The Apaches are alive and well

Yes, the Apaches are alive and well, and they haven't forgotten what the white man did to them.

No, not in the least...

I once picked up a load of stereo systems in New York City bound for Chula Vista, California, down on the Mexican border. That's about 3090 miles, or 4980 Kilometers. I had the same problem that I'd had on the trip I wrote about called "A Wild Ride", namely that taking the freeway across the country was the long way, New York being in the Northeast and Chula Vista being in the Southwest corner of the United States.

Yet once again there was a small, two lane road leading through the wilderness. It connected Interstate 40 to Interstate 10, cutting off maybe 200 miles from the trip. You have to be cautious with an 18-wheeler so I tried to find other drivers who had been that way, but found nobody. I called my company's safety officer and asked if he had any information about that road. He didn't.

Well, being alone out in the desert is just my thing. So let's go.

I left the freeway just south of Amarillo, up there in the Texas Panhandle, and headed out into the desert on a lonely, two lane road. I seem to remember it taking me like 24 hours or so to get across that stretch of desert and back on the freeway down south, but it's been too long and I'm not 100% sure anymore. I remember leaving Amarillo sometime in the morning and hitting I-10 in the early morning hours. I saw maybe 3 other cars on that stretch of road, so it wasn't quite as lonely as that other ride that I wrote about here on my blog ("A Wild Ride"). And it wasn't nearly as dangerous either.

A stretch of that road went through a large gorge, as if God had taken a giant sword when he formed the earth and cut a jagged slash in the desert. Down at the bottom of that gorge ran a wild river with lots of white water rapids. The road either wound along that river on the floor of the gorge, or was like tacked to the rock wall where there wasn't enough room next to

the river. The whole gorge was lush and green. I drove with my windows down despite the heat because I wanted to feel and smell the country, to be one with it. There was no question of music because there was no radio that far out into the desert. I wanted to be one with the land as much as possible. Riding through there on a horse would have been the best way to be one with the land, of course, but that wasn't possible at that time in my life.

Interesting! Down in that gorge everything was lush and green, as I said, but a few hundred feet above me the desert floor was barren and forbidding.

I must admit that in all of my travels through raw, untouched areas of the earth I was always just a touch sad to return to civilization. Being out in the wilds of nature- the real thing as opposed to taking a hike on wood chip trails in a national park- stirs something primeval within the very core of my existence. The raw, untouched wilderness calls to something deep within my soul, and in some inexplicable way it feels like a call to come home...

At some point, after having left that beautiful gorge hours before, I saw signs of some kind of civilization far off in the distance. The closer I got the more it began to look like a town. It turned out to be an Apache Indian reservation, right in the middle of some of the most forbidding desert a body could imagine.

Now we all know that the Indians were not treated well by the white man back in the days. We know that they were almost wiped out. 

Yet the whole story of what went on back in the days is never told, and the parts that are told are cut to fit a certain narrative, a narrative that almost paints of picture of peaceful Indians planting flowers and gathering nuts and berries on "their" land, when suddenly a horde of bloodthirsty white men ride into camp and slaughter them all with utmost brutality, simply because they're Indians and because they wanted "their" land.

So let's start by taking a look at some facts. There are currently some 562 federally recognized Native American Tribes. It is estimated that there were up to 2400 different tribes at the time the first white man set foot upon the continent- before many of them were exterminated by the Spanish and the Portuguese, and many others by the illnesses that Europeans brought with them. While a handful of those tribes did have a kind of primitive sense of land ownership and engaged in farming, most were stone-age hunters and gatherers who had no concept of land ownership and lived by the law of "kill or be killed". The Apaches, for example- as were many other tribes- were roving marauders. Anyone they met anywhere they went who did not belong to their group was an enemy, and hence fair game to be attacked and slaughtered and have their possessions stolen from them. For them that was morally right.

Then along came the white man...

