re-attach the dryer hose. Try that from a wheelchair; it sort of got half ass done. I noticed later it was detached again. Oh well. Nonetheless, the laundry got sorted, washed, and dried.

Then came the kitchen. It was just too messy for me. I needed it to be tidied up. So while the laundry was in the laundry, I put away dishes, re-organized some shelves, and tidied the fridge. I also did a bit of tidying in the living room. It was all easy, simple stuff. None of it, on it's own, would be enough to tire me out. All of it combined was a bit wearing, but not too much, or so I thought.

I also had to clean the bathroom floor a bit. In my morning ablutions, I had made a stain on the floor. I wiped it up, but only served to push nasty stuff into the grout between my tiles. So I got the mop and scrubbed as best I could, until I could scrub no more. The rest would have to, and did have to, wait for Kathy the next day.

As the evening tired and I awaited laundry, I started to watch The Keepers on Netflix. Alongside the laptop, from whence I watched, stood a lovely bottle of Glenlivet single malt Scotch. So, over the space of three hours, some dealing with laundry and the rest just sitting, I had three, no more, glasses of Scotch. It was now midnight. I wasn't really sleepy, although I was very tired. It's a problem I have a lot. It's a problem I can solve with Zopiclone.

Normally I take one tablet. When I get to a state where sleep refuses to come, where I am tired but cannot shut things down, where my body wants to stop but my brain refuses, I will take one and a half tablets. Sometimes even that won't do the trick. Those times I just give up and do my best.

Sunday night I took one and half Zopliclone tablets. For some, this is a normal dosage. For me, this is a heavy hit. And boy did it hit heavy. After the usual 20 to 30 minutes of wait time, the Zopiclone hit. I was out, for the whole night, rock solid sleep. I must have been really physically tired, but my brain didn't get it, until it was too late and I was in the grips of deep, hypnotized sleep.

When Kathy came in on Monday morning, she woke me up for a moment to let me know she was here and about to start cleaning my apartment. I said something about the stain in the bathroom and watering the flowers. Then I went back to sleep. When she came in an hour later, I tried to wake up but simply could not do it.

I tried to lift my head to look at her, and said "I feel like I've been drugged." She replied, "You have been drugged, and you are tired. You need to sleep." That's the last thing I remember until about 4:00 PM that afternoon, when I realized I needed my pills. No Zopiclone. Then I awoke again at 6:30, desperate to use the toilet. I slinged up, got on the commode chair, and used the toilet. I ate some sandwiches Kathy had left for me, and then went right back to bed. I put on clean underwear and fell asleep.

At 9:00 PM, I awoke again. I had to pee. I also had to take my evening pills. So I did. Oddly enough I knew my body was finally waking up, something I did not want to happen at 9:00 PM at night. So I took one, and only one, Zopiclone tablet. Once again I went down hard. I woke up a couple of times to pee, but I had no real wakefulness until about 7:00 AM this morning. I stayed in bed, resting until Kathy came at 9:00 AM.

I'm up now. I feel awake. The continual tiredness of ALS has not left me, nor do I have any excess of energy. But I feel okay, like I slept well last night... and all day yesterday... and the night before. I'm not sure I want to do that again.

Sunday, 4 June 2017

Dan And The Toenail

Emily and Dan have left, along with Tucker the dog. My foot has been bandaged. Most of the bleeding seems to have stopped. The First Aid supplies are put away. I am dressed with socks on. Yes, I injured myself again. Yes, there was blood. Yes, I needed help.

A few weeks back, I ran into something with my power wheelchair, or perhaps my regular wheelchair, I'm not sure which. Apparently the impact was sufficient to rip the nail up on my middle toe. The nail sat in place, slowly dying, waiting for the most inopportune moment to fall off. It was black underneath and there was dried blood all round. I didn't notice for a couple of days; it's hard for me to see that part of my anatomy.

So I left it alone. Then, this afternoon while dressing, I snagged that toenail and off it came, mostly. Dan says it's still about half attached. Once again, I can't see that part of my body all that well, so I'm not sure. However I knew I was in trouble when the bleeding began. I grabbed a napkin from my dresser, where I keep a supply just for emergencies like this, and other. I quickly lifted my foot onto the bed, keeping the blood flow to a minimum, then blotted and wrapped. Crisis stalled.

What next? Why Facebook! What else? I posted a note asking if there was anyone nearby who could do first aid, and didn't mind ugly feet. Dan and Emily happened to be driving by, just a few blocks away. Actually he was driving; she was looking at Facebook and saw my message. So over they flew, along with Tucker the dog, to rescue my bleeding toenail. Dan used to work as a volunteer fire fighter and has seen his share of accidents. He has first aid training.

He, Emily and Tucker all showed up. Emily was the nurse. Dan was the doctor. Tucker was the sleeping object on my bedroom floor. Dan patched my toe up in no time. The bleeding seemed to have stopped. He put on a large gauze bandage to protect my toe and toenail. It also serves to make my compression sock slide nicely over the toes of my foot.

After a short but happy visit, they are on their way. I will see Emily next Sunday at Betty's Run. Dan may stop by after work for the post run pizza and wine. Tucker will stay at home. As for today, I am finally ready to start doing laundry. It's been at rough one so far, but much improved thanks to Dan, Emily, and Tucker the dog.

Saturday, 3 June 2017

Day Of Rest

It's been a busy week for me this last week, busy in the best of all possible ways. On Tuesday, Albert came by with my cheese and a beautiful bouquet of flowers for my table. On Wednesday, Kate came by and made a terrific Prime Rib Roast for two, the roast just the right size, with potatoes and Cole Slaw. Then on Thursday, Bobbi came by in the morning, encouraging me to get out of bed, bringing my a Subway sandwich big enough for my lunch and dinner. Later on Thursday, Myra came by with her dog, Deja. Deja is completely blind, but managed to sniff out a good section of my apartment.

On Friday, Liz came for dinner and we made Tropical Punch with Malibu Rum, and Tequila Sunrises. Finally, this morning, Tonny came and made me a terrific brunch. I was hungry and gobbled down a giant omelette, hash browns and a bunch of sausages. Now it is Saturday afternoon. I've had a bit of a rest after Tonny's visit, and I am sitting here wondering what to do with myself.

Maybe I'll just rest. I wanted to clean out my freezer today, but I have no helpers. Doing it alone may take too much out of me. On the other hand, it's not like I need anything out of there in a hurry, nor will anything spoil if I leave the task for another week, or even another month. Resting seems a much better idea.

