It's never easy

I figured when Claren stopped eating, she might be ready to rest. More accurately, I thought when she stopped eating, she'd be dead.

Claren has always been food-driven. When sick, when recovering from anesthesia, you name it. She loves her food.

She still does, I think, but she is not eating.

No, she's eating, just oddly.

On Saturday, she stopped eating out of her bowl, but was more then happy for me to feed her. Same thing Sunday. Monday she ate kibble I dropped on the floor. Today she ate off a plate after I encouraged her.

She still loves her treats, Kenny's food out of his bowl, everything. Snd she still loves her food, just not her bowl.

Fear and loathing in Falls Church

On Monday, I made an incredibly stupid decision. In explaining myself afterward, I told Mom and my sister: "I hate myself."

Of course I wasn't serious. I am far too lovable to hate.

But a real current of self-loathing runs through me. Not surprisingly, most (all?) is related to Friedreich's ataxia. But it is not all directed at FA.

A lot is. I hate how I can't walk, talk, eat, sleep, hear, see, feel ... live like other people can, and I despise it. It isn't fair, isn't fun and so much more.

But some of it is about how I react to FA.

I hate that I can be surly to people I love when something happens.

I hate that I worry about my future -- being forced to stop working, burdening my family (more than I do now), dying early, getting worse daily.

I hate that FA makes everything an issue, even me.

Faster than Fu#@

I didn't even have time to curse.

My sister heard my fall and swooped in before I could say anything.

Granted, I usually wait to curse until after I know I'm OK. This time I waited until my sister unhooked my boxer shorts from my wheelchair.

As anyone who has put on pants or is even familiar with the concept of pants knows, you cannot do it sitting. At some point, you must stand. I have figured out how to do this carefully, but something went wrong, and I fell, smacking my head on a plastic  set of shelves.

It was a family affair getting me up. My sister called to her son to get my brother-in-law. He and my sister helped me up, and that's that.

Except for the bruise on my forehead, and oh yeah, while my brother-inlaw was picking me up, my sister pulled up my pants.

Nothing big

This morning I wanted the soap in that I keep in the shower. Of course, I wasn't in my shower chair, so I could not get into the shower. Not without getting into my shower chair.

And I just thought how easy it would be if I could walk in there and grab the soap.

I'm not asking to be Michael Jordan, but is it too much to ask to take two steps or to be able to live as one ought to be able?

Apparently.

My Advil gal

Whenever I take Advil, I think of Kelly.

Kelly was a girl I went to high school and kindergarten with. In addition to being smart and kind, she was all the things I was not: popular, pretty, athletic and outgoing. The perfect woman, right?

She was also not a worrier.

I think of her when I take Advil because I overheard her telling the following story to friends.

She said she was feeling low, so she dumped all the Advil out of the bottle. She then decided it was only enough to make her stomach hurt, not kill her. So she just took two and went to bed.

A similar thought would have driven me to have myself locked up.