The white man brought things with him that the Indian could not make for himself. Wonderful things like rifles and knives made of steel, pots and pans,, sewing needles, and the list goes on. Since survival of the fittest was the only law that the Indians knew they considered it morally right to kill the settlers and take their possessions, that is the things the settlers had that the Indians could not make for themselves.

There was, for the most part, no such thing as the Indian "defending his land" against an invading white man.

Another thing: it's become the fashion to call them "Native Americans" but Adam and Eve were the only "natives" to have ever existed in the history of mankind. Ever since then peoples have driven other peoples out from places, only to be driven out themselves by other peoples later, who are then in turn driven out by others. It is an endless cycle. Our "Native Americans" are the first to admit that they came from somewhere else and drove another people out that had been there before them.

So back to the Indian reservation in the middle of the New Mexican desert.
The sign said Mescalero Apaches. Now the Mescaleros were some of the toughest of the Apache tribes, and it's no wonder that they were. They lived a hard life in a hard, unforgiving land, moving back and forth with the seasons- in rather small groups- from Canada to Mexico, and living off the land all the while. Those were hard men, tough men. They had to be excellent hunters to provide for their families in country where game was scarce- and very dangerous. They had to be mighty warriors in order to defend their families in a land where everyone but the members of your little group was an enemy who wanted to kill you and take everything you had- including your women and children. Those were people who were born and raised, and lived their whole lives in the desert, without any modern conveniences, and their world was filled with violence and danger long before the white man set foot upon their shores.

The visions we have of them today have all been conjured up by soft, plump people sitting on their couches eating a bag of chips. People who just about have a nervous breakdown when someone says something a little bit mean to them!

Being that they had such a hard life and had to be so tough, the Apaches had a few neat "tricks" they liked to "play" when they caught a prisoner in order to test whether he was a real man or not- and it did not matter if it was a white man or another Indian that they had captured. They would strip him naked and tie him down, spread-eagle, to four posts they had driven into the ground- and that next to a fire ant hole. Now getting bitten by a fire ant, or even several, hurts very badly but is not life-threatening, but getting bitten by hundreds of fire ants is deadly, and it's an extremely painful way to die. So they would tie their prisoner naked and spread-eagle next to a fire ant hole, and spread something to attract the ants all over his body. Then the whole tribe, including women and children, would sit down all around him and watch the show! If the man died bravely without uttering a sound he was buried with honors. If he died screaming and making a fuss they'd cut his body in pieces and spread the pieces all over the desert, and maybe even urinate on them to show their contempt for him!

Now the Apaches don't do things like that anymore, of course, so I wasn't worried as I drove into that reservation in that big Kenworth Anteater that day. All I could think of was the growling in my stomach. I was so hungry that my stomach was almost convinced that someone had cut my throat! Lo and behold, what did I see there in the middle of that reservation? A restaurant. "I wonder what Apaches eat?", I thought to myself. "Well, I guess I'll go in and find out."

I pulled that 18-wheeler off to the side next to that restaurant and pulled the brakes, hearing the gush of escaping air all around the truck, and seeing the little puffs of dust whip up from under the truck reflected in the side mirrors. I could see five young Indian braves sitting at a table inside the restaurant, watching me intently through the window, but I didn't really think about it much. I stepped out of that truck in my snakeskin cowboy boots and big black cowboy hat- the epitome of all that those Indians hated- and went on into that restaurant, still curious as to what they would have on the menu. It turned out that they served mostly Mexican food. Now those five Indian braves watched my every move as I walked into that place and found a table. A beautiful young Indian woman with long black hair and the most fascinating, deep, dark eyes came to the table to take my order. I ordered a pitcher of ice tea and a burrito.- and told her to make the burrito nice and spicy hot. I like my food really spicy hot, and I can take a lot of it, believe me. One of those braves got up and followed her as she went off with my order, but I didn't think much of it. I thought maybe the bathroom was off that way or something.

Later, much later, I realized that he must have followed her and had a word with the cook...

I ignored all that was going on around me, eased my chrome-plated 380-automatic to a more comfortable position behind my belt, pulled a Louis L'Amour book out of my pocket, and began to read.

