My Toes Appose

I was certainly a young man of the 'sixties and I did a lot of things in those counter culture years that were shocking to an older generation, but I never did drugs. Alcoholic drinks, for sure, but not the drugs that had become common in my environs. It wasn't a case of moral strength; it was pride. I thought I was pretty smart and drugs might addle my beautiful mind.

I have boasted of it many times over the decades, "No, I never did drugs!"

Besides it was illegal.

That was then and this is now and I have learned I can obtain marijuana legally, at least here in Delaware,  as a member of the fortuately  very exclusive ALS Club. I haven't applied for weed yet, but who can say if a day will come when it might be pratical to do so. Perhaps I will become a herbalista yet. Here is a list of weed benerfits for someone with Amyotrohic Lateral Sclerosis.



Might be some terms there you never heard of down on the street corner, such as Dysautonomia, which includes postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome or POTS as it is known. Hey, how convenient that it is countered by weeds.

Anyway, on to other things, like why is this Blog called "The Nerve of Them Nerves"? It is because, something like us back in the 'sixties revolting against authority, the Motor Neutron nerves sort of rebel against the authority of the brain and don't it tell them what to do with the muscles. 

Mine are not too far along rebeling, I guess.  My arms and legs have turned weaker and I have lost muscle mass in my hands. I ave become Mr.Oops, constantly dropping things. 

I also have a lot of trouble getting into objects that should be routine to open. If all that stood between me and starvation was a Snickers bar I might be doomed because I can't tear the wrapper. It is difficult for me to twist a twist off car such as what is on bottled water, Gatorade or milk. When we go to a restaurant and I have soup, oft as not I am asking my wife to rip open the cellophne on the crackers. You don't want to see my struggles with a pickle jar.

My handwritting is quickly dissolving into a series of scribbles. I can't use a knife effectively in cutting, not just meat, but slicing an apple or peeling a potato. 

Even manuvering my toothbrush properly takes concentration. There is also the funhouse horrors of bathing. I love to soak in a hot tub and read, but now I fear if I get down in that comforting water that I will never get out over that daunting side and lip of the tub. It isn't much more confidence building to shower, though. I am not so balanced upon my feet that the prospect of falling isn't my constant companion.

Once out of a shower, dried off in all my natural glory, I face the challenge of dressing. I lasso my toes with the leg opening of my underpants like a cowboy trying to rope a running calf. The first leg may be caught, but the other then resists capture even more ferociously. Getting my trousers on is no mean trick either. The worse is trying to sock my feet. It is as if my toes and hands are apposing ends of two magnets that reject coming together. 

And I will tell you, clipping my toenails has become one of th most difficult tasks in the universe. In fact, even doing my finger nails is not so easy. I done seem to have the strength to press down the lever that will snip away the excess nail. 

Oh yes indeed, the nerve of them nerves!