Declining on all fronts

But I am still me.

I feared that when it really kicked in, I would become another person.

The terrified person in my nightmares about the future.

That future is unfolding.

I have chorea now. Involuntary movement of my arms, leg, feet, trunk.

But they are the same body parts I have always had. I observe them changing and we adapt and adjust. The walker is now an option. Ramps are needed for thresholds. I use the walls as handrails as I go about my day.

Because of some other bad effects, I recently stopped taking Abilify and that’s when it started. The neurologist said that the Abilify had likely been masking the chorea and that’s why it cropped up as markedly as it did. I had envisioned a year of trembling hands. Then add a moving foot for another year. That sort of pace. I feared the horror that each change would bring.

But there is no horror.

It’s still my body and I am still me.

If and when the movements become too extreme, too dangerous, I can add another drug, most likely Risperdal. But I don’t mind the movement. It doesn’t scare me one bit.

And that surprises me.

I’m not (yet) being invaded by some unknown threat. HD isn’t the monster, I have learned. Fear of HD is.

The decline is like receiving a new member of the family that Randy and I have long prepared to receive. We are ready.

I thought that when this happened it would emotionally devastate me.

But it hasn’t.

And not because I am battle-hardened.

Its no secret to me that this decline is playing out. But I still keep my daily routine, and maybe I am treating my body a little kinder these days. I’m grateful to it for rising to the challenge. I no longer revile it’s imperfections.

That’s because the greatest imperfection, the CAG expansion of 40 in my DNA, is expressing itself as expected.

And I am still me.

Instead of feeling some urgency to escape myself, I am embracing myself.

I have come a long way, and there’s still so far to go.

But it’s the best and only life I have.

I am looking forward to it.