The waitress brought my burrito sometime later, and man did it look good. I was so hungry! I took that fork and knife in my hands, cut off a bite-sized piece and went to put it in my mouth, when I noticed a movement out of the corner of my eye- over there where those five men were sitting. They had stopped talking and were all watching me intently as I was getting ready to take that first bite! Now what in the world...???

I knew what was up the moment I put that first bite in my mouth...

I thought a bomb had gone off in my mouth!!!

I don't know what they put in that burrito but it was pure, unadulterated fire. I immediately broke out into a sweat and it seemed like fire consumed my entire body in an instant- and those men watched with intense interest every second. Visions of that naked man tied to those posts next to the fire ant hole in the desert danced in my head as I desperately fought not to let the pain I was feeling show. I was determined not to give them the satisfaction! It took me a long, long time, and I ended up drinking two gallons of ice tea, but I ate that whole thing, and I think I did a good job of not letting the pain show. Well, I must admit that my taste buds, along with all the nerves in my mouth, my throat, my stomach, and likely my whole body, became completely numb after about four or five bites.

Those Indian braves? They got bored pretty quickly after they realized that I wasn't going to break down and cry or anything, and went back to their conversation. When the waitress came back to get my plate and asked how my food had been, I told her (as best I could talk) that that had been one of the best burritos I had ever eaten, except for the fact that it could have been a little hotter...

I got back in my truck in a lot of pain but feeling like a real man, let off the brakes, pulled onto the road, and drove back out into the desert. Sometime in the early morning hours I reached the freeway, and was somewhere in the deserts of Arizona when the sun came up the next morning. Suddenly I felt a really funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. That feeling quickly began to spread, soon encompassing my entire body. I knew I had go, and I had to go now! I jacked that wheel around and pulled off the road emergency style, grabbed the roll of toilet paper that every truck driver has stashed in his truck- just in case- and away I ran out into the desert, limping and squeezing my butt cheeks as hard as I could, trying to get somewhere as hidden from the road as possible. I finally got behind a big rock and just barely got everything open and pulled down and it went "BOOM". There I was, half bent over, dripping with sweat, burning with almost unbearable fire at one end. I half turned and looked behind me and couldn't believe what I saw: the desert behind me was totally covered for about two meters...

It wouldn't surprise me if nothing grows there to this day, and I'm willing to bet that animals still make a wide detour around that spot...

Epilepsy Update 14 January 2017

Well, the first week after my vacation has passed and I'm already back into the routine again. 

I left home for work last Monday without really having recuperated during the three weeks I'd had off over the Christmas and New Year's holidays- anyone who reads the entries I wrote during that time will understand why. Yet I walked out the door with a good attitude nonetheless, ready to make the best of it and do the best job I could. After all, that is simply my life and I have to deal with it. So as I write about the week in the following lines I'm not whining about it, but rather simply reporting what my Epilepsy did in a sober and emotionless way. 

It might be appropriate to call last week "Seizure week", since I had many more complex partial seizures than usual, they were generally a little longer than they usually are, and they were unusually heavy and unpleasant. 

Monday: I had two house calls to make first thing in the morning. One complex partial, lasting only about 30 seconds, came before the first house call and I had two more between the first and second house calls. The Epilepsy was pretty quiet the rest of the day.

Tuesday: The fireworks really got going on Tuesday. I got hit by five complex partial seizures before I even left home for work in the morning, each of them worse than usual and lasting up to two minutes. One seizure would subside and I'd have a few minutes of rest, then the next one would start. That went on for an hour or so while I tried to shower, make sandwiches, and pack my backpack for work. Each time you have to stop and wait until the seizure ends, all the while knowing that you have to leave for work very soon and don't have time for this crap. The world around you looks and feels strange. You know you should be doing something but are not quite sure what. It's there at the edge of your consciousness, but you can't quite grasp it.

