I see ;7

Night time is when things always seemed to be there worst. Pain increased, those ants that tormented me all the time would rrrrrrreally go to town at night.
When i would sit-lay down, it was never for more than ten or so minutes. Between the inability to get into a position of comfort and the fear that my body would not get up agian, i would constantly do the "rounds" stagering the loop though the rooms in my house.
While in the middle of some laps one night my legs began to sorta hyperextend. I would go to take a step and my knee joint would not just lock up but it actually felt as though it should be working in reverse of what that joint is supposed to. Sorta like a kangaroo, obviously whith out all the fuckn hopping. Sometimes this would cause alot of pain because at times, somehow my brain had convinced my knee that "this is how we're gonna do things bitch!". I seriously thought my knee cap was gona moonwalk itself to the pit of my leg. When this would happen it was excrusiating. To break the trance my brain had on the joint i would bitch slap the shit outa my knee pits. This caused me tohit the earth quite a bit, glancing off of funiture at times.took there toll on my hot bodd.
The bowell issues i had endured up till now had me so scared i was gonna shit my pants at any time, all the time. With an inability to identify much less hold any kind of gas! When i walked around gas would do what it always does. But i could not do what i would udoubtibly do like regulate my trasmision in the immediate atomosphere. "Thhhhup thhhhhup thhhhuuuuuupp!!!" That would send me to the banyo like every twenty minutes. Not wanting to ever share an Idaho experence with the fam, i was taking no chances. Doing the stand up sit down, check, stand up and squat real slow like soas to coax anything hiding out, give the Elvis push, check agian. Sometimes i would preform this systems check four or five times. These new proceedures took there toll on the familys cache of buttwipe. Thank the lord for Cosco and the kirkland family reunion sized TP.
It probibly goes without saying but i'll say it anyhow. These many throne visits caused a serious case of ONE RED ASS. In my case, uber monkey butt. Any normal dayly ache or pain one has to endure, could be mutiplyed by like 8 sometimes 10 at others.
One night, while in transit to the beloved banyo i damn near riped off my lower jaw possibly my whole fuckn face.
Making it in with the stealth of a junky, closing the door then i would turn on the light. It was while doing this that it happend. After fliping the switch on i turned to stager twords the throne but my feet did'nt recive the memo and stayed planted. Same old shit except my decent was delayed by the hang up between my jaw and the countertop. It all happend so quick the reflex to self preserve was so weak it could not be implimented till damn near impact. So my jaw hung on the countertop just right, it got to bear the weight of my body, causing my whole head to roll back in pez dispencer fashion. Not only that but i felt pain at the base of my skull which had me in fear of jamming my brainstem out the top of my dome.
When the dust settled i was on the floor laboring to breeth, unable to swallow with a torn up face. It was so painfull. Instinktively i felt around my grill just knowing my lower jaw was gonna be hangn by one side or the other, which it wasnt.
By now my wife was thuroghly awake and rushed in "What the fuck!!?"
The next day i was walking through the family room to the kitchen for fresh coffee and stoped to look out a window. As i finished my gaze agian i turned to make my way to the coffee, agian my feet did'nt budge. My balance and weight were forced tword the window "Oh fuck!!" Knowing the outcome of this could be with me bleeding to death.
Its funny, there a few different ways i react to things. One way is to simply stop the action. Another is to choose the lesser of two evils. Another is tocover up and just accept im about to hurt. But with a double pained window, my mind simply will not be silenced with "cover up and except". No my mind goes into worst case senario in certian situations, such as this. Lots of different visuals play in my head in like a milisecond. The outcomes played in my head involved me being damf neer halfed were it not for my spine. One played with the outcome every artery in my upper body sliced. Another had my body coming to rest in the family room and my head rolling to rest in the backyard.
The out come my mind did'nt give an possibility to was: As they all begain. With me falling like a tree sighted for the center of the pane of glass. Me straitarming my arm like a dumb ass for impact knowing full well i would probibly lose my arm."Better my arm than being halfed or Ichibod Craned" I did'nt know what else to do but hope for the best and yell for dear life.
It all conclueded with me on the floor with a big gash on my back and a pretty good sized lump on my mellon. Looking up to see the window still as clear as ever. "It fuckn worked!??" In a Jack Sparow sort of way. The strait arm glanced me tword a movie case, to which i impacted the corner with my back. The corner tore me open and put a golf ball sized knott on the back of my dome.
Were it not for all the support and help of my wife, im sure i dont know what ever i would have done. She is to me as Virgel is to Dante. She was to be my guide in this comedy.

i SEE ; 6 Draft #4

That night required i have some one zip and button my fly, my fingers stoped working in that capasity. Bob and dental plan escorted me to and from the banyo and where else i may have roamed. The fact i was drinking at all dictated that i have my rig (catherter) with me or pay dearly, which would happen anyway.
