Hi

I've decided to write again.  In case you want to know how life is in a broken body, this is where to look.

Yes I'm still here, alive, but not kicking.  These legs barely walk!  My left hand is curled into an angry fist and my right hand is stiff.  If you don't use it, you'll lose it? With corticobasal degeneration (CBD) loss is inevitable.  Muscle contraction , against my will,  shortens the muscles, ligaments and tendons, never to return to healthy.  This awesome chair allows me to get up and down, and stretch easily,  but the muscles are a little worse every day. 

Hyperbaric and laser treatments help to relieve symptoms. One local doctor thinks if I continue treatment it may heal me.   Time will tell.  In the meantime I'm out three times a week either sitting in a pressure capsule with oxygen or having light some into my hurting parts.  It's tiring but every little improvement encourages me.  Today my left foot is not as curled as it was. I'm looking forward to the day my heel touches the floor and my hand opens.  Who knows what I might do!

That's one of the hardest things about being ill: I am unable to serve. Serving was a big part of my life and gladdened my heart. I attached a lot of value to it and while I know there is worth in just being, I can't quite picture it. I need and welcome the service of others but I wonder if it's a burden or an honour.  Where is my value now that I'm so physically disabled? Am I valuable enough that you'd set aside time to talk and listen,  working out the details of life? Finish projects that my hands started? Play guitar so I can sing? Lift me in and out of a wheelchair so I can see the yard or the beach? Hand me a tissue for the tears? These are the things I notice and I'm grateful.  Small acts honour me and speak love to me, yet I wonder still. How do I fit in a world that values performance?