The seizures stopped after the fifth one, leaving me tired and with a migraine. I finally managed to be ready and left for work, arriving about ten minutes late. Now, I don't ride my bike in January or February, but rather walk, and the migraine calmed down quite a bit as I walked to work. I had been at work for about fifty minutes when another CPS cluster began: A complex partial seizure- 2-3 minutes long- a few minutes of rest, then the next seizure, a few minutes of rest, then the next one, over and over again for an hour or so. It went on that way for the rest of the day, with breaks of maybe two hours between each cluster.

Wednesday: I woke up with a migraine, maybe one third power. Around noon the migraine weakened somewhat and a cluster of about six or seven complex partial seizures hit me, the cluster lasting maybe ninety minutes or so. Then the migraine returned, but there was no more seizure activity that day. I was very tired from the seizures and the migraine was a little worse than it had been before. I felt a sense of relief when I learned that Wednesday bible study fell out that evening, and at the same time felt a little guilty for feeling relieved. But I was sooo tired... 

Thursday: I woke with a raging migraine. I had barely gotten out of bed when the first seizure of the day hit me, and I had one seizure after another up until around eleven am. After that I was very tired and that raging migraine stayed with me for the rest of the day. Another CPS cluster hit me in the evening after work. 

Friday: I woke up with the migraine still going, but a lot weaker. I had back to back seizures a short time after arriving at work, each about two minutes long, then only one very short ten second one later in the day. Other than that the migraine continued, albeit a lot weaker than the day before. Fridays are shorter work days and I took a nap after I got home. The migraine was almost gone after I woke up from that nap. 


I'd like to reiterate a couple of things about the seizures themselves. The seizures I have, the complex partials- or CPS, are much, much weaker than they would be if I were not taking the medication. I was not able to stay on my feet when I had a seizure before I began taking the medication, but went to the ground every time- sometimes even losing consciousness. Every once in a while a complex partial even went over into a grand mal seizure. I wouldn't be able to work if I weren't taking the medications. I'm not even sure I'd be able to live alone or go anywhere alone since I'd be completely helpless during a seizure. 

Indeed I do have an occasional "Breakthrough seizure" meaning that a really bad CPS gets through the medication and I do go to the ground- well actually I always have several in a row. In those cases I am totally helpless during- and after- the seizures. Each time my medication has to be increased as a result. 

I've been blessed so far in that someone has always been with me when I've had incapacitating seizures, but lately I've begun to realize that maybe I'm a little careless, and to wonder what I would do if that were to ever happen when I was alone. I walk or ride my bike all over town, for example, all alone, and suddenly it becomes clear to me that it's possible that I could be hit by a breakthrough seizure- or a cluster of them- anytime, anywhere. You never know. It hits you out of nowhere, without warning. What if I were at the mall, for example? What about in the evenings at home? What if I was in the shower? What if it got so bad that I had to call an ambulance but couldn't get to the door to let them in by the time they got there? Or had a grand mal and seriously bashed my head in? Well, I have a rescue medication in my wallet at all times that I'm supposed to take before it gets that far. I couldn't take it in town though because it shuts you down. I'd have to take a taxi home first. 

No panic. Those breakthrough things don't happen often- I guess I just need to be better prepared mentally, just in case.

I would love to hear any thoughts, comments, or suggestions anyone might have! Please feel free to comment!

Epilepsy Update 08 January 2017

Today is officially my last day of vacation...

You always hear Germans say the same thing after every vacation when you ask them how it was. "Too short," is what they'll say every time. 

I don't remember ever having said that myself, but I could this time. The tension and anxiety and exhaustion that have held me in their vice grip since the last big seizure at the beginning of November barely began letting go last Wednesday evening, and first got to the point where my batteries actually began to re-charge just the day before yesterday. The four unpleasant, heavier than usual seizures that I had on Friday gave testimony to the fact that I was finally beginning to come down- you know, heavier seizures often come when the stress lets go. So now, at the very end of my vacation, I finally find myself at the point where I can begin to rejuvenate and gather strength for the next stretch of work. If I had another week...

