Monthly Archives: January 2013

Are We Our Own Worst Enemies?

Yesterday’s blog brought some thought-provoking comments, two in particular from Steve, who linked to a great blog post he wrote (read it here), and I spent most of the day mulling them over. Are MSers guilty of naval-gazing and deconstructing every single little symptom and therefore preventing ourselves from being understood by other people?

And I’ll start with the term ‘MSer’. There has been a huge amount of debate in the MS forums and on Twitter about whether it is ‘acceptable’ to call ourselves MSers. I mean, really. If we are pitting ourselves against each other in this matter, what hope is there for us? I use the term a lot. I think it is snappy, short and easy for social media. Whether or not you choose to ‘define’ yourself as an MSer is up to you, but don’t berate those who do.

I may refer to myself an MSer, but I certainly don’t live my life solely as a person with MS. It just happens to be part of my life, the same as being a mother, a daughter, a sister, a colleague, etc. Once you are diagnosed with MS, ok, you join a whole load of other people with MS, but they are all different, just as daughters, mothers and sisters are – they generally only have that one thing in common.

And yes, MSers can be incredibly guilty of dissecting and discussing each tiny symptom, blowing things out of proportion. Wait – before I get hate mail – I have been there (still am sometimes). I hold my hand up. Pre-diagnosis, I was a frequent visitor on MS forums. I was scared, bewildered, anxious and lacking in information, and often the forums made me more worried,  not less.

I started this blog to show the funny, embarrassing and downright socially awkward side of MS, precisely because I was so fed up reading blogs and forums that were simply a litany of endless complaints. Who wants to read about that?  If we want sympathy and understanding from other people, constant moaning is not the way to go about it. I know some of my posts are downbeat, but I hope the majority can raise a smile and an  ‘oh, that happens to me too!’

We need to amaze people – ‘THIS is what MS looks like’ – ‘Hey, I’m still living, working, laughing, getting drunk, being happy’. Reach down to those going through the diagnostic process, befriend them and inspire them. Maybe then we can stop this cycle of despair.

Tagged , , , , ,

The Joy of Simple Things

I am surprised to find myself writing this, but there is a lovely, positive side effect of living with MS. Honestly! Of course, it goes without saying this is apart from being in touch with all the fabulous MSers I’ve met through meetings, Twitter and the blog.

I wandered round my favourite charity shop yesterday and picked up a whole pile of books. Regular readers will know I adore reading and am in the middle of setting up an MS book club – Reading Between the Wines. So I took them home, stacked them neatly on my bedside table and sighed, blissfully. So many books to read. It only cost me a few quid, but put a huge smile on my face.

This got me thinking. Pre-MS, my focus was wide and long-term. I would plan my career, The Teenager’s education and hobbies, my studies, my ambitions, my fears, etc. Unwittingly though, I skipped over all the small things that make life so pleasurable and worthwhile. Now, even though I still plan long-term, MS has also narrowed my focus in unexpected ways.

It started with the daily grind of getting through each new relapse. Life suddenly zoomed down to whether or not I could get off the sofa. Anything else was incidental. Would I be able to walk down the street without tripping? Would I be able to cook dinner? Could I manage to put the bins out?

But then something strange happened. Every time I was able to do something small, I felt a huge sense of achievement. Which is rather sad, as often it was only something as simple as making beans on toast, or navigating a wonky trolley round the supermarket. But I still celebrated the small stuff.

Since Alemtuzumab treatment, my relapses have stopped (touch wood). I still have bad days, sure. But what this focus on the small things has left me with is an almost childlike appreciation of things I long took for granted – coffee and a catch up with a friend, reading the Sunday papers from cover to cover, walking in the snow, fixing the mould in the bathroom.

My life has changed for ever, and however cliched it sounds, I really do now focus on what I can do rather than lament over things I am no longer able to do. So thank you, MS, and I really do mean that.

Tagged , , , ,

Fun In The Bathroom

The snowpocalypse has meant I have spent an awful lot of time at home, which has given me an awful lot of time to stare at the mould creeping along my bathroom walls. Finally, I have had enough.

In the old days, pre-MS, I could paint the bathroom in half a day, whizzing around barely stopping for a breather. This time, I will need to approach the project with caution, precision and a battle plan.

So, the other day, I began. After trudging up to the doctor’s for my blood test, I trudged back to the paint shop. I had done my research, and I knew I needed an anti-mould solution, an interior seal damp and finally, paint, so I asked the guy for help finding them.

