Survey Says…

I hate to brag but I’m a pretty important person. No, seriously.  And you should be a little worried. Here’s the lowdown.

Around late February of this year, after my reluctant but necessary full retirement owing to MS, I decided I was going to need something to do at home to keep me from going completely doolally.  If you’re reading this then, for better or worse, you know the fruit of one of my endeavors – blogging. As much as I’d like to say I’ve thrown myself into writing and have become seriously self-disciplined, the mood actually only strikes once in a while.  On a cheerier note, I’m probably not far from being a serious, internationally-ranked Spider Solitaire contender.

Obviously, I needed more.  Something important that would better humanity.  An avenue that would leave a lasting, positive imprint on the lives of others.  So, I joined Survey Junkie.

Every day my opinions shape your world.  I answer for the masses about real-world, important things, like what we really want from our toilet paper; the best logo for an underwear brand that captures the qualities of “durability and comfort”, the “two things we all want” from our undies; and have carefully chosen between proposed TV commercials to guarantee that the ad fairly represents the company’s commitment to keeping you “safe” while also making you look “prosperous”.

Some survey questions have been easy and fun, for example: Do you use slang?  Fo’ sho’ At what age do you think it is no longer appropriate to you use slang? 89, ‘cause my Grandpa always said he was one cool cat who wasn’t afraid to get on the horn to coppers when he saw someone on the hooch who needed to go to the big house. Did you now that most people think anyone over the age of 26 should not use slang?  Dude, that’s heavy.

Some questions have taught me that OCD has a functional side. Which restaurants have you or anyone in your household visited at least once in the last 12 months? One moment, let me just whip out my Alphabetized, Annotated, and Ranked by 5-Star Rating System of Restaurants Visited Between May 2018 – May 2019 list.

Some questions have been grouped into blocks and straddle between a screening test for Dementia and a social awareness questionnaire. Have you purchased potato chips within the last three months? Are you judging me? What brand(s) of potato chips have you heard of? What brand(s) haven’t I heard of?! Is it important to you that the company who made the potato chips contributes to better their community?  You mean frying potatoes and/or corn into thin, tasty wafers doesn’t count as bettering the community?Would you consider changing the brand of potato chips you normally purchase if you knew a different company made more of a commitment to reducing their carbon footprint than your current chip company? What?  I can’t hear you over the crunch of my Fritos.

Today I took an eight minute survey that was top secret.  I had to agree that I would not reveal the name or contents of the survey among my friends or family, nor would I share anything about it on social media platforms.  See, I told you I was important. I’m doing classified work.

Not only is my opinion important, but valuable too.  In the last two months I’ve earned $22 and counting. The word is out that my opinions are great because I get between 10-15 offers a day to participate in a new survey.  I guess you could even say I’ve become a professional at my new gig.

I’ve always known MS had a few perks, like getting to park in handicap spaces and sitting in reserved areas for my wheelchair at stadiums.  I didn’t know that the virtually home-bound state it has left me in would one day lead me to this new and exciting career in the world of surveys.  It just goes to show that every cloud really does have a silver lining. Oh, I gotta go, someone needs my opinion about which font on the wrapper of mini candy bars properly conveys the rich, creamy chocolate within!

Guilty as Charged

I tend to be a rule follower and a planner.  I obey authority figures. I respect laws. I’m the annoying person who reads all the directions, twice.  I look at maps before heading somewhere new. I lay out my clothes the night before and meal plan at least three days ahead.  In other words, negative consequences are generally a sufficient deterrent to keep me on the straight and narrow. Well… almost always.

Sometimes a person has an obligation to disobey, and in a calculated, planned coup, rage against an authoritarian, oppressive regime, even if the result is certain defeat.

In this spirit, I make the following confession: I, Amy Renee, did purposely, and with a full understanding of the probable outcome, defiantly spend 15 minutes weeding the landscape in the front yard on the afternoon of April 27, in the year of our Lord, 2019.