One fatefull trip to the can, a clear plastic baggie with the rig and lube inside, fell out of my pocket and hit the floor. I had no idea untill Bob knelt down "The fucks this!?" Eyeballing the ground score. Bobs stair shifted from the baggy to Dental plan as if to say "Oh dear lord."
If anyone had any question how fucked up i really was, that night would clear the air for a dbouters.
"Thats mine" grabing it outa his hands. "Yeah dude im pretty fucked up now." As he began for the door "Hey man you aint gotta explaine nothin Chris, not fuckin  nothin man. You ok  by yourself in here Chris?" "Im startin to wonder, yeah i should be alright." " Hey Chris?" "Yeah?" "Not nothing man, remember that. Dont be affraid to holler if you need anything." "Thanks Bob."
He closed the doorand i waited about a minute. Then i made my yell for the calvary. "UH Bob!! Bob im gonna need a hand!!" About 5 seconds went by then a quick knock. "Chris, you ok buddy!? Ya need a hand!?" "Yeah man, you alright Chris?" Opening the door, with an expression of supprise. Seeing me standing nodbout. "Hey Bob, are your hands clean?" "I washed em about 5 minutes ago...." As i began working my fly down "I need your help holding this while i drain it." Holding back with all i could. Bob took a step or two forward, with a look of: I did'nt mean help wuth that. He got one more step before recognizing the masked grin i could no longer disguise. Then being met with a look of contempt. "Fuck you." "Dont worry Bob your secrets safe with me." "Fuck you Chris." I about lost my footing with laughter.
Getting back to setting up "the works".  Pulling the over sized folly sword from the baggy. It was a bit s;ipery due to past useage.
My wife was told by the ER nurse she was able to talk out of one. "They can be reused, just was it with soap and water after he uses it."
"So fucken septic" Applying lube and moving on to the next step. "Opperation swallow!"  Squeezing the cobras eye open, i began running the rubber sword down it's gullet.
By now we had broken down gag reflex. Reaching the PNR or halfway, without freeking myself out was a good sign. When the end taped into the belly of the beast im met with an eruption of the contence. When the gyser erupted, a release of anxity swept through me. Which cased me to ease my grip on the instument. Not realizing this untill pee bagan to rush out between the tutrbe and the "throat" fallowed by a projectile of rubber sword. Hitting the toilet rim and glacing itself tworads the out side of the bowl, finding a landing zone underneith the bowl. Coming to rest on the white turned grey area of tile was enough to make me sick.
Picking up the odd shaped surgical tube led me to further inspection of the floor. The closer my head got the more the srface began to change from grey to a greyish yellow with texture. "Oh man! I'll not b using this ever agian." As intoxicated as i was im suprised i acctually used some T paper to raise the pipeline and find the trash can. As logic would have it, the pee fairy made her pressents known. Fightig the feeling for like...5 minutes, i ran- stagard for the banyo. After trying with all hope. Ofcourse i was met with the same result, failer.
Its intresting how quickly a mind can persuade itself  to change when met with pain. "Fuck it, i dont give a fuck." Retreving the catherter out of its trash can grave. "Maaan!! this is so nasty! With the quickness, i wased it with soap and water then proceded on to drain it. "Man, i better not get some kind of penile fungus from this."
Around two in the morning i would perform, absolutely, the last gitmo technique. When i was met with the same result as earlyer but this time the tube chose to sleep with the Titanic and landed IN the toilet bowl. "Oh shit!!" To me it was a deth sentence. Agian i would put it in the garbage. Agian i would make a B line to take a leak. This time when i got to the banyo, the events of earlyer flashed through myhead peering into the waste basket. "NO DUDE! That's grosser than gross!! A mans got to know his limits!" This thought process would put me to the test. For about a half hour the pain was exscrewciating and then suddenly, just, went away.
Duane and i would make our way home as the Midnight turned a dark aquq marine. As much as the night was an element i thrived in, there is always someting i found about seeing the sunrise without sleep, wrong, depressing....sac religious? It's rough sharing your self with a creature of the night and a creature of the sun, one or both enevitably suffer.
Stumbling through troot door to sse my wife with Noah slurping down one of his many morning bottles. With a way less than thriled look on her face "Where'd you go...???" Continuing to the back deck "We were down at Myahs." Finding a seet on the back deck for  a smoke. After all the booze consuption from the night before, somehow i came home with a half a Bottle of Beam. Whithout any hesitation  i unscrewed the lid. As dark aqua began to give away to light aqua, "Down the hatch!"