Tomorrow I am scheduled to go to the Lilac Festival here in downtown Calgary. It's an annual event, celebrating the lilac blooms all round the city, but mostly just a street festival for the fun of it. I'm going to go. I'll catheter up, wheel over to the train station, and take the train downtown. Most others will be there at 10:00 AM. If I make it by 1:00 PM, I'll be lucky. On the other hand, there's a lot going on all afternoon; the ALS Society might even have a stand again this year. I'm sure I will find people. I know they will be watching for me. My friends are good that way.

So maybe a day of rest. Or perhaps laundry. I don't know. We'll see how I feel in an hour or so.

Friday, 2 June 2017

I Need To Sleep

To bed last night at 7:00 PM. Wake up at 10:00 PM to take my evening pills, including a sleeping pill. It doesn't work. I toss and turn until 11:00 PM. I take another half sleeping pill. It works. I go out quick, and stay out until this morning when my Home Care Aide calls from the front door to be let into my apartment building. It's 8:50 AM. Add it all up. It's nearly 13 hours of solid sleep.

When I get up, I'm feeling alert; weak as always, but at least my mind is alert. I go to the bathroom, and feel the energy start to drain. I have a shower too. It's work. I get dressed, transfers included. Even with Micheal's help, it takes effort. The energy continues to drain. I keep going.

It's been almost an hour since Micheal got here. I am fully dressed. And I am starting to tire out. I have exercises to do first. With Micheal doing his part, more work than mine, I feel even more energy draining from me. Each lift, each turn, each grab takes its toll. I almost fall asleep a couple of times while Micheal is holding on to my legs.

Now I have to do my arms; no help on these ones. I am barely functional, ready completely to go to sleep. My energy has pretty much left me. I am drained. Regardless, I push on, doing my arms. At least once I lose track of things, settling into a zone of bare consciousness. I need a rest. I need to stop. I need to sleep.

I finish my exercises. It's been two hours since Micheal arrived. The first out is getting me up and dressed. The second hour is exercises. Except we are ahead of schedule. It's only 10:40 AM. Then again, he got here at 8:50 AM, so it's close. He is supposed to make me breakfast. We have our continuing argument about the quality of cereal as a breakfast. He says that is all he is supposed to do. His other clients don't expect a "fancy restaurant breakfast." A fried egg sandwich would be good enough. I don't get one.

I grab the fruit platter from the fridge. I eat some fruit. I need to sleep. I go to the bedroom, but don't have the energy to put on the sling. I sit, falling asleep in my wheelchair, jerked back to life when I almost fall forward out of the chair. I grab the dresser and railing beside me, stablizing myself.

I go to the kitchen table. I put my head down in my arms. It's uncomfortable. I decide to make a cup of coffee. It's here. I will drink perhaps half. I don't have the energy for any more. I'm going to fight my way into that sling, and go back to bed. I need to sleep.

Thursday, 1 June 2017


I'm tired today. I went to bed late and did not sleep well. The noisy fan on my night table did little all night but buzz and whirr while uselessly pushing warm air about my bedroom. I slept without cover, still sticking to the bedsheets with sweat. When Micheal arrived in the morning, I said I wasn't going to get up. I asked him to unplug the fan. He did, and that is all he did. He left immediately.

My friend Bobbi called at about noon, saying she was coming by, thus motivating me to at least get out of bed and partially dressed. It's remains hot and muggy in here. My living room fan, set to high, is at least pushing cooler air about this afternoon. The funny thing is that it is not really hot outside, nor is it particularly humid. It's inside, here in my apartment, where the heat and humidity collect, especially in my bedroom.

Bobbi asked if I needed anything. Food is what I wanted; I didn't want to prepare anything. She went to Subway and picked up a sandwich for me. When she arrived, I was dressing, so she took that time to water my plants. Then we sat down for lunch and a chat. In the course of that chat, she talked about working in her yard, then taking a long time to recover from the work effort. She referred to herself as feeling "depleted". A light bulb went on for me.

This is the feeling I have been poorly expressing for some time now. I am not depressed, not tired in the normal sense. I constantly feel what Bobbi described, a feeling of depletion, without restoration. I call it "worn out", but that doesn't do it justice. It is depletion. All of my energy and life is being consumed, without adequate replenishment. No matter what I do, thanks to ALS that energy and life will never be replenished. It will simply remain missing, leaving me perpetually depleted.

That's what I feel now. Yes, I am tired. Of course I am tired. I stayed up late last night. Yet it is not the tiredness that weighs so heavily upon me. It is the inability to replenish myself after any form of exertion, even the simple task of putting on clothes. The life goes out of me; very little comes back in, and what does, comes back very, very unwillingly. Yes, I am depleted. That's it.

Wednesday, 31 May 2017

Just For A While

I'm sitting in my Ikea Phoang chair, writing my blog post. It's been a long time since I have done this, perhaps years. When I was first diagnose, when I could still get in and out of this chair on my own, I would settle here and write. Then, as transfers became more difficult and arms weakened, I rather gave up on it, deciding it was easier to sit at the table, to write on it's firm, steady surface.

Sitting here, in this chair, in this place, has always been one of the best parts of my day. From here the sky stretches to the prairie, today showing thin patches of blue smudge against thin patches of white; the wind restless, shifting from gust to still and back again; the air full and thick, humid, heavy. It's the breeze that makes the day today, the offer of cool air stripping away the clammy clutch of moisture. I can feel it, even here in my chair, courtesy of my open balcony door.

The hanging baskets and my tree make a dance of it, swaying with each gust. The small birds huddle into the tree, flitting in and out, living on the wind as an old friend and trusted ally. Every once in a while a crow or magpie will land on a branch, stare in my window, see nothing of interest, then bolt off for the next port of call. And always there is the noise of people and traffic below.

I'm tired today, unsure if I will get up out of this chair at any point, unsure if I will wander past my computer and my book today. I have water next to me, along with the ubiquitous jug. Of course the jug works poorly in this chair; I am no expert at peeing uphill into a container which points back downwards at me. Nor am I wearing a catheter, although the catheter would be a nuisance too, equally plagued by the vicissitudes of gravitation and slope. Bag below bladder, that's the rule. It makes it tough to sit with your feet up.

