Becoming Self-absorbed with MS During the Pandemic
With everything being so awful, the goal is to write uplifting copy. OK, sounds like my sort of gig.
One way of dealing with things is to become self-absorbed with the old MS.
I think it’s getting jealous. How can a mere virus get all this attention?
MS: “I’m far more complex. No human has even worked out what the hell I am! Pah. I’ll show my particular human what for!”
And the ol’ MS did with its usual scattergun blast.
I’ve spent the last fortnight grappling with a good, old-fashioned MS problem. One that had me screaming, shouting, and at times, sniveling.
Particularly burdensome, it was worse while trying to sleep, to such an extent that my 24-hour clock has been kicked across the world. I might only be allowed to go out of the house for exercise, but I’m currently living in the Australian time zone! It’s irksome to use a wheelchair in the dark — too much chance of running over dog poo!
Spasticity has been inexorably creeping into my right arm for years. Yes, I know it’s my neurons misfiring, but as ever, knowing the science doesn’t stop me thinking of it as some kind of malicious creature slowly taking over my body.
Having fun yet? Let me lighten the load with a drug!
No, not one of the naughty ones. Incidentally, the lockdown has caused their prices to skyrocket. They and gold are among the few commodities doing well.
I finally got gabapentin prescribed, which I should have done ages ago. There were times recently when my right arm locked into a Napoleon impression and screamed in agony. When my right leg became increasingly useless, it had the grace to at least avoid making a fuss on the way out. Yes, my walking days were over, but I wasn’t in agony.
On the other hand, and in this case, the use of a cliché is actually apposite, my right arm and hand now actually work a little. The right hand has done a bit of this typing. Not enough to be really helpful, but a spattering to show off. Typical that my illness now satirizes my personality.
So that seems to have been dealt with for now.
Meanwhile, my lingering foot injury has continued to cause consternation. When the immune system has been destroyed, problems like this can drag on for months.
A new antibiotic has been thrown into the fray, clindamycin. It’s been working as well. Hurrah!
Except it has one well-known side effect: diarrhea.
The last 36 hours have been spent mostly sitting and sleeping on my commode.
Still, the bright side is that I’ve had to stop eating. Instead, I’m drinking a London porter from a craft brewery.
What global crisis?
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