Statement of Reason: The landscape was rife with nefarious weeds that had invaded upon my property.  On the date in question, the sun was shining and the sky was a beautiful, clear blue which did beckon me forthwith to act upon the foreign invaders.

Defendant’s Previous History: The defendant has a long history, dating back 29 years, of rebellion against the established rule of law, specifically related to over exertion.

Sentence: As the indicted has, of her own admission, willfully and knowingly acted against the long-standing, acting, dictatorial powers of Multiple Sclerosis, she shall be sentenced to between three days to two weeks of excessive fatigue, difficulty walking independently, embarrassing clumsiness, and intermittent loss of bladder control.

The court would like to ask the defendant how long it will take her to learn her lesson. “Probably forever, your honor.” It certainly seems so. Court dismissed.

Shopping at Full Speed

Its bright red concentric circles beckon to land me squarely in the store. The aroma of freshly made popcorn and your choice of hot or cold, legally addictive, caffeinated beverages magically combine to infuse the air and make you feel like you want to stay a while.  It provides ample opportunities to people watch a slightly trendier, but still as strange, menagerie of folks than it’s yellow-sparked logo competitor. At any given time, it probably has more tattoo and pierced skin shoppers with hipster haircuts than any other place in town.  Home goods, furniture, clothes, undergarments, electronics, books, toys and games, food, candy, lotions and potions, a pharmacy, cleaning products, pet supplies, seasonal decor, greeting cards…pretty much everything a first world, middle class, 21st century human needs to function in our consumerist society.

I used to be able to drive myself to this shopping mecca and make my way through any aisle I chose at a leisurely pace.  When my cart was full and I had breathed in all the buttery-laced air I wanted, I could stand around in the check-out lane with no worry of how long it would take to pay, walk back to my car, and put all the bags in the backseat before finally driving home.  I could also bring the bags into the house, empty the contents, and, one by one, put them away into their respective places without care for how much energy I expended.

That was then and this is now.

It’s been well over three years since I dared to make this excursion on my own.  Like so many other things when living with MS, doing activities on my own didn’t abruptly stop.  My independence diminished similar to how individual flurries accumulate in a gently falling, long, slowly moving snowstorm.  Flake by tiny flake they collected until one day I found myself buried under the avalanche of symptoms, and shopping on my own became yet another task that fell into the “insurmountable” category.

Nowadays, my hubby chauffeurs me into town and parks in one of the handicap spots conveniently located close to the door.  He drags my wheelchair out of the trunk and together we spin our way through the store. I hate riding in those motorized wheelchairs with a basket on the front that beep every time you need to turn around or want to see something behind you.  Instead, I’ve learned the art of balancing two handbaskets on my lap, fitting everything we need into them for the week. More difficult still has been learning to compromise and change our individually-preferred shopping styles in order to make our weekly Target run pleasant for both of us.  I’ve (mostly) given up my insistence that he push me at a leisurely pace through each isle of my favorite sections. In turn, he has (mostly) stopped whizzing me so quickly that we leave two-wheeled skid marks on the tile. Sometimes we settle on him leaving me in one aisle near something I want to look at while he flies through two or three other aisles.  

This approach has fairly easily carried over to other shopping venues like the grocery store and DIY stores.  Someday I hope it will overflow into shopping for clothes at department stores, but I’m not holding my breath.  I have to admit that watching someone else shop for clothes has a limited entertainment value. However, it is kind of fun to ride through the rest of the mall so fast that you can’t tell if the blue-haired people you pass are teenagers or grandmas!

Freedom, My Old Friend!