So, I suppose, at some point I will leave the comfort of this chair, once again engaging in the life of a man with ALS, a man in a wheelchair, a man tired of challenge. But not just yet. For a while, just a little while, I am going to watch the wind in the trees, listen to the chirps and squirps of the small birds, feel the air push past me. Just for a while.

Tuesday, 30 May 2017

Getting Worn Down, Over A Rib Roast

I have this nice little 2 pound rib roast I just took out of the freezer. I look at the price of it; $16.38. I think to myself how expensive that is for such a small bit of meat. Then I realize that I will barely be able to eat half of it, especially given how I am about the combination of cooking, followed by eating. It's entirely possible I will cook it, then eat none of it at all. That's the way it goes these days.

How I cook it will have some impact, not much, but a little. If I simply grill it, like a gigantic, thick steak, it won't be as much work. So perhaps I will eat a bit. If I oven roast it, with spices and all, and then make some gravy, I doubt I will each much, if any of it. I'll be too tired from the work. I could even do it on the BBQ, but again the work of it all will destroy my appetite.

Wine will help. It stimulates my appetite. But after a glass or two of wine, I'll just want to have more wine, and eat foods that require no preparation and little or no cutlery. I would likely chow down on my giant bowl of coleslaw rather than eat the steak. I might have a mouthful or two, maybe not. Plus there is the effort of cleaning up the BBQ, both before and after cooking.

Then there is the question of mushrooms. I love mushrooms, especially with a good cut of meat. This roast is one of the nicest cuts of meat going. I think Rib Roast is as good as it gets when it comes to beef. I am purely a carnivore on this front. Yet mushrooms make it so much better. So now I have to ask if I have the energy to go across the street, today or tomorrow, to get some fresh mushrooms. Will I feel like sauteing them? Will I want to clean and slice them? Is any of this worth the effort?

So the real questions are these. Who will come and help me cook? Who will eat with me? Who will bring mushrooms and help prepare them? Who will make the effort worthwhile. You see, I don't want to do any of this if I am left up to myself. It's too much work. Even now I'm thinking I should just put that Rib Roast back in the freezer and give up. The coleslaw will be enough, just like it will be tonight.

All of this, over a simple meal. It's the emotional side of ALS that really wears me down.

Monday, 29 May 2017

What Happens When?

I went shopping yesterday. I wanted some fruit, and another carton of milk. I also wanted to go up to Canadian Tire, ostensibly to purchase a watering can, but really just because I like going to Canadian Tire. Fortunately I didn't buy a watering can; I don't really need one. Nor did I buy any of the other fun stuff I was looking at.

My purchasing problems began at Safeway, not in terms of expenditure but in terms of ability. I discovered yesterday that I can no long pick up a mini-watermelon, nor can I lift up my shopping bag with a watermelon and cantaloupe in it. Even the 2 litre carton of milk is getting heavier for me these days. Perhaps becoming poor again in a few months will help with the situation; I'll no longer have the money for expensive fruits and vegetables. Instead, I will be on the path to becoming the vegetable.

Losing the strength in my arms is leading me to other concerns. For example, never mind not being able to pick up a glass of beer, what happens when I can't pick up my urine jug? At that point I will have to be permanently catheterised. I get a lot of help getting myself dressed these days. What will happen when I cannot get undressed by myself? It will mean having home care come in and put me to bed at night, another loss of independence and lifestyle. I won't be able to stay up late, bingeing on Netflix and wine. Perhaps this is a good thing, perhaps not.

Even my coffee cup is feeling heavy these days, tugging at my arm muscles as I pick it up for a sip between paragraphs or sentences. I can feel the pain of overwork in my upper arms, both left and right. I can no longer pick up my toolbox without some sort of help and it is almost impossible for me to put my drill kit up into the cupboard. Someone has to do these things for me now.

Losing my legs was easy compared to losing my arms. Losing my legs meant going into a wheelchair, changing my way of getting around, giving up some of my leisure activities. Losing my arm strength means giving up everything. There is no replacement, no wheelchair for the arms. This disease is getting very real right now, very potent in its impact. I suspect that my daughter is correct; once my arms are gone, I will go very quickly after that.

Sunday, 28 May 2017

Crappy Parker

Last night I went out to a social event. I am no longer able to go solo in my truck, so I went in my power wheelchair, taking public transit to my destination, or as close as it would get me, then powering my way along the sidewalk to rest of the way. Alas, it was not a simple thing. Then again, with ALS, very little is simple. As I have said before;  nothing is easy, nothing is fast.

The first part was relatively easy, after going the the process of preparing for a night out, putting on a catheter, putting on shoes, getting my coat on and getting out the door. I just powered my way over to a nearby C-Train station, the Brentwood station, about 15 minutes by power chair. I didn't bother with the bus; the weather was lovely and the fresh air was worth the extra few minutes.

I rolled onto the train almost as soon as I got to the station. It just worked that way. The train itself takes about 40 minutes. Then there is about a 15 minute walk, or 10 minute roll, along the sidewalks to get to the pub where we were all meeting. Unfortunately, about half way along the way, there was a car parked right in front of the sidewalk access ramp where I needed to cross the street. No access. None. Totally blocked.

I turned around and went to the patio of a nearby restaurant where it looked like there might be a candidate, and shouted out, asking if anyone owned the car blocking the wheelchair access ramp to the sidewalk. No luck with the owner, but whom should I see there? Mickey Hays, one of my co-workers when I was at the CBE! He, along with a couple of other guys, came and helped me muscle my power wheelchair up the curb, onto the grass, and then onto the sidewalk on the other side of that badly parked car.

Mickey and I said our hellos. I expressed my gratitude, and was on my way. I had a great time at the pub, enjoying good company, celebrating the 40th anniversary of the release of Star Wars. Next thing I know, it's 10:00 PM and I am exhausted. So, after bidding my leave of all, I powered out once again, into the night, onto the sidewalk, only to encounter, once again, that accursed car, still blocking the access ramp two hours later.

I had had enough. I called the cops. 911 and all. While this may not have been an emergency, it was certainly important, perhaps even urgent. The only way for me to get around the car was to take my power wheelchair into the middle of a busy street, going off the sidewalk and into potential harm's way in traffic. I didn't want to do that. The 911 operator agreed wholeheartedly. However I did opt to go around the block the long way on a back road where there was less traffic, just to get past the obstacle.