After a night of mass consuption accompanyed with completely stupid philosophy and ideals, causes me to reflect the next day. But this time i was filled with thoughts of MS, thoughts of frustration. The fact that my time climbing, my mistress in this life was through, combined with the whiskie took me to some sereious dephs of dispare.
One smoke became two then three,one after another became quite a bit of the pack. With the wife steemed about my return to old ways, she stayed as far away as possible. So i sat there watching the sky go through its dayly metemorphsis doing to same with the bottle. Ofcourse i was overcome with emotion, tears had been running down my face for awhile, they evolved into an all out cry. Noone would talk to me....
At some point i did get a little bit of much needed company. My 12 year old son, Colby made his way to a patio chair, then made a stair at me. Not wanting him to see his Pa subcome to defeat and his spirit broken, i made an all for not effort to conseel my bubbering.
He would just stair at me, evey 30-40 seconds he would break his stair and look to the two by six's that made up the floor of the deck, only to return that inquisitive gaze.
Colby, a very curious little boy (Too much so at times) just sat outside with me for what must have been an hour. In that time he got to hear the customary drunkin banter. But this time, those eyes that seemed to peirce whatever bullshit one may front, seemed not of curiosity but more of concern and possibly sorrow? It sent me into an even greater tailspin. It dawned on me that all that little boy had ever known of his father was an absent workaholic that amounted to nothing but a drunk hit me, hard.  And as only a drunk father can, i warned him of the bottle and dope. More importantly i warned him 'The booze and dope are not the enemy. "The weakness in your head is the true enemy. People who understand moderation and understand there is pletty of time to have fun with all that shit as you grow older. But right now your a kid Colby.......for God sake be that kid for as long as you can. Dont grow up to fast, cause at somepoint your gonna wish you were young agian." Taking another big pull off the bottle, wiping tears and sparking another Boro. "Colby being a drunk is so lonely, and a complete waste of time. You'll never get in the history books for anything worth a damn, for being a drunk. Just look at me...What do you want to be rememberd as? A drunken tyrant or someting really inspiring? Do you know what the word legacy means?"

I see ;5

The two weeks leeding up to, what i would begin to refur to as my final walk,  "The green mile". "Those statistics are fuckin with me. One in a thousand." Tumbling around and around and around, all the time. I was thinking and talking myself onto the "table" for the "needle" i would casualy phun...gallos humuring my way througfh what i  truely felt in my gutts, "I'll be that 1 in 1000!!..... heh".
I could not bring myself to " just throw it out" The rebif i had left being only two doses short of a box. "There's gotta be away i can get this to someone who could'nt afford the nutty out of pocket $3,500 price tag" "You cant do that" i was told.  I kept it in the fridge anyway in the eevent i came accross someone.
It did'nt take long before my symptoms went from worse to 60 in 2 days. The last job i was to complete for my 9-5 came within days of being unmedicated. Mrs Powell lived off of wasatch blvd on Yorkshire Dr. We were to remove a locust and japanese maple in the backyard and beautify a locust and two bradford pears in the front. As always, we began in the back with bladder issues in tow. Agian with no cover, this time all i could do was hope noone was at there window.
My "nohorn" help must have been wondering "How in the hell is this guy figure he's gonna climb?" I had to sit down to get into my saddle, worming my way into it. It was really difficult putting on my hooks. Sinching down the straps was quite the chor, having to grip, pull and buckle all at once. My fingersjust didnt posses the strenth needed to hold on to the staps when sinching them down. "You need some help?" my helper would ask. "I got it. Cant you see that?" i would grin, i dont think he knew how to take what i said until he saw the grin. Some how i was able to get just enough of of a grip to get my gaffs secured. The walk to the tree must have been someting to see, Walking in hooks alreadt requires one to walk bowleged. Walking on the outsides of your feet to avoid dulling up the four inch spike that is pivotal in climbing removal trees. I was walking so jackt that my spikes were sword fighting causing me to trip up all over the fuckn place.
It took me 3 hours to do  what would have normaly taken 30 minutes.
My left leg would'nt work so my right leg took the brunt of all progresion. Most all balance was focused on the right. To climb i would step with the right, kick in and half step. Thenputting all wight on the right and grabing what ever i could, i would just heave the left as high as it would go and sorrta swing it to the trunk and lowering my left side e at the same time, chancing a home for the gaff. IF i was  able to start a hole,it would take all kinds of weight shiting to get a "decent" seat. Being that i was in some of the hardestd wood in Utah, it took forever
By lunch the back was done and so was i "This is gettin redicules man" kept coming to my mind and work its way past my lips, many times that day. Being the stubbon sob that i am, i just could not bring myself to "tap out".