But I don't have another week, and that's just the way it is.

So I should just be thankful for what little R&R I was able to find over the last couple of days. Thankful for the fact that my heart has quieted down at least a touch and that I'm at least a little more balanced inside. 

I'm thankful that I was able to get a good workout rhythm going again over the last three weeks- despite all the trouble, and that I even built up a little despite feeling so bad. 

I'm thankful for the few hours that I still have left- meaning the rest of today. Conny and I are going to the sauna in a little while and that is a place where I can almost always find inner calm and rest.

Tomorrow I'll get up and go to work as usual, without a fuss, as calmly and peacefully as possible, and be as positive as I can. I'm going to make the best of it. What choice do I have? Well, I do have a choice! I can quit anytime I like! Nobody is making me go to work. Many Epileptics don't work. I could go on disability or welfare, or whatever.

I need to remind myself that I don't have to work. I want to work...

I still have like five days of vacation left over from 2016 that need to be taken by the end of March and I plan on spreading them out over the coming weekends, in other words giving myself five three-day weekends between now and the end of March. 

I'm going to try and find ways to make better use of my free-time in the future (like more reading-less YouTube), and try and optimize my sleeping rhythm. At the same time I'll work on optimizing my working conditions even more than I already have, like trying to arrange to work at home on Fridays, for example. 

So it's back to work tomorrow. No sense crying about it. No sense mourning about it. That's the way it is. That's life. 

Get over it...

Epilepsy Update 04 January 2017

There is a "Facebook" for people with Epilepsy. It's called "My Epilepsy Team". There are people from all over the world on that site. I've been a member for a couple of years and have really learned a lot from the other members. You meet people who are doing better than you, and people who are doing worse than you. In truth, it would seem as if a great number of the epileptics on that site are not even able to work at all. Many cannot even shower or bathe alone. 

There are always those individuals who constantly write about staying positive, having Epilepsy but not letting Epilepsy have you, living life to the fullest despite the disorder, and at least a dozen other super-smart sayings. When you look at their profiles however you see that they have very light cases of Epilepsy and that their seizures are under control through medication- and that they don't even have to take much medication either. 

I logged on to the site yesterday for the first time in many, many months and re-discovered something interesting. Those anxiety attacks that I so often write about are a normal part of pretty much all epileptic's lives, excepting those light cases that is. What's more, it makes no difference whatsoever which medication they take. It's the same with bouts of depression. A great many of them take anti-depressants or tranquilizers for those conditions. Some even have a fast-acting rescue tranquilizer against anxiety attacks with them at all times in case they have one while underway! It seems like very few of them even attempt to try and cope with those things by any other means, like reflection and self-control, or prayer and trying to depend on God. 

Many complain that they are surrounded by people who don't understand what they're going through, who think they're just being big babies. The people saying that can't understand how it is to have this thing draining you every waking moment of every day of your life, making everything you do much, much more difficult and strenuous. They often hear, "Just stop acting like a baby and feeling sorry for yourself!" 

Reading about them makes me "feel a little better" because it shows me that I'm not the only one, that I'm not especially weak in some way for having these anxiety attacks or these bouts of depression, but that they go with the territory. 



Conny brought up the subject of my career again yesterday, being concerned as she is about how my condition seems to be progressively worsening over time. She'd really like to see me reduce my work hours, like maybe going down to working four instead of five days per week, dropping Fridays, for example, which are only six hours anyway. 

Everything in me screams, "NO!!!" when I even think about reducing work hours, or changing anything at all as pertains to my job. I have an absolute dream job! My job fits my talents perfectly and I'm convinced it was given to me by God himself, and the work itself is as much fun as anything can be when you're doing it all messed up by Epilepsy. My employer holds me in very high esteem and gives me absolute freedom with the project he has assigned me to. I work almost totally unsupervised and can do much to schedule everything to best fit my condition. 