An officer arrived within minutes, about as long as it took me to get around the block. As he got out of his truck, I apologized for being a nuisance. It was just too much for me, I said. He replied "No. This is exactly what you need to do. I understand completely. That's why I came so quickly. This is just wrong."

I teared up. I'm still tearing up a bit as I write about it. To have my feelings of frustration so validated, to have someone able bodied see the challenge from my perspective, to have him able to do something about it, that meant so much to me. It's tough enough being in the chair, but when idiots thoughtlessly block the way with no regard for anyone but themselves, that's plainly wrong.

I'm not sure what happened to the car. I'm pretty sure the officer planted a very expensive ticket on it. I'm also reasonably certain he called a tow truck to unblock the sidewalk access. I feel no shame in all of this; quite the reverse. I feel vindicated. I know I did the right thing. I don't feel badly for the driver, not even one little bit. He or she is just lucky they didn't show up while I was around. Then the officer might have had to restrain me. I'm sure none of us needed that.

Saturday, 27 May 2017

This Gardening Thing

I have a garden on my balcony! It's not quite done yet; the last couple of planters need to be filled in and put in place. Andrea and Dan are coming over this afternoon to help with that. I am so excited to see them in place that I don't know if I can wait until 3:00 PM for them to show up. I might just sit out there and enjoy what is done already, perhaps with a Gin and Tonic.

Gardening is not, nor never really has been, a thing for me. I've always enjoyed the idea conceptually, planting a seed, watching it grow, enjoying the harvest. It's just that the whole dirt and flowers and weeds and watering stuff never really held much pleasure for me. It just seemed like a lot of work. Yes, gardens look lovely, and I truly appreciated the work my ex-wife did with flowers and plants. She was the natural gardener in our house. I was the heavy lifting kind of helper.

Something happened last year. I got a hanging basket or two, really enjoying the flowers and sunshine while sitting on my balcony. This year I decided to go to town with the project. There are now four box planters on my balcony railing, two complete and two for completion today. There are also two hanging baskets with a variety of flowers, hung low from the ceiling on chain so they are easy to see. There is a third one which I don't quite know what to do with. I'll decide that today. Finally, there is a pepper plant, complete with a pepper, and a beefsteak tomato plant, both set into the end of the balcony against a climbing trellis.

If I am still alive next year, and capable of doing or directing the work, I'm already thinking of doing something different, perhaps a potted clematis for that trellis, and maybe cherry tomatoes in one of the rail planters. It has gotten me, this gardening thing. I kind of like it.

Friday, 26 May 2017

Too Tired

I'm tired, too tired to write. I'l see how I feel later in the day.


It's later in the day. I'm still fairly much exhausted, even though I slept will last night. I think it might be a hangover from the Zopiclone. This would be my second night in a row where I have taken one and a half tablets. Sure, it knocks me out, but it continues to have an affect even this afternoon.

I'm kind of emotionally tired and upset as well. I sent out an invitation to my "gang" asking if anyone wanted to come help me with planting up my planters, and then staying for a BBQ. I got no answers. Nobody wanted to come. It was bound to happen sooner or later. After all, it's summer. People have gardens of their own, plans for their weekends. I am the only one with nothing but free time on my hands.

Oh well, onward and upward. At least I can putter away on these things on my own. Instead of a BBQ, I am going to go out to a 40th Anniversary Star Wars party with some other friends at a local pub.

Thursday, 25 May 2017

No Breakfast Today

On Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, my HCA, Micheal arrives at 9:00, in theory. In practice, he usually gets here about 10 to 15 minutes early, so I wake up at 8:45 or so. Saturday through Monday start at 10:30 AM. I made this schedule change in the forlorn hope that I might get more useful stuff done in the earlier parts of my day. The truth is that these are the days where I tend to have a long nap in the afternoon.

These are also the days with Micheal. He is a reasonable care aide, his biggest asset being his reliability. While the nature of the job means there will be so irregularity in his arrival and departure, he is almost always here when he says he will be here, and when he is late I know something serious has happened.

Micheal has his limitations. Part of his job is to make me breakfast. If I am lucky, I get a fried egg sandwich once out of the five days he is with me. More often I get myself a bowl of cereal or some fresh fruit, perhaps both. Today I got nothing; I have to fend for myself. He simply doesn't cook. He says I am like a woman because I cook, and I prefer to have my laundry folded and put away, rather than just dumped into a drawer or left in the basket. I will be discussing this with his supervisor in the next few days.

His other challenge is initiative in being helpful. He will do exactly what it says on his list of things to do. No more. Today I had plants in the sink from watering them last night. He calls to me and asks me to take the plants out of the sink. I asked him about help with watering and he said "No. I am not a horticulturalist." Given that he is here five days out of seven, this could be a problem.

Today I am going to meet with my Home Care Coordinator Nurse, Dani. I am going to talk to her about help with my laundry and help with watering my flowers. I am also going to discuss getting a therapy pet, one to keep me company and perhaps help pick things up when I drop them, or do light switches when I forget. My thought is to have a doggy pad on the deck. I wonder how Micheal will respond if and when theses things are added to his duties. I suspect he will do them, reluctantly, just like making breakfast for me.

Wednesday, 24 May 2017

Arms and Clowns

I couldn't sit up in bed this morning. I don't mean it took me several tries. Several tries is how every morning goes these days. I am having increasing trouble getting from a laying position to a sitting position. This morning, after several tries, I couldn't do it at all. I wore myself out, fell backwards from my partial attempt, and just laid there, wondering what I might do.

So I made a couple of phone calls, looked at the nasty weather outside, and rested. Then, after about 15 minutes, I tried it again. This time I repositioned my body a bit, adjusted my angle to the M-rail a bit, and, after two or three attempts, managed to get upright. It's all about the physics, the placement of my lifting arm and bracing arm, where my center of mass and balance are, and how I feel in my arms.

When I first wake up, or when I first try to sit up, I am fairly sure that all the muscles involved are not involved, even though they should be. I think it takes my body a while to become fully functional, or as fully functional as it can get these days. The continual loss of strength in my arms is what is causing me so much trouble with sitting up. I can no longer just pull myself upright. I am too weak. These days I have to wake up, rest up, then, hopefully, get up.

Even after doing all this, it wasn't enough when my day started. I had to wait, and go through a whole other round of attempts and struggles. Now that I am up, in my wheelchair, dressed, my arms are aching and sore from the effort, especially my left upper arm, right next to my shoulder. This is the worst area of failure right now.

