MS: starting over again?
Changing neuropathical pain medicines: not as easy as it looks.
MS, a cognitive kerfuffle of sorts
Q: "Mmm… where did I hear that before because I know that I know it, only I don't know in which part of my brain I dumped it?" A: "I can't recall, so do forgive the cognitive malpractice of millions of fiery neural explosions lost on pathways made of concrete-coloured brain matter. It's not their fault." Footnote: While I make light of said idiocy in the upstairs chamber, I find it best to address it with a sense of musical humour. Hence, I sing 'Do I know or do I not?' sung on the song 'Should I stay or should I go' by the Clash.
Balancing life and a chronic illness
Oh, you can bet I am willing, I am usually more than willing. When physical restraints curb your potential, you realise that you want so more from your own life, and out of your own reality. Life is moving forward outside your medically induced world, and you feel annoyed when healthy people don’t realise the worth of their bodies, their unused potential. It simply reminds you that being chronically ill sucks.
Man up!
“The more you struggle to live, the less you live. Give up the notion that you must be sure of what you are doing. Instead, surrender to what is real within you, for that alone is sure... you are above everything distressing.” (Baruch Spinoza)
While I was sleeping…
“If asked if I want to feel and be the ‘me’ before my diagnosis, I would reply this, “Of course I wish to be that person again, only, I simply cannot remember what ‘normal’ feels like.” Fatigue significantly interfered with daily life very early on in my road to diagnosis and was one of the reasons why, eventually, I was forced to retire four and a half years later."
Balancing life and a chronic illness
Reality. It’s what’s for breakfast. After some feeble attempts trying to write a few paragraphs the past few weeks, it was back to the drawing board each time. Not good enough. Already done this. Needs more research. Too tired. Not fit enough. You know moments like these, you sit down, determination almost physically squeezing ink out of your pen. Cup of coffee at the ready, you start and a few minutes later you have to hold on, waiting for energy to kick your bum to open up your half-closed eyes. Reality. Seamus Heaney once said “writing is a snapshot of consciousness”. I was lucky being semi-conscious this week. I could hardly make sense of myself during those few moments I tried to put pen to paper.
I don’t miss myself
So… Rugby world cup. At last. England in a fashion faux-pas. Coin toss aside, they resembled players of Wales, China, Japan or Kyrgyzstan (Fijian, red is Fijian). Mum’s nine-day visit to Ireland now over. Visited Dublin Zoo once again. New camera making me rather shutter-slow, hence prevalent photographic bonding with rear ends of several animals. Otherwise, hardly left the house. Sniff. Thank you, MS. Living with a chronic illness is not all it’s cracked up to be. Chronic means chronic. I don’t get to choose the days, the hours, the moments. Hence, a triad of medical events in the space of twelve days now extended into a three-week period. Flu. Impatient, it could not wait to land on my doorstep before that all-important flu jab. Must remember that viruses follow…