Crushed on the couch because I got dressed. My legs are telephone poles, it’s going to take a Mack-Truck to move them. Each arm is a 500 lb bar-bell. The remote is just a couple inches away. My brain keeps saying “reach out and get it” but nothing happens. I can’t sit up, I can’t even raise my head. It takes all my energy to blink my eyes. My mouth is open, too slack to close and it takes all my concentration to muster enough energy to swallow. One hour down, now three. I can hear. I can see. I know I am breathing. I can’t feed myself, maybe in the next hour. My chin itches but I don’t care, I’m too tired to scratch it. It’s four hours now. I think I can move my hands. Yes, but my fingers aren’t strong enough to push the buttons on the remote. Maybe 30 more minutes will do the trick. It was all noise before but now I can make out the words from the music playing on TV. I like this song, I don’t need to change the channel. Todd pulls me up so I can sit. Easy does it. Just enough energy to feed myself. The drink is too heavy to lift, but I can sip through a straw. I have to lie back down to rest. Two more hours pass but at least I can follow the plot of the show Todd’s watching.

MS Fatigue is not the same as being tired. You are tired when you expend a lot of energy, like overworking in the garden, or when you don’t get enough sleep, such as pulling an all-night study session before a test. MS Fatigue has nothing to do with sleep or overwork, it is present no matter what, and it is so oppressive no amount of will-power or positive thinking exerts any difference over it. It takes you and holds you prisoner in a nearly unresponsive stupor, virtually catatonic. Sometimes the excessive, paralyzing, worst form of fatigue enters and exits daily. Other times, it comes and goes like a distant relative you only see on holidays or special occasions. I hate it. I don’t have the vocabulary to explain it. I dread every time it visits. It doesn’t wait for invitations, it just shows up and demands an audience. I’ve been under it’s stern, cruel rod of chastisement more times than I can count. It doesn’t get any easier, BUT I know it won’t last forever. It will eventually ease and, though it may seem reluctant at first, let go of it’s vise-gripping, soul sucking, strangle of me and let me breath the air of freedom again.

(Inhale) Freedom, (exhale) my old friend!

MS Walk 2019 is in the Books

It turned out to be a BEAUTIFUL day to take a walk, a very special kind of walk. There was a huge community turn out for the MS Walk, full of friendships both old and new. Several friends from church got together and created a team, Amy’s Axons, in my honor without me even knowing about it! Owing to such a kind and loving act, the walk this year was extra meaningful to me.

Highlights included – the Central High School Kilties marching us out as the walk began, Hurts Donuts, Einstein Bagels, lunch catered by Los Cabos, a variety of vendors raising money for MS, and a live band, just to name a few.

It’s always encouraging to see others living with MS supported by friends and family on their teams. I had the opportunity to meet a couple of people who also have MS. Both of them, like me, stressed how much they relied on their friends and family support in order to live with this disease. This fact can never be emphasized enough, without the help and kindness of others I would be unable to live on my own.

Many advances have been made in recent years in the quest to understand and treat MS. A recent report revealed that the number of people living with MS in the USA was around a million, nearly twice what had originally been thought. Now, more than ever, we need to find a cure!

Tales of the DMV

Getting my Real-ID has been Real-HARD for me. I had to make five trips to the DMV within a 24-hour period and still have to go back again. I saw several familiar faces each time I returned, people who, like me, either hadn’t brought the right combination of paperwork or had to come back because the statewide server broke down.

Both days found the place stuffed full of Americans across the gamete of lifestyles and social classes all trapped together in a small area for about an hour. I distinctly remember a man with no teeth and a Disney character tank top sitting beside a businessman in pressed trousers and a starched shirt; a “What’s wrong with putting America first?” T-shirt wearing man next to a couple of Polish speaking ladies trying to get car tags; one parent with two feral children running and screaming in and out of the rows of chairs asking questions about school to a parent whose children were quietly sitting beside her; and a crusty, bushy-bearded man reeking of stale, cheap cigarettes squashed up against a lady with a designer track suit, perfect nails and hair, a bit too much perfume, and a lot too much make-up. These characters, along with your average Joes and Janes, made up the rotating, but constant of 20 or so folks waiting their turn. Despite the obvious, visible differences, one could tell we all had the same desperate hope, that we had brought enough pieces of paperwork in the correct combination to get us out of there!