I've felt this coming. I've seen this coming. I've known it would happen. It is the precursor to the final event, where I will be completely unable to do this alone, where I will need help in even the simple act of getting upright. When? I don't know. The parade has begun but the clowns haven't shown up yet. When they do, I won't be laughing.

Tuesday, 23 May 2017

My Green Thumb

It's late. That's how it goes some days. I've spent most of my day today, of all things, gardening. You need to know that I am not naturally a gardener. I can barely tell an azalea from a zinnea, a vegetable from a fruit, a herb from a weed. In truth, my ex-wife was the gardener, one of her talents that I continue to admire. She could take all these plants and work them into something beautiful. Mine? The would mostly die.

I'm hoping that won't happen to me this year. I'm hoping the hanging baskets and herb garden and tomato plant and pepper plant all survive my clumsy hand. I'm hoping the ledge baskets will thrive in spite of my inability to know what one is from the other. I am putting my faith in those who help me, regular watering, and the power of nature.

I cannot give a real reason why I want a garden on my balcony this year. I've not had one in years past. I've spent my summers doing things that took me away from my apartment, busy with social activities and road trips. This year won't be all that different. I am away for a couple of weeks in June, with other plans for a variety of short trips in July and August. On top of that I am expecting visitors during that time, a time far too busy for me to fuss over a garden.

The need for a volunteer gardener has been noted in previous entries to this blog. Well things just got real. I apparently have a balcony filled with members of the Kingdom Plantae, all needing loving care and attention. This is not one of my skills.

So far, today, I have managed to put together the Herb Garden. This involves the potting of five plants from the nursery. I setup the hanging herb basket, filled it with moistened potting soil, and transferred the plants from their nursery pots into the herb garden basket. Yay!! I am a gardener. The hanging baskets are up. I've put the tomato and pepper plants against the far wall of the balcony with a fancy metal trellis behind them. Next comes the four rail mounted potting frames.

Of course none of this would happen without the extensive help of so many people. Dion helped me pick the plants. Anisa helped me modify the rail boxes so they would fit on the rails. Anne helped me with positioning the pepper and tomato plants, along with hanging the hanging baskets. She also set me up to do the Herb Garden.

Let's see what tomorrow brings. More gardening I suspect. I cannot do this quickly, but I can do it. That's what matters.

Monday, 22 May 2017

Feeling Good

I feel good today. I got plenty of sleep last night. Kathy, my HCA, has cleaned my apartment top to bottom. She made me sandwiches, the kinds she makes that I really like. I've had a shower and used the bathroom with no issues. I just feel good.

This doesn't mean any sort of sudden strength. Nor does it mean the pain stops or the body exhaustion goes away. It's a mental thing, where my spirits are up, where I emotionally feel good. Even as I write this, my eyelids are heavy with body exhaustion. In spite of 12 hours of good, solid sleep, I am still tired. My shoulders are hurting along with my upper arms. My body aches, everywhere, even in the dead muscles.

But here I am, saying I feel good today.

It's the strangest thing to live in this body, to feel my mind separate from it on such a regular basis, to know that there is never a good day for my body when it comes to ALS. The secret to life, mine, yours to any life really, is to recognize that you are not your body, that the person you are is held within your emotions, your attitudes, your spirits. Your body will fail you, I guarantee it. Your mind is yours to keep, regardless.

I suppose that's why I think Alzheimer's is so much worse than ALS. We are intellectual creatures, simply inhabiting a physical body. To lose the mind and keep the body seems far more unfair than to lose the body and keep the mind. I enjoy so much in my life with the help of others, so many things where devices replace legs and arms. I have an active mind, in spite of a failing body. And every once in a while I get to feel good, really good. Like today.

Sunday, 21 May 2017

To Sleep, Perchance To Dream

I dislike days like today, days where I feel tired, where I am tired, but I can't sleep. It started last night, after an absolutely terrific get together with friends. We visited, had great food and wine, laughed and talked. Then everybody went home. That's my worst part of every evening, when everybody leaves and I am once again home alone. Then I decided to watch a bit of Netflix. Next thing I know it's 3:00 AM and I am still wide awake.

I remember seeing the sunrise on the horizon as I finally fell into a fitful sleep. I woke up every hour, whether I wanted to or not, not having to pee or anything, just waking up so I could look at the clock and wonder if I had actually slept. I must have, at least for some of it. Then, after about six hours of nonsensical psuedo-resting, my Home Care Aide arrived to help me get up and get dressed.

She is a 30 something young Mom from Byelorus. Her English is not all that good, but we get by when she has to fill in, generally for Micheal. He likes to take the odd Sunday off, especially if he is lightly booked. Olga, yes that's her name, is chipper and hard working, wanting to do her best and do it well. There's not a lot of nonsense about her, but she can smile and appreciate the humour in some parts of my life.

When she walked into my bedroom this morning, she looked at me and grinned. She knew I hadn't slept much. She knew I was on the edge of sending her away. It wouldn't matter; the HCA's get paid for their time here whether I accept their help or not. Regardless, she looked at me and we exchanged the usual morning pleasantries, though not always pleasant from me. Then she said, "Where you want me to start?"

I must have looked confused, because she repeated herself with some clarification. "Where you want me to start? Here or kitchen?" I realized she was offering me an extra hour of rest, which I gladly took. Off she went to the kitchen, tidying and, at the end of her efforts, cooking an omelette for me. When she returned to me, slumped as I was on the bed, she helped me into my sling. While I went to the washroom, she did more tidying. After I was done, she helped me onto the bed and began to help me dress.

Then her time ran out. I am certain she expected me to stay in bed. The omelette would have gone in the fridge. She would have gone on her way. I would have gone back to sleep. I kind of did that. I was partly dressed when I sent her on her way. As she closed the door, I lay down once again, for yet another couple of hours faking sleep, dozing lightly, feeling the sun heating my room, feeling sleepy but not sleeping.

I am up now, still feeling sleepy. I ate my omelette, my eyes still demanding closure while my brain demands that I be alert. I didn't bother with the rest of dressing; no pants, no compression socks. I'm just going to sit around today and do as little as possible. Then, in about six hours, I will go to bed again, this time with a double dose of Zopiclone. I will sleep tonight.

Saturday, 20 May 2017

Campfire Blues

My friend Mike I coming for dinner today. He moved away to Kamloops for work last year, so we only get to see him here in Calgary once it a while. It's a seven hour drive. I've made that drive a fair bit, going down to the coast to see children, grandchildren, and my parents. It can be a really tough drive, especially in the dead of winter. I'm glad he can make it this weekend.

