The brain is bigger than the head, maybe this character is very smart!? 😀
This kind of disease is frightening, it reminds me of red roulette, constantly evoluting, sometimes everything okay and the next day a crisis occurs…
I’ve been battling the “something” on a tangible (in the physical symptom sense) level for a little over 3 years. The back story is not unusual. I had the frequently cited, less than ideal, childhood but was lucky to have coped by throwing myself into school. I managed to work and survive and get out of dodge as soon as possible. Years, tears, majors, lots of jobs, and a few school transfers later I was in a PhD program. I was recruited into it early in my academic career and the department seemed diverse enough to deal with my crazy background of Film Production, avant-garde studies, postmodern theory, psychology, and political science. awesome!
Well things changed in my program and I got sick. I was in this program for 4 years when I decided to transfer since there wasn’t a social scientist that wasn’t an economist in the faculty any longer. I was all but dissertation (abd) but I was still left writing a psychology based dissertation with an Economist as an adviser. In any case, with much support from my professors as far as my academic abilities go, I transferred to a university in the UK without funding. It was [...] continue the story
Do you grow weary of hearing the inspirational tales of people who have MS but still conquer the world? Do you have trouble identifying with the athlete who just ran, swam or biked across the world in the face of MS or the person who climbs into the ring with a raging bull and emerges with the championship belt? The list of motivational speakers includes a wide variety of talents and skills and they mean well, but it can be difficult, if not impossible to relate to their message.
It’s a mystery why this disease affects all of us differently and I don’t begrudge those people who appear to have benign Multiple Sclerosis – that mild disease that may not even need to be treated. Kudos to them being able to continue living life to its fullest, setting lofty goals and working hard to achieve them and I certainly don’t want to take away from their successes, but I have trouble relating to these super-patients. Their normal of living with Multiple Sclerosis doesn’t compare to the normal of the numerous people I know who have this same disease.
Long before we girls leave the crib, we sense that boys watch the way we move.
Once we become ambulatory the game intensifies. Puberty attaches language to this preoccupation as girls learn whether guys are leg men, butt-watchers, or hypnotized by hips. In adulthood, women discover the power to influence an admirer with a simple movement. We choreograph our own signature dance. Fully in control of our youthful bodies, we emulate the panther, the gazelle, our favorite Motown group, or in a goofy moment, a decrepit great uncle.
Developing MS is a real game-changer. When I added foot drop to my choreography, I felt clumsy and unattractive. Augmenting my routine with a cane was the finishing blow; a cane did well by Fred Astaire and July Garland, but I don’t sing “Swanee” or tap dance on ceilings. I gave up on grace and worried about tripping or falling. My dance morphed from jazzy Gwen Verdon to Chevy Chase doing Gerald Ford. Convinced that men observed this with either sympathy or disgust, I abandoned my desire to be desired.
One day, I noticed my husband, Mark, standing behind me beaming lasciviously.
“What are you looking at, you silly man,” I asked.
I think it’s important to know how this story began. It really started over 4 years ago, although I was only officially diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis in April 2010. It was a long, painful road to this diagnosis. A road I would never wish anyone to travel.
To post this story as one entry would be terribly long, so I’ve decided to break up the posts into chapters.
On October 4th 2006 Steve and I celebrated our 3rd wedding anniversary and our gift to each other was Grace. Grace was born at 1:57pm.
She was a wonderful baby. She slept, ate and was awake all when she was supposed to be. The only issue was Steve’s job. He travelled for his job and was often away Monday to Friday. Often overnight for a few nights in a row. It was never out of the ordinary for him to work in Fredericton one day and Yarmouth the next. He was never home. I was always alone, with Grace.
They called it “baby blues”. I called Them patronizing. I hate that term. “Baby Blues”. God, it makes it seem so childish and insignificant. It sounded so “ho-hum”. There was nothing “ho-hum” [...] continue the story