I don't know if the director of the company- the big boss- even knows that I've got Epilepsy. My team leader knows, but I've never had occasion to tell the big boss- I hardly ever see him. If I wanted to reduce my hours I'd have to talk to him about it, and the thought scares me to death! I have no idea what would happen to my career if I did. The last thing I want to do is to arouse the impression that I'm having trouble doing my job (even if it is the truth).

That talk with Conny gave me one idea though: I normally try and reserve Fridays for office work- no outside appointments or appointments with clients. So maybe I could talk to the boss about working from home on Fridays? At least that wouldn't be asking to work less, and it wouldn't mean earning less either. 


It's a good thing that I have Conny because I'd probably give up and go on disability or something right now if I didn't! Both of my daughters are grown up and don't need me anymore, so providing for Conny is what keeps me working full-time and being so adamant about protecting my job, to maintain the standard of living that she's accustomed to. I myself could be happy with very little. For her I want to keep working as much as I can for as long as I can.

Epilepsy Update 03 January 2017

Where is the line between acceptance of an illness and defeat?

Where is the line between groaning under the weight of an illness and being a baby about it?

Where is the line between R&R and being lazy?

Where is the line between exhaustion and having given up?

Where is the line between realistic concern and irrational fear?

The borders are not clear to me and I feel uncertain. There is no handbook where I can look it up. There is nobody whom I can ask. If I get it right it may take me in a positive direction. If I get it wrong it will almost certainly take me in a negative direction.

I feel like I'm on some kind of border and don't know which way to go. 

The thing that is sitting most heavily upon me is the fact that I must return to work next Monday, the 9th of January, and I have not been able to properly recover, to re-charge my batteries as of yet. No where near. Is that my own fault? Have I done something wrong? Am I only being a weakling? Or is it, as it would seem to me, especially difficult to recover in my case due to the illness- because it never stops beating on you even while on R&R, never lets go, meaning the body and spirit simply need more time to rest up than a healthy person? 

My vacation began one week later than planned due to my work load. I entered vacation thoroughly exhausted in body and mind. Almost the entire first two weeks of that vacation were spent locked in tension and anxiety- which has only begun to subside the past few days and which I fear could return if I'm not careful. Now I have less than one week left. 

I began to feel a sense of panic yesterday afternoon. Panic at the thought of going back to work next Monday without having gotten back to strength, and having to go right back to operating on reserves until my next vacation in August. I have become so afraid of emotions that I suppressed that panic, afraid that it would hijack me and I wouldn't get back out again. Then I began feeling sad about it. It seemed like the weight of the whole world settled upon my shoulders and a few involuntary tears came. For a moment I thought, "I just cannot make it, it's just too much, this daily plodding on and on and on with my brain like this and those seizures and migraines." I suppressed that sadness as well, again afraid that it would hijack me.  

Where is the line between groaning under the weight of an illness and being a baby about it?

The thought came to me yesterday that I wish I could go to a health resort for a while, maybe a month or two. A "Wellness Kur." Not to have fun, but rather to get away from it all and REALLY be able to rest. 

Where is the line between taking R&R and being lazy?

I feel the need to do something all of the time here at home during my vacation: repairs, extra cleaning, spending more time with Conny, etc, but it's all been too little because I've simply felt exhausted and can't really get going- and I was doing so badly those first two weeks that I felt I could hardly breathe. A few of small repairs, a little cleaning, some time with Conny, yes, but no where near as much as I had planned- or as much as Conny herself would have wished. As soon as I began feeling a little better I wanted to get more active right away and do more work around the place, get out and do more things with Conny.

The conflict within me is this: I feel like I should be doing more, but I feel like I need to be doing less. 

Where is the line between taking R&R and being lazy?

I always assume that I'm simply being lazy...

I always assume that I'm simply being a baby...

I always assume that I'm simply being a weakling...

But is that really true???

I'm looking at this rationally this morning, not whining. I simply don't know what to do about all of this. How in the world am I going to make it?

Where is the handbook?

Where is the person I can ask?