It's a long weekend, the official start of outdoor season in Canada. Summer frivolity has begun, with camping trips, road trips to the mountains or lake or seashore, or just hanging around of the deck enjoying friends and family, a beer in hand. Gardening has begun in earnest, planted patches appearing in neighbours yards reminding you that you should do one of your own this year. Even apartment balconies are getting decked out, trimmed with hanging baskets and herb trays.

It would be nice to participate in this season with some enthusiasm. Alas the weakness in my arms and hands makes many activities far to difficult these days. People I would have gone with at one time are off with other friends, unable to deal with the difficulties of travel with me and my many required devices. Thank goodness for David, taking me to Scotland and Ireland in a few weeks. These will be hotel nights, not camping nights, so life will be a bit easier. Still, it takes commitment to travel with me.

I wish I could go camping once again, at least for a night or two. I would like to sit around the fire, eat a charred hot dog cooked over an open fire, drink a few and tell a few stories, all under the sky spread above, glowing with a million stars like the stretched embers of the fire at my feet. This part of my life is gone, or at least out of reach. I cannot do it alone. I have my cot. I have my sleeping bag. I also have my wheelchair, my commode chair, my grabby sticks, my medications, my compression stockings, my M-rail. In other words, I have a lot of stuff, and that is what makes it tough.

It would be nice, though. Just once again. To sit by the campfire and watch the night go by.

Friday, 19 May 2017

Pain. Gain.

ALS has been at war inside of me in some sort of massive battle for my arms and shoulders over the last week. My left arm is just about ready to give up; not completely, but enough that it will make a substantial difference in my functioning. My right side is still fighting the battle, but it is a battle which is leaving me exhausted, completely.

I noticed it a few days back, when I did all that work on the one bathroom shelf. That work day, and the small amount I did the following day, simply tore the daylights out of the muscles in both arms and in my shoulders. The problem is that doing this kind of thing makes the destructive power of ALS magnify. The muscles that I damaged in the work are not going to repair, or at least not come back to the same condition as before. The last few days they have been proving that to me, simply not handling even the lightest of tasks without massive complaint and tiredness.

This is what is happening to me in general, as I creep down this road to decrepit, sliding down the hill into complete disrepair. It's not one big thing, nor is it a bunch of little things. It is a combination of everything; the loss of strength, the loss of energy, the exhaustion involved with mere activities of daily living.It's all becoming too much for my upper body.

This is also why I am having trouble motivating myself to be social. It takes so much work to get into my power chair and go out. It's not just the chair. It's the catheter, the coat, the gloves, the shoes. It's getting ready and getting going, all of which tires me out. If I want to do something, I have to push past that tiredness, which demands more on my body, which wears me out even more. For every action, I pay a price, a very high price.

I've been exhausted the last few days. More rest does little more good; I've been getting more rest. I just have to keep going, regardless, accepting the limits of my physical self while pushing the boundaries of my spirit and willingness. This is not an easy illness. Nor does it have to be a hard one, unless you want some sort of quality in your life. I will take the pain. Life is my gain.

Thursday, 18 May 2017

Carpe Diem

The sunshine came blasting through my windows this morning. Our star has transited its massive arc across our sky, or rather we have made the 10 month journey around the sun to where it's arc now shines directly into my window once again. This arc will continue for another month, at which point it will reverse its eternal march across the heavens, eventually going far enough south so that my window, once again, is out of direct reach.

My apartment is warm. It's position against the sun means the windows are almost always bathed in its warmth. I have neighbours on all sides, providing more heat and insulation. The thermostat in my apartment is almost never turned up. Perhaps there were two or three days in the darkest, deepest cold of this winter where the radiators were radiating. Beyond that, I need the windows open most days to keep it cool in here.

It always amazes me how quickly winter turns to spring, and spring to summer, here in Calgary. Of course the truth is that winter can make a snap appearance almost anytime. This is the only place I know of where they talk about a late summer snow storm, or where spring snow is not only expected, but surprising in its absence. Still, it was winter a couple of weeks ago. There was snow on the ground; the trees still barren; the grass still shrouded in the dusty brown of winter. Then, a couple of days back, it started to change. Trees began to bud. Grass greened. Snow melted.

The warmth of summer won't last long. In less than 120 days we will be well into September, possibly seeing the first of the autumn snows. We will have a month of spring, two months of summer, a month or so of autumn, then the chill winds of winter will once again blow down from the mountain slopes.

While summer is here, I will revel in it. I'm already planning an excursion out in my power chair today, for nothing other than some time in the sun. I'll do some mindless shopping; swiss cheese, bell peppers, watermelon, cucumbers. I'll go to the shop furthest away, so I can spend more time outside. I might head over to Tim Horton's for a coffee to go, then sit in the sun, sipping, and basking in the warmth. I will seize the day.

Wednesday, 17 May 2017

A Dry Well

I'm having a tough day today. My arms hurt, especially my right arm. My hands hurt, especially my left hand and thumb. My mid to lower back hurts, the kind of hurt I get from being in a wheelchair too long. On top of the aches and pains, I did not sleep well last night. The Zopliclone did not work; I wonder if I a developing a tolerance for it. Regardless, as I sit here now I am tired, droopy, worn, slow and struggling. And I've already had a 2 hour nap!

It would be such a joy to imply these days don't happen very often, so treasureful to shove it off as an oddity, a rarity. Alas days like today are now the normal in my life. They have been for some time. The other day I was thinking that the lack of energy in my body might have something to do with the lack of focus. Certainly working on that shelf gave me some focus. It did not, however, stimulate any renewed energy from within me. All I did was steal strength from today in order to use it yesterday.

What makes these real tired days worse is the low grade nausea, just enough to convince me that eating would not necessarily be a bad thing, but it might not be a good thing. Given my overall tendency these days to avoid eating, this would be the kind of day where the bowl of cereal I just finished would be my full dietary intake for the day. The energy needed to put food out simply exceeds my level of available energy.

What's worse is that I have company coming for dinner tonight. I am making salmon, a fairly simply meal. While it may be simple, the processing of all the bits and pieces takes time and energy, something I resent giving up right now. On top of have to prepare dinner, I have laundry to do, laundry which cannot wait another day. Thanks to a couple of inauspicious moments with my pee jug, all my jeans in are in the laundry except the pair I am wearing.

