What is there left to write about here, to wring hands over, obsess about and keep us awake late into the night? Seriously. I feel as if I am running on empty. We can go on and on about politics and the president. That at least would feel good. But what about illness and infirmity, coping and caving in. It seems as if there is nothing new under the sun.
Life is what it is. We hope for the best and sometimes get the worst. So it goes. We are prisoners of a process, a neurological journey no one wants to take. We know that. We have been kidnapped. Yada yada. No attitude adjustment is going to change the course of a disease or alter our destinations.
So let me ask this. What are we doing? I try not to spend time thinking about my health. Certainly, I don’t talk about it anymore than I have to. What is the point? Positive changes in what medicine offers us are incremental. In my long duel with disease, I do not remember any real headlines.
I am not being negative. Really. I am not complaining. I would like to trade diseases like baseball cards. At least that would offer a new pasture to cross. I am bored. Maybe I should get a hobby.