The Mentality of the Physicality...

The physical aspects of this syndrome is at this point the lighter side of the impending darkness. I still speak normally, have no swallowing problems, and my eye site (other than the ever present reading glasses) is fine. I get around fine though I have noticed a change in my gait when walking. Sort of a lazy leg walk. The "alien limb" symptom that is described in CBGD literature is aptly named. I have the sensation that my right arm and leg may at any time do something I don't expect. As if part of my brain is spending resources to keep them in line. My right hand and arm stiffens when I sit at my desk and seems cooler to the touch.

As recently as two years ago, I was cycling 150 - 200 miles a week. I still long for the endorphin rush those long solitary bike rides provided. Last night as I tried to share my status with my wife she suggested that I get back on my trainer (stationary bike). My response was, "What's the point." I regret saying that. It was a weak moment when I should have toughened up. I can't know her pain, I can only try not to add to it.

I haven't been treated for depression.....yet. I feel like that is a line in the sand of a vast desert. If I cross it there is no turning back. I guess in reality the metaphor is accurate.

I only know that my lows are VERY low and the highs are not very high. I think about suicide as a real option at some point down the road. I know these are not rational thoughts to a healthy mind but my mind is not healthy in so many ways. I may feel differently about that line in the sand once I've crossed it and I may find the desert has redeeming values, but for now it has no visible horizon and I am mortally afraid what it may contain.

I believe the fear of losing my dignity is greater than my fear of losing my physical abilities.

I am (was) a proud man that has led a full life. I have climbed mountains, swam with turtles over a hundred feet below the ocean surface, and jumped from an airplane 14,000 feet above the earth. I have planted seeds and eaten the fruit of my labor. I sang with Pavarotti (though so did the other 15,000 people) and spent countless beautiful days on golf courses without a single hole in one. I swelled with pride when I witnessed my children perform in plays or ran their hearts out in races they would not win.

It has been a wonderful ride. It is not over!