The five ladies who worked behind the counter were the quintessential DMV employees you see in movies or on TV. One was very pleasant but must not have been working there very long because she had to ask her co-workers questions for virtually every transaction she made. One was peppy and seemed to get through two times as many people as all the others combined. One was very matter-of-fact, a little cold, and didn’t seem too worried about customer care. One was earnest and nice, but was flustered easily and didn’t look to have many tools in the tool shed, if you know what I mean. And then there was the maniacal one who I honestly think took secret joy in telling people they didn’t have the correct paperwork and they would have to come back. She “helped” me on my third visit by telling me I would need to bring in a copy of my marriage license, emphasis on copy. When I came back with my license in hand and had spent another 45 minutes waiting my turn, I was called to the cubicle of the pleasant lady who probably hadn’t been working there too long. I gave her my paperwork and when she came to the marriage license, Maniacal Lady took it upon herself to, without being asked, lean over from her own cubicle into that of the person who was helping me. Maniacal Lady took a cursory glance at the copy and, with a smile on her face, said it didn’t look like it had the proper seal and that I would have to order another one from the State Recorder’s office in Jefferson City (our state’s capital). As she said this she looked me straight in the eye, raised her eyebrows, and shook her head as if to say, “I have the power to make your life miserable and I like nothing more than watching all the hope vanish from your eyes.” (Did I mention this was my fourth trip?) Because Missouri has an extension to become compliant for Real-ID until October 2020, and because I was more frustrated than I can remember being in a very long while, I opted to just get a regular driver’s license and come back another day to try again.

I actually cried on the way home–I couldn’t help it.  I felt like I was seven years old and had been wrongly blamed for something I didn’t do, but couldn’t find the words to explain the truth. I’m sure the deepening fatigue I was now feeling didn’t help. The only thing that could come out was tears.

Each time I had gone to the DMV a different person helped me and told me something different than the previous one had said. I checked the list of requirements on the state website and thought I had all the pieces it listed as necessary. After that visit, the fourth one, I finally called the county recorder’s office and learned I had brought in all the correct paperwork and that I wasn’t the only casualty of the local DMV. Apparently there has been ongoing confusion among the DMV staff about what qualifies as an “approved copy” of a marriage license despite the county recorder going over in person to train them.

Armed with this new information, I found myself getting back in my car, limping myself up to the counter without bothering to take a number, and sharing this with Nice Lady who had helped me before Maniacal Lady butted in. Living up to her moniker, Nice Lady was very kind, didn’t scold me for butting in line, and set about trying to sort it out for me. She went over to tell Maniacal Lady what I had discovered, but Maniacal Lady didn’t believe it. Eventually, a call was placed by Nice Lady to Jefferson City for a final verdict, and…I was right! Maniacal lady was WRONG! Her face dropped when she found out and for just a brief moment I thought I had won the day and could get my Real-ID completed. I was wrong. Maniacal Lady rallied quickly, fixed her eyes hard on me, and with an all too familiar look, raised her eyebrows and shook her head, as she leveled her last words to me, “You still have to wait 10 days before coming back to get your Real-ID license because you got a regular license earlier today.”

I hope I get Maniacal Lady when I go back. I plan to smile my biggest smile and politely say, “We meet again.”

Slowly, Slowly

Quiet, slow moving, solitary days bring plenty of time for reflection and to learn about one’s self.

Since retiring nearly six weeks ago I have moved over to the slow lane of life. My husband spends fourty-ish hours of the week at work, nearly all of my friends have day jobs, and fatigue from my MS nearly always keeps me home. The first few weeks of retirement were borderline catatonic. I was still recovering from my latest exacerbation of MS and only had the energy to do small necessities required to sustain life. The past couple of weeks, however, have typically brought an hour or two per day when I have enough energy to actually fill my time with something other than sitting.