The aloud me to complete three of the five trees, the two removals and beautifying one pear in the front. The heat of the day killed me, just getting into 619 to leave proved to be a near imposibility. Finly climbing up to the Capn's chair, i lit a Boro. Taking two drags was all that was needed to tell me "Yer killin me dude" causing mywhole body to litteraly "burn" from the inside out. Beginig in my bones, then my muscles and finly my skin. Like i had acitone injected into my body. The vise being more important than the way it made me feel, like the last cillea ona smokers lung "what do i got to loose" and had two more for the ride back to the yard.
In the shower that night my legs and everything down there could no longer feel the beems of water hitting them. My eyes began to see "ultra violet" first big sploches floating around accompaneyed by "firework" type stars that would spin in small circles with tracers and a serious feeling of floating and dizzyness.
Having to allocate two days to a job that really should have takin one. With the help i was givin. Nwe managers, along with the battle i was fighting in my head and many other worrys began to take there toll. Dbout and a feeling of defeet crept into my head. My attitude went from "can do" to "i just dont care anymore." Weeping was a reaction i could not stop or even delay. It was all i could do to find a place to alow the water works to do there thing.
Pulling away from the Powell residence, "My time hear is over"  mentaly waving the white flag of surrender.
Now, for me to say someting like that, i had said it before in the past only to ignight that final reserve of fury to propel me through the dilema. This time, it was different. The fire that stoked that inner magic was now a mere pilot light. Insted, a yeld to dispare was all i could muster.
That friday i knew would also be my last. I dont even think i mutterd one word to anyone as i left the shop that night.
It was days before the green mile. If i had'nt drove my wife and kids insane with my antics i was sure to now. Already couching it, flooring it and sleepwalking from sun down to sun up. The feeling of having to pee every ten totwenty minutes kept me going from the front room to the banyo, add in that every second or third trip included a crash to the foor and along with the breaking someting, made for many slepless nights. In attempts to eliminate noise for my wife and baby, i would deem it a good idea togo downstairs, ending up along with a humpty dumpty tumble, at the bottom on my crown. Real quiet like! Back and forth, back and forth, banyo to coutch, coutch to banyo.
At times it would feel so hot, hot enough to strip down to my stones, pull off all the blankets and let the "sweat" evaporate only to have it turn to ice upon interacting withe air.
Other times there was a whole colony of ants tunneling around to different parts of my body. They nver seemed hungy, just intent on seperating every square inch of skin from my musculskeletal frame.
One of the final evenings befor my trip i got my booger hooks on a bottle of Beam. Doin what i would normaly do, drink, strait from the bottle. Knowing fullwell it was The single WORST thing i could do. I was so sick of having toworry about...everything! Everywhere i looked for info, or all the different folks i asked, or wouldld offer advise to me was making my head spin. Everything i did was causing my MS to be more sever. Food was huge. No Salt,sugar, glutin or any of the shit put in most food. If it had fuckin ingredence i did'nt dare eat it for fear that it might make me piss my pants or shit my pants or suffer vision issues or lose more feeling in my legs or hands or dick. I was so tierd and so frusterated and so angry. And like myself, went to the whiskie mart. By the time i got home i had already made my ritual chug a third smoke a few drive, thus, "waaas feeelin fuuuckn resennntful as fuck man." My bro Duane showed up around half way into the bottle. Thats about the time the rest of my family came home. The wife, not wanting to deal with it, demanded we leave. In my efforts to oblige i first went to take a leak.
Getting infront of the toilet i whiped ot the pice and began to pee. Then, my right leg gave out, then the left and fell into the shower curtan proceeding to tear the whole thing down. It all ended with me in the tub wraped in plastic pissing all over myself and soaking it all up at the same time. My whole lower body was out of order. Somehow, i made it out of the banyo without any serious trama...this time
Striping off the piss soaked clothes was another nightmare, hitting walls and carpet was puttin me in the red. After actualy getting my pants on i made my way to the front porch for a Boro. Sitting down in the chair, whiskie in hand. my blood pressure began to elevate right along side my temper. Thats when Duane came "You ready to roll man?" "Lets get the fuck outa here!" Getting to my feet and back on my ass agian, over and over and over. I began cursing at God, getting loud and yelling, on like attempt number twenty the waterwrks began agian and in defience i flung myself out of the chair. "Whoa Reid!! what the fuck you doing man!?" Catching me before i hit the ground. Sobing i broke down once agian "I dont want this anymore!! I just want it all to end." "Reid dont, dont do this man!" setting me back in the chair "Im not bad enough for this shit man!" Embracing me further "Reid, your one of the badest motherfuckers i know!...." "I just want it to be over!!" "Dont do this man, you can hang, comon man lets get outa here. "Your gonna have to grab my shoes for me." He had to tie them too