I don't want to do any of this. I want it to stop. I want other people to cook. I want someone to do my laundry. Home care will do this, but they don't make "major meals". Salmon is a major meal. And they don't do anything on short notice, especially laundry. For those who tell me to "suck it up", from where shall I magically create that nonexistent energy? From where will arise the sucking up power?

There is no reserve. The well is dry.

Tuesday, 16 May 2017

Shelf Time

Last Sunday I declared my boredom. There are so many things I cannot do, compounded by my general ennui these days. Instead of just sitting there, wallowing, I decided to do something, to take on a project which has been bothering me for more than a year.

I want a third shelf in my bathroom alcove. I have this nook at the end of my shower. It is 27" wide. This statistic will become important shortly. In addition I want to move the second shelf upwards by three inches, making the shelf spacing 15" instead of 12". Since the bottom storage area is 30" tall, there will be a certain symmetry in the shelves. The top one will be a 60", that's five feet. It's high enough that using it for limited access is fine, but low enough that I can reach it from the lift function of my power chair.

The start of this project was to remove and re-shim the first shelf. This also includes putting in additional support screws. The reasoning is simple. If I make the shelf space three inches higher, more stuff will be put on the shelf. More stuff equals more weight. More weight requires more supporting screws. The shim part is simply to align the front of the shelves so they don't bump the wall as they slide forward from their recessed position. Yes, these are slide-out shelves.

In order to do the work on shelf one, I had to remove all the towels on the shelf, then remove the shelf itself. Now, in a wheelchair this kind of task presents some substantial challenges. The shelves themselves are roughly two feet wide and over three feet deep. They are not overly heavy, just really, really awkward. They have to be lifted in and out of the drawer rail, a task which is completely beyond me.

So I thought about different ways to handle that shelf. After a variety of failed methods, I ended up using the rolling stand from the bathroom topped by the booster seat that I use to get into my truck, along with a couple of large, heavy books on the top. This made a rolling cradle, wobbly as it was, from which I could move the shelf in and out of its drawer rollers. Once out, I would lift it down to the ground, all the while seated in my wheelchair.

Then came the next challenge. The alcove is 27" wide. My wheelchair is 28" wide. So much for getting in close to things. What I had to do instead was lean in precariously, using various other walls and shelves for bracing, and undo all the screws past the first 12" of the drawer rails. The rear screws, the ones I would never reach, did not need shims. I am thankful for that. So, with all the requisite grunting and straining, something I usually do other places in the bathroom, I managed to get the screws out what needed getting out.

Next came the shims. The first time I did these shelves, I cannot remember who was helping me. At that time I didn't put too much thought into the shims. Even now I think they were fine, but the additional weight requirement was enough to concern me. This time I had made shims which exactly followed the outline of the drawer rail. This would make the shims less obvious. I also split the shims, some on one side and some on the other, further making them less obvious.

When I say "made the shims", I mean hand made them with a wall cutting knife and some thin board material I have left from another project. Each shim takes about half an hour to make. I needed two last night. I will need four over the next two phases of this project, plus a couple of spares for breakage.

Finally I was ready to re-assemble. It took two or three tries to get the shims, shelves, and screws all set properly. Even now there is one screw where the head is at an angle and it is impacting the drawer rail. making the shelf tough to pull. I need to fix that one.

Once I was sure all the shims were set, that I had enough wall anchors in place to support the drawer rails, and all the screws were in, I put the drawer back in. Then I put back all the towels on the first shelf. When you look at it, you can hardly tell I did anything at all. Then again, it was such a simple task that it should have taken about two hours.

For me? I started on Sunday evening, working until 11:00 PM. Then I worked some more yesterday afternoon and evening, finally finishing about 10:00 PM. Two days elapsed with somewhere in the order of 16 hours of effort. For me. For just one shelf adjustment. Fuck, I hate this disease.

Monday, 15 May 2017

Garden Angel

I need a gardener. To be completely honest, I need a volunteer gardener. I can't afford to pay for one. The reason I need a gardener is to help pretty up my small balcony. It's very small, just a perfect size for sitting on, enjoying a Gin and Tonic. However I have no flowers or baskets this year.

Last year, Katherine did the gardening. It was small, just a single hanging basked on a stand, one which I managed to kill while she was away in Hong Kong. I forgot to water it. These days it's more than just forgetting to water any plants. It's getting out there with a watering can, reaching whatever baskets, hanging or otherwise, that are in place. While I might be able to do it, I am just as likely to not, simply to save the effort for something else.

This would not be an onerous task, this temporary gardener. It would involve going with me to Canadian Tire to pick out the various hanging baskets and rail baskets, then picking out the contents for said baskets. I would love to have a small herb garden out there, along with some pretty, blooming flowers. I have always loved hanging baskets, a couple of them would be nice too. Then, once the garden was in, I would need help with the watering, perhaps once or twice a week.

This would not be an entirely volunteer assignment. There would be compensation in the form of wine, perhaps dinner now and again, and my gratitude. Plus there would be the results of the herb garden. So who out there is willing to help, willing to make my balcony something more than dust and a BBQ? Who would help me choose the stuff, setup the garden, and help me water it now and again? Are you out there, oh garden angel?

Sunday, 14 May 2017

I'm Bored, AKA My Energy Bank Is Empty

I'm bored. I'm home alone, tired, nothing to do. Actually there is lots to do in my apartment, starting with cleaning it up. It's a mess after a very busy yesterday with Kate, Phil and the boys over. Things are too heavy for me to move, to big for me to pick up, to hard for me to push back into place. Kathy will come tomorrow and fix it all.

There is laundry to fold, and another batch to wash. Laundry is, for me and everyone else, a perpetual motion machine. Today I will do laundry. Tonight there will be new laundry in the basket, waiting for the Wednesday wash, which sometimes doesn't get done until Friday. Yet even laundry is an exhausting task for me. A great many times I avoid it, delay it, stay away until compelled by my empty dresser. Soon I will be asking Home Care to do it for me; the energy cost is starting to get up there.

I could go out, but where? I can't use my truck solo thanks to weak arms and an elevated lift seat. If I use the ramp here at home, how to I get out of the truck somewhere else? I was thinking of setting up a permanent ramp here at my apartment so I could at least get in and out at home. Then, when I go out, I can ask people to help me with my folding ramp. But I don't have the energy or strength to build the permanent ramp. I'm too far gone.

