Chapter Eight

Why didn't he fly?

Without the need to write to Dan the project sort of petered out. Several years went by before my mind came back to review what I had written.

MEDITATION-RELAXATION-ADRENALIN---POSITIVE

ANXIETY-DEPRESSION-STRESS---------NEGATIVE

The enhanced ability to communicate mind to muscle idea was still important.

Meditation and fantasy worked and had put me in pretty good shape. These things worked without fail but I didn't know why. It would be nice to know why.

The key had to be in my ability to send too many signals from my brain. The enhanced ability to communicate. This ability should be a good thing but I was convinced it was working against me. Each time I tried to force an activity I became weak and failed. The most progress was made by relaxing. That's backwards. Something is definitely backwards.

Where could I go from here? Could I, indeed, go anywhere? What was my next move? I was doing well but the holes in my understanding were, or seemed to be huge. How could I get off this plateau and on to the next one. There had to be a higher one. It didn't take Sherlock Holmes to arrive at that conclusion but how could I get there? The thought that medical researchers, all over the world, were probably working on these questions with their millions of dollars in research grants and dozens of straight "A" technicians, was a depressing thought. Who the hell was I, anyway, to think that I could have a chance to unravel this enough to really understand. I wanted to give up but my "never say die" was working overtime. Part of the problem was Steve. He had died and I was still alive and, try as I might to not think in these terms, the thought left me feeling guilty. I could get rid of this feeling if I could gain enough understanding to help other "Steves".

I had nothing to grab hold of. Not a clue that would start my mind going in the right direction. "It's fine to have an analytical mind," I thought, " but, with nothing to analyze I was nowhere."

This whole project was an ego trip! Vanity! Stupidity! Stop it, Clete, and get on with your painting! A painter should paint and researchers should research and brain surgeons should surge and barbers should barb. I was finally back to reality.

A small bird flew into our window and lay motionless on the grass. Its eyes were open and it blinked but it didn't move a muscle. I picked it up and placed it on its feet. It just stood there and blinked, never moving for at least two hours. Why? Didn't it know it was in danger? A cat could have walked up and eaten it and I don't think it would have tried to fly. Why?

A cat was hit by a car and dragged itself under the neighbor’s house. It didn't move for four days. It was alive as I could see its eyes, but it didn't move. Finally it came out and looked for food. Its injuries were healed. What did this mean?

Were the bird and cats total immobilization the opposite of Super Strength? If this were true it opened a whole new avenue to explore. The bird and cat were both injured and apparently their bodies shut down completely to give them a chance to heal. A question of survival. In the car crash the man was allowed to lift two thousand pounds to save his wife. Also a question of survival. In both cases the limits were different. Limits. Yes. A limiting factor. It had to be. I reasoned that Adrenaline would raise it but it surely didn't lower it. If it was connected to healing it must be connected to the Immune System. Possibly the Immune System played a roll in both raising and lowering it.

Finally I had something to visualize. A line. A limit that could be moved up with Enthusiasm--Excitement--Adrenaline and a limit that could be lowered with Anxiety--Depression--Stress. A
limit that had been lowered to almost the bottom when both the bird and cat were injured. Survival! Survival at the expense of safety!

I drew graphs.

The Limiting factor went up and down and limited our activity and it was all regulated by our immune system. It kept us safe and helped us survive.

If it kept us safe then why did I have MG? Why was it not working right? Why did I have to spend two hours each morning meditating so that I could do even simple jobs?

Maybe----------and my thoughts went back to the Enhanced Ability to Communicate, maybe now I could figure out what happened when the "irresistible force" came face to face with the "immovable object".

What if I were hurt and my Immune System lowered the Limiting Factor in an attempt to protect me and what if I then applied signals from the brain in a quantity and amplitude that my system was never designed for. What would happen? Could the signals break through the Limiting Factor (LF)? If they did what would happen? Would the Immune System perceive the violation of the LF as another threat and lower the LF further?

If all this happened wouldn't it be call Myasthenia Gravis?

At James Connally AFB my injury was emotional. I was already stressed out when the Review Board failed me. Add the depression with the stress and then the anxiety from the test hops. Good old "Never say die" did a good job hiding all this from the world, even from myself, but I couldn't hide it from my Immune System. It knew that all this was a threat to my survival and it did what it was designed to do. It lowered my LF. When things got worse it lowered it again and this should have slowed me down to a level that would protect me. It would have, I believe, if I had had a normal ability to send signals from my brain to my muscles. My enhanced ability overwhelmed the safety system and threatened my very existence.

All this seemed to fit and, as I had always done, when something fit I would assume its validity until experience proved otherwise.

My daily routine looked like this on a graph:

In the morning, when the LF is at 20%, starting work immediately would result in MG. The LF must be raised while the amplitude of signal are still low. One thing still bothered me. Why was the LF so low when I got up? What was suppressing the LF?

I believe the answer lies in the hurt that I felt from my Air Force experience. The things that I wanted to talk about and couldn't. The pain was all still there even if I had built a wall to keep it out of my life. My Immune System knew it still hurt even if my mind had forgotten. My Immune System was still trying to protect me.

In the past thirty years, as I've written this book, there have been periods of uncontrolled tears. Each time I approached the hidden hurt, water would fill my eyes and flood down my cheeks. The feeling of calm and peace that followed told me that this was a good thing. Slowly, over the years, my LF has been higher when I get up in the morning making fantasy and meditation less essential. I believe, very strongly, that writing of my experiences has served as excellent therapy. I would strongly recommend it.