Slowly, very slowly a couple of simple pleasures from my distant past have started to find traction again. My Grandma Lois encouraged me to develop an interest in bird watching during my childhood. She always had a few feeders in her backyard and taught me how to look for distinguishing characteristics between the varieties of birds which came to eat. She kept a pair of binoculars and a bird field guide beside her back-facing windows and I spent many a happy hour watching the ever-changing line up at the feeders – Cardinals, Goldfinches, Juncos, House Finches, Carolina Wrens, Baltimore Oriels, Purple Martins…the list goes on and on. I especially remember being proud that she was so smart. She never had to double check the field guide for names like I did, not even for the rarer ones that didn’t come very often, like the Summer Tanagers or Pine Siskins.

Todd noticed a pair of House Finches early last week nesting in one of the bushes outside our house. This singular incident sent me down memory lane as I recalled all the happy memories of bird watching at Grandma’s. So, late last week I put up a couple of bird feeders in the backyard and, sure enough, I am just as excited now as I was then to see the lineup of different birds come and go. The first birds to the feeders were Goldfinches, House Finches, and Juncos. Memories of Grandma flooded over me and swelled my heart for this exact trio were always her favorite birds. I particularly remember her being excited to see Goldfinches at the feeders each season and her telling me that Juncos seemed to be the happiest and friendliest of all the birds. My favorite so far this week has been a male and female pair of Eastern Bluebirds. They are simply stunning as they sport a vibrant and dazzling blue on top of their bodies, a solid white belly, and rusty throat, chest, and thighs. To me, nothing says Missouri like our gorgeous state bird. Better yet, the time quickly passes as I watch the parade of hungry birds come and go and listen to their varied songs fill the trees surrounding our house.

The other simple pleasure I never actually knew I enjoyed is cleaning. While growing up my sisters and I used to call my Mom a “dirt digger”. She didn’t always relish cleaning but once she got started she meant business. She would get between tiles with a toothbrush in the bathroom and kitchen or would use a toothpick to dig out gunk from the cracks between the pieces of her car’s interior. I think both my sister and I enjoy carrying on this serious-minded cleaning because (a) we take pleasure passing the moniker “dirt digger” back and forth between us and (b) it keeps Mom close in our hearts. I never clean without thinking of her and that reason alone elevates the menial tasks of cleaning to a loved and treasured occupation. Although I tire out easily and quickly these days, I always want to remain a keen dirt digger, even if it is just for a few minutes at a time.

And so, slowly, slowly, I am finding ways to fill all the time on my hands with both old as well as rediscovered interests. I’m looking forward to uncovering additional diversions to fill in the otherwise uneventful hours of my day. I’m in no rush, I have all the time in the world.

MS: Talk About Confusing and Competing Interests!

If you spend much time with me you will learn that I am nothing if not thorough, especially when it comes to managing the ups and downs of life. When something comes up, especially health related, I tend to pour hours into studying and researching all available information on the topic. Somehow this helps me process the problem and deal with the situation. Although my coping mechanism can be really annoying to others and, I’ll own, might even seem a wee bit obsessive, it helps me make better decisions.

In 1993 when the first disease modifying drug, Betaseron, came out, my name was entered in the lottery for the few injections that were available to the public before the company caught up producing enough for everyone who wanted to use it. My name came up in mid-’94 and I have been on one of the now 15 disease modifying drugs ever since. In most circumstances, having choices is a good thing, but choosing between the options of so many different drugs for MS is an overwhelming, cumbersome, and even dangerous task. Most of them have some very significant possible side-effects and none, save the first three developed, have long-term studies describing how much they may actually affect the course of the disease or the negative health risks that might affect one’s life expectancy. Adding to the confusion is the fact that that no one knows how any of them work to curb the disease, largely because it’s unknown what causes it in the first place. What is known is that it’s an autoimmune disease whereby the immune system attacks itself. There are a lot of theories about how it initiates, but the strongest theories center around some kind of interplay between genetics, exposure to a viral agent, susceptibility, and even low Vitamin D levels.

