January 31st, 2025 -- This Was January: Finding a Rhythm

January 31, 2025

I don’t post very often these days. The reason is simple: there’s nothing to post about (unless I whine and grumble…and I could to plenty of that, but I won’t). By now, most friends and family must be a weary of MND stories, and I don’t blame them. I’m tired of it myself. If I could shrug it off, “go back to normal,” I would! But―here we are, trying determinedly to find a new normal. A new rhythm to carry us through months and years, and do it pleasantly. Life must be pleasant, with a certain sweetness, before you can call it “Life.” Anything else is…existing. Hmm.

So, let’s call this The January Report, which I’m filing as February opens. Here goes.

As I write, the air is smoky, hazy; I have “vampire eyes and smarting sinuses. The fires are not local―they’re over the border in Victoria. My heart goes out to our neighbours. Breathing their smoke is bad enough. Sigh. We’ve welcomed in what, as kids, some of us used to call the February Dragon, from Colin Thiele’s bushfire novel of the same name. February is an oven, and a dangerous one.
Our seasonal dragon inspires the longing for coolness, greenness, misty mornings, rainy evenings, the skirl of the wind in autumn’s bare branches, the crunch of fallen leaves as one walks a woodland trail. Little of this happens in Australia at any time of year, and if you do get close―it’s winter. Yes, I confess: there are times (this is one of them) when I get rather homesick for a land I haven’t even seen for 54 years. It’s strange. Rather painful but at the same time oddly sweet, perhaps because it gives me something to look forward to in a future I still dream about.

The pace of life has slowed, and it can afford to. Dave has just seven shifts left to work, including today’s. His last is March 16, then he’s retired. Actually, he’ll swap one job for another: his new job is himself. Health, strength, fitness, continued survival pending the next drug or gene therapy, the next, and next, till The Cure materializes―

We visited Tim (the GP) two days ago, and I happened to mention how we keep up with the research and see ample reason to be “guardedly optimistic.” No surprise from Tim, who agrees. This is the proverbial medical professional agreeing that re: survival of this lousy disorder, as of now one can afford guarded optimism. If (and it’s a monstrous “if”) one is proactive, gets out of the chair, and invests the work in one’s own survival.

And it is work. Hard work that never ends. It’s about nutrition, supplementation, exercise, meditation. Kriya, Qigong, acupuncture, physiotherapy, and a “magic factor.” The element we can’t quantify or label because it’s different for everyone. Allan Watts described it 50 years ago; everyone from Joe Dispenza (who approaches this from a scientific platform) to Darryl Anka (who packages similar messages in a delicious science fiction wrapper that one either loves or hates: yep, I love it in the same way I adore Stargate. SF. Sweet! Duh). Basically, find whatever makes your heart sing, because when your passion consumes you, you’re “in the zone.” Chi is rising; time stops; brain and heart pull in concert instead of in different directions; you feel great. And in that zone, nothing―not even MND―can touch you. Get in the zone. Stay in it!

For Dave, it’s cycling. His big news is Happy the eBike, which puts him back on the road, swooping down hills, riding country roads with glorious views. Happy is pedal-assist, meaning Dave must work, which translates into exercise, which keeps heart and lungs tip-top, maintaining muscle mass the disorder is trying to destroy. Cycling is therapy―physical, mental, everything. Oh, it works.

No surprise, then: last week, Dave’s neurologist reported no deterioration after three months. Remission. Check. Now, how long can we extend this? I ask myself: how many newly-diagnosed patients hasten their own demise by following doctors’ orders and doing…nothing. Medicine offers no treatment, just support services to keep one comfortable through the long fade to black. Dave’s prognosis was two years. Well, with no deterioration to report, that picture just changed radically. Now, there’s a result!

 
The neurologist ordered bloods to seek genetic markers. They’re in the process of IDing this beast’s genetic triggers. When they’re known, they can be switched off. Months ago, our acupuncturist insisted that all cases (not just some) are genetic. His branch of medicine is endeavouring to use laser acupuncture to switch off those genes. It’s worth noting that literally the day acupuncture began, Dave started to improve. It’s as if he’s on the mend, though the process is long, slow, and dang hard work.

So, life is slow, uneventful. A new show we’re enjoying on Britbox is a major deal (Shakespeare and Hathaway, a fun cosy mystery). Learning how to use meditation to escape into the maze of quantum probabilities―I kid you not!—is huge fun. It’s made me happier than I’ve been in eons. With bushwalking and photography off the menu (for the time being: no negativity allowed here!), my passion has become editing and writing. That’s where I get “into the zone.” Hiking and cameras can return whenever ―there’s no rush. I’ve already returned to pro writing, and will keep you posted when there’s news. That’s absolutely all that’s going on with me, personally.

There’s a new med for the saliva issue (thanks for the tip, Anna), and the last bloods showed that Dave’s liver has adapted to the Riluzole and returned to normal. So, oh yes, we’re doing this. Tangible results. As I said―optimistic. She says, smiling.