Weakening Arms

I forgot to ask my Health Care Aide to put my shoes on for me today. Thus I have no shoes on my feet, and I am thinking of going outside. It's not tremendously cold today, but once you add in the chill factor of me rolling along in my wheelchair at top speed, you can see how shoes can make a difference, if only to cut the wind.

The real problem is I am not longer able to put on my own shoes without great difficulty and a fair bit of luck. I've tried and failed several times recently. Thus, in my current situation, I am compelled either to go without shoes, chilling my feet substantially, or to ask for help from one of my neighbours, several of whom have helped in in the past with this predicament.

Unfortunately this is one of a number of things which have been lost to me of late, that ability to put on shoes. As my arms fail in earnest, more and more things are becoming too difficult for me to handle. Rolling over in bed is another of these normal things which is becoming near impossible. Yes, I can still do it. No, it is not easy. Sometimes I try and just give up after too much exertion. Most times I work like hell to get it done.

Then there is the continuing loss of ability to pick things up, especially things weighing anything more than a few ounces. Last night, after successfully using my urinal, it was so full I could barely lift it over to the dresser. I worried about dropping it, spilling the contents all over the floor. It's happened in the past; it will certainly happen in the future.

Making and eating a decent dinner is also becoming problematic. Eating is no challenge from a chewing or swallowing perspective. It's using a fork, without spilling, that is the issue. I can hold the fork just fine, but there are moments, fleeting as of yet, where picking it up when loaded with even the smallest amount of food causes sufficient shaking as to empty the contents thereon. As to cooking, it is difficult for me to lift things on and off the stove, in and out of the oven. It is almost impossible for me to stir and blend on the stove, unless I lift my wheelchair up to the point where the required actions take on a downhill slope. Then it gets easier.

Picking things up off the floor is impossible now unless I use a grabby stick. If I lean over in my wheelchair there is a substantial possibility that I will not be able to upright myself. It's happened a few times now where the only way I could get vertical again is by using various bits of furniture to pull myself back up after leaning over. At some point in the not too distant future it will become impossible.

Showering is becoming difficult as well, at least that part where I have to lift my arms. It means lathering and rinsing my scalp is a genuine chore, requiring all the limited strength I have to get my arms and hands up there, to pick up the shampoo bottle, to push down the dispenser handle, to move my hands without support. I am still moderately able, but the end is in sight.

There are so many more small things, things you don't think about until you have to do them, things which I have done as normal course since I was a small child. Using the remote control, holding my cell phone up while talking, reaching for things on a shelf, pouring a glass of wine from a full bottle; these are either lost to me now or quickly passing from view. All of this because my arm muscles are failing, struck with atrophy, thin and frail, both pain and limitation striking me, stealing my abilities. This is, once again, life with ALS.