Nevertheless, these drugs offer hope to the 2.9 million people living around the world with MS, nearly 1 million of whom live here in the United States. The drugs promise life altering results with catchy slogans like, “Put Relapsing Remitting MS in the Background”, “Hey, MS, Take This, You’re Messing With the Wrong Woman”, “Imagine What You Could Do With Fewer Relapses”… These catch phrases and slick sales patter make my blood boil! They make promises that are not real and make it seem like MS is nothing to worry about anymore. Nothing could be farther from the truth!

In light of the fact that the MS triggers are largely not understood, it isn’t very surprising to learn that no one knows how any of the disease modifying drugs work, either. They just do…for some…for a while. Thirteen of the drugs are exclusively for use in the Relapsing Remitting form of MS (RRMS), typically the first stage people go through who have the disease (about 80-85% of those diagnosed initially have RRMS).
The National Multiple Sclerosis Society defines RRMS as “characterized by clearly defined attacks of new or increasing neurologic symptoms, followed by periods of partial or complete recovery (remissions). During remissions, all symptoms may disappear, or some symptoms may continue and become permanent. However, there is no apparent progression of the disease during the periods of remission.” The drugs for RRMS have been shown to slow disease progression (but don’t stop it), make flair-ups less damaging to the nerves affected (but irreversible damage still occurs), and reduce the number of flare-ups over time (but you will still have disease activity) by about 1/3 to 1/2 of what it would have been without the drugs. Research has also revealed that use of these drugs pushes accrued disability further down the line for most people. However, up to 95% of people with RRMS progress to Secondary Progressive MS (SPMS) within 20 years regardless of the disease modifying treatments available. SPMS, as defined by the National Multiple Sclerosis Society, is the stage of disease progression that most often follows RRMS in which there is a progressive worsening of neurologic function (accumulation of disability) over time. One drug has been approved for use both with people who have worsening RRMS that have not responded to other treatments as well as for those who have moved into SPMS. The last disease modifying drug is exclusively for those who have Primary Progressive MS (PPMS). PPMS is characterized by worsening neurologic function from onset of the disease with continued, worsening accruement of disability. Make no mistake, the development of these medications is a wonderful thing. I have been on several of them myself and advocate that others should consider taking them, especially for people who have RRMS. But the bottom line is, there is NO cure for MS, just look at the numbers I placed in bold above.

What does all of this mean? It means nearly all people living with MS will eventually reach a significant level of disability. Regardless of this fact and because drug companies have done a fantastic job of marketing their drugs, Joe and Jill public most likely think that those who have MS just need to take some injections, pills, or infusions so their disease will be under control with nothing more to worry about. I cannot tell you how many people over the years have told me about “the new drug for MS.” They are very well meaning, I appreciate their interest, and I love that MS is on their radar, but they don’t know anything beyond the self-promoting words in the ad they heard or the blurb mentioned on the news about “a breakthrough in MS.” If the communal impression about MS is that there “are drugs for it” and there have been “breakthroughs”, then where will the impetus for pushing for more research and funding for more advancements in treatments and to actually find a cure come from? Moreover, will those who are newly diagnosed and their families be able to read past the glossy slogans of their disease modifying drug to see the real and likely long range outlook of MS? Will they feel like an enigma or a failure when the bubble starts to burst on all the pretty promises made from the literature the drug companies sent with the first dosage pack?

Like all other diseases, syndromes, and disabilities, the rest of the world at large will only care when they come in contact with and get to know someone living with the realities of a handicap. Change comes when you finally understand. I decided a long time ago not to try to keep my MS a secret. Maybe it was the educator/therapist in me, but I realized that if I didn’t share my struggles that come directly from my MS, no one I know will care to want to work to find a cure. There is still a lot of work to be done to cure MS. One of the popular slogans to raise MS awareness is a pretty good summation of my thoughts about the disease: Believe in, Dream of, and Hope for a cure!