It might have been fun to get out in my power wheelchair. Ironically, the batter charger for the lift I used to get into the PWC is broken. I found that out when I went to charge the batteries so I could use the lift. There is a way around this. I could use the attendant drive to move the PWC into my bedroom, then use the bedroom sling to lift myself into the chair. First I would have to move the laundry baskets and the commode chair. Then I could relocate the PWC and myself. As well, when I got home I would have to relocate the various bits and pieces. That's a lot of energy.

There is always Netflix, although most of it is tedious and boring for me these days. There are not a lot of really interesting documentaries; I've watched most of them, some twice. Much of the entertainment production is little better than what you see on TV. Even the much vaunted British televisions shows are lagging in quality these days, or at least that's how it seems.

So here I am. Bored, tired, lonely, alone, lacking the enthusiasm to even grab a bottle of wine. I suppose laundry is my best bet. it will keep me going for an hour or two. Then comes the next struggle. What do I make for a dinner I don't actually feel like eating.

Saturday, 13 May 2017

It's Still My Kitchen

I'm halfway through my day, or well into it anyways, and I am only now finding a few moments to do some writing. My HCA, Micheal, arrived late today. Saturdays are always difficult for him; they cram his schedule and leave it up to him to make it work. Fortunately he knows that an extra half hour of sleep in a Saturday mornings is something I rarely complain about. If it gets to over an hour or so, then I might have issues, but not if its only 30 minutes.

About 15 minutes after Micheal arrived, so did my friend Tonny. He came to make breakfast for me today. He does this periodically, ever few weeks or so. Whenever I try to tell him how much I appreciate it, he reminds me that he has to eat too. It's both fun and upsetting to me to see how quickly he settles into my kitchen, how quickly he can get things done in there. I used to be like that. Alas, no more.

It's odd how so many people know their way around my kitchen. It was once a territory I defended furiously. It was my castle, where I ruled the kingdom of cooking. I was the one who organized the meals. I was the one who did the dishes. I was the one who put stuff away. These days I can to almost none of this. When Brad was over last night, dominating the kitchen as he does, I asked what I could do to help. He said I could issue orders, but as usual nobody would pay much attention to them. Basically everybody else takes over the galley while I pretend to sail the ship.

I am fortunate in this regard. Most of my friends are very comfortable in the kitchen, and more that willing to listen to my experience. At times, when I mistake "my way" for the only way, they will remind me, or ignore me. Mostly, though, they understand, they help, they take care of things. Sometimes they even do what I tell them.

Friday, 12 May 2017

Big Silver

It took me almost 2 1/2 hours to get up, go to the bathroom, and get dressed today. There were difficulties and a tremendous lack of motivation blocking my way. I spent most of the time between struggles and strains thinking about suicide. I think about it a lot these days.

There is a place, high up in the coastal mountains, call Nahatlatch. Most people who know if it at all, know of the Nahatlatch Lake Park, or the Nahatlatch River. They come there across the bridge from Boston Bar to North Bend, deep in the walls of the Fraser Canyon, north of Hope, BC. I've never come at it that way.

Many years ago, you could drive up the East Harrison Logging Road, out of Harrison Hot Springs, BC. That road would take you to Big Silver Creek. From there you could follow the logging roads high into the mountains, right up to the glacial tops, squiggle over the rocks and ice, then drive down the Nahatlatch road, right down to the Fraser River. From there, you could follow Highway 1 down to Hope, and Highway 7 right back to Harrison, making it a big circle of adventure. My Dad and I did it a couple of times in my little Ford Ranger.

It was a beautiful drive, or clamber if you will, up steep mountainsides where water dribbled and dripped and creeked and cracked its way down the western slopes, off of the glacier and snow melt, into a deep canyon, steep sided, slicing its way down the mountain into the soft marsh where Big Silver Creek runs into Harrison Lake. It is a land of massive trees, plentiful deer and bear, incredible waterways, and danger.

A few years back, perhaps 25 or so, four boys in big a 4X4 truck tried to muscle their way across the slick surface of the smooth rocks at the top. They didn't understand the physics of moving water. They were full of themselves and their truck and their youth. A couple of the boys got out to take pictures while the other two horsed the truck across the high creek and rock face. They didn't understand that big tires don't bring big friction on that surface. The truck went sideways, down the 1,000 foot drop at the edge of the rocks. Two boys died. Two walked out. The government completely closed the road in another example of protecting the stupid at the cost of the intelligent.

About halfway up that Big Silver Creek Road, coming from the Harrison side, the logging road cuts across that water, that driblet and pool at the top becoming a raging torrent, cutting through a vertical sided canyon, crashing over a round of giant boulders pushed out by the water, smashing into another thin crack of rock, only to pound into a deep, swirling pool of black, perpetual motion. The water is hypnotizing as you sit on that bridge, watching it crash and carom through the granite sides, into that deep pool, then down even more falls as it collapses down the mountainside. The spray rises to the decks of the bridge above; you can smell the iron and other minerals in the water, feel the rinse of ice still within the droplets. Sometimes the mist would be thick enough that you could wash your face in it.

The bridge across is a logging bridge, laid of nearby timbers, nothing but a couple of 12X12 in beams on either side to stop the wheels of logging trucks from straying to far to the left or right. In all my life, I never approached the edge of that bridge, never took the risk that some did of sitting on the beam, dangling my legs into the swirling dark below. I am not that brave. Yet now I think, that would be a lovely place to die, and so easy for me.

I could take one last drive into the BC wilderness, up the East Harrison Lake Forestry Service Road. I could look for bear and deer. I may yet again see a cougar stalking a deer in the wild, dense temperate rain forest. I could stop for a while and gaze at the broad, smooth outflow of the Big Silver as it neared its junction with Harrison Lake. I could put my truck into four wheel drive and muscle up that mountain road, something I have long wished to do. Then, when I got to the bridge, I could park right up close to the edge. I could open my door, slide onto my transfer seat, then simply push off, down a hundred feet, into the dark, churning waters below.

I don't know if they would ever find my body; that water has a way of pushing downward eternally, especially in the black pool below the rocks. Certainly they would know what happened, simply by looking at the truck position. It wouldn't take long to determine that I was missing; I might even leave a note. But maybe not. It is a story that would tell itself.

It would be over. I would be gone, to become one with the water and mountain, to become one with the land and sky. It would be done.