Drop Everything! #ThisIsMS Awareness Week

If I had to have a bumper sticker permanently affixed to my back, it would probably say, “Don’t follow in my footsteps, I bump into walls.” Actually, I don’t just “bump” into them, I tend to fall into them. Lately, I also lean on them when I walk to help keep my balance, but that’s neither here nor there. “I’m not drunk, I have Multiple Sclerosis” or “My bruises and scars tell a story, the story of my MS” are two common sayings in the MS community. Clumsiness and coordination issues are typical problems with MS. I noticed mine started about 8 or 9 years ago, but they gained momentum from 2017 onward and have really spiked in the past five months.

After I dropped the coffee can a week or so ago and was cleaning up millions of grounds from the kitchen floor, I got to thinking I should document all the things I drop in a single day. Since it is #MSAwarenessWeek , I thought it was as good of a time as any to share something MS related from my typical day.

So, the following are pictures of all the things I dropped that day, starting with the milk I got out to add to my coffee that morning. We ended up having to go old school and open the container like kids do from school milk cartons. When the carton fell, it somehow managed to tear the plastic rim of the pour spout away from the surrounding cardboard.

Next, I tried to make a fruit smoothie for breakfast. By the time I had finished there was probably only half of the yogurt left in the container because I dropped it…twice!

I really do try to be careful, but klutziness just happens wherever I go! {sigh} I’d like to say my gawkiness happens most when I am distracted or multi-tasking, and that I can control it by just focusing a bit more, but that’s not true. It does occur more often when I am tired, although it hits on less tired days, too.

I did eventually manage to finish making and eating the smoothie and moved on to taking my daily fiber gummies. I try to eat a healthy, balanced diet, but MS has a way of creeping into absolutely every part of life. When you can’t walk or exercise every day and you have to take medication to manage muscle spasms and excessive spasticity, it’s hard to keep your gut moving. I imagine you can work out the rest. Anyway, this peach flavored goo never made it to my mouth.

The rest of the day progressed in a somewhat graceful manner, but I decided to err on the side of caution when making dinner. Todd bought me these handy-dandy, cut-resistant gloves a few years ago to keep my digits safe. I thought they were a good idea, too. The P.A.s at urgent care were starting to check me over more closely and asking questions about my well-being after stitching me up on two separate occasions for knife wounds.

I’d made quite a large batch of beef stew that night and divided it up between a few single serving containers to put in the freezer and a larger container to keep some for dinner the next night. Thankfully, there was just a little bit left in this bowl before I ham-fisted stew all over the cooktop.

Despite the messy kitchen episodes, it had been a decent day in other rooms of the house. I frequently drop my toothbrush as I’m brushing my teeth and fling toothpaste all over the mirror, counter, sink, my clothes, and my face. I usually drop the TV remote at least once a day, but had managed okay this day. However, after dinner I decided to do a little reading. I dropped the book not once, not twice, but three times.

I officially became old eight years ago when I noticed I had to take my glasses off to read. I do have bifocals, but I usually prefer to read without them. As a result, I take my glasses on and off several times during the day. I dropped these exactly five times during the course of the day, which was about 40% of the time I messed with them. Two of these were during the time I was reading.

Before I went to bed that night I helped Todd fold the laundry. My P.J. bottoms ended up on the floor two times before Todd grabbed them from my hands and folded them up and put them away. I was really getting tired by then, and I think he knew they would end up crumpled on the floor a couple more times, so he saved me the effort and did it himself.

The National Multiple Sclerosis Society http://www.nationalmssociety.org wrote the following for the first sentence describing MS Awareness Week 2019, “Every day, people living with MS do whatever it takes to move their lives forward despite the challenges.” Even though I’ve only been writing my blog for a little over a month, I’ve described my disease course and symptoms in several of my posts. Clumsiness and coordination problems are just a small part of my daily challenges. I encourage you to check out the National Multiple Sclerosis Society’s website this week and consider making a donation. Or, if you would rather wait, Todd will be riding for me in the MS 150 this fall. He will be signing up soon and you can donate to his team in my honor. They are so much closer to finding a cure now than when I was diagnosed 29 years ago, I think it is possible I will live to see them find out what causes it and possibly even a cure.