‘But why do you need all that stuff?’ he asked. Well, the bathroom is exploding with mould, it’s horrible. ‘It can’t be that bad, surely, how old is your house?’ Oh dear. Obviously women shouldn’t know anything about painting or preparing surfaces, yada yada yada. I gave him my best steely look, gritted my teeth and informed him the house is 160 years old, the window sills are over a foot thick and if the damp has gone in that far, I’ve got a serious problem.

He gave in, but got the last laugh, thrusting a couple of paint brochures into my hand before I left, saying ‘here, take these, they’ve got some lovely pretty colours in there.’ I stomped home in  a mood. I don’t care if I paint the bathroom in ‘ocean ripple’, ‘chic shadow’ or ‘urban obsession’, as long as it gets done. If I had my way, I’d paint it all black so I’d never have to see the mould again.

Anyway, I am all set to go, but nothing has been done. Three reasons: my arms get tingly and numb if I hold them up for too long, my balance won’t be the best on step-ladders and I worry about suddenly get tired half-way through.  The guy in the shop didn’t quite succeed in making me feel completely stupid and girly, but MS certainly has….

Tagged , , , , , ,

That Annoys You? Oh Really?

I was quite happily waiting at the doctor’s surgery for my monthly blood test yesterday, when I picked up a newspaper. There was a full-page article devoted to things that ‘make women seethe.’

Interest piqued, I read further, expecting to see examples such as schools still closed since last Thursday, the shocking price of petrol or the lies men tell on dating websites (and the 10-year-old photos they post up). Well. Oh, to have a life where stepping on Lego or forgetting to turn the dishwasher on was all that made me curse.

Apparently, the following everyday annoyances can make a woman rage:

  • Misjudging kettle water levels
  • Getting an itchy nose while washing up
  • Useless ribbon loops sewn into clothes
  • When the wind blows your hair into your lipgloss
  • Getting a full bag out of a pedal bin
  • Catching your sleeve on a door handle

Well, excuse me if I don’t rush over with tea and sympathy. I also object to the misogynistic tone of the article, which places women fully in the ‘helpless, silly people’ category, where all we worry about is not being able to pull our wellies off or how to deal with tangled wire coat hangers. Let’s leave the serious issues to the men, don’t worry your pretty little head, there’s a good girl, eh?  This may as well be journalism from the 1950’s.

Can you imagine a similar article, yet written about men? Would men really rage about scratchy clothes labels, a tissue in the wash or needing to drain a ‘no drain’ tuna can?

Anyway, in the interest of balance, here’s my MS list of everyday things that make me seethe:

  • People thinking I am drunk after half a glass of wine
  • My robot, wonky walk when my legs won’t work properly
  • Waking up half-blind
  • Tripping over my own feet. Repeatedly.
  • Reaching for my coffee cup and knocking it over
  • Not being able to wear high heels
  • Trying to explain fatigue for the zillionth time

I’d better stop there. I could go on. And on. But I just got lemon juice in my eye and I am seriously raging…..

Tagged , , ,

For Sale: One Cat

Our recent snowpocalypse has meant I have been forced to endure my cat’s company for far longer than is natural. For the last four days, I have only ventured out the house to buy food, have a quick coffee with friends and check in on my mum, trekking through the snow and back with my solitary ski pole.

The rest of the time, I have stayed at home. Or the cat’s home, as she would have you believe. She’s been skulking around, eyeing me suspiciously and virtually handing me my keys and pointing to the front door.

Yesterday was the final straw. I ran out of Felix cat food and bought in own-brand from Sainsbury’s. She is now on hunger strike, roaming the living room in protest, getting under my feet – not a great idea with foot drop. She randomly pounces on her toy mouse, just when I’ve got a hot drink in my hand. She leaps for the windowsill and falls off. She skids across the floor.

I have a lovely duvet tucked behind my sofa, which I bring out to snuggle under when I’m watching telly, waiting for the heating to kick in. The cat paces the room and as soon as I get up, she’s there, sprawled out, smug grin on her face before she proceeds to wash her bits loudly.

I took pity on her yesterday (why?). I was in one of those bargain stores and found a little cat bed for a fiver. I’ve recently bought a small stove for the living room and thought, how sweet, wouldn’t it be nice to see her in front of the fire, like a normal cat? So I bought it, took it home, wrapped her special blanket round it and popped it in front of the fire. Perfect.

She hasn’t been near it. As I write this at my desk, she is on my duvet, on my sofa, executing an intricate yoga move, trying to clean her neck. Don’t get me wrong, I love her to pieces, but I think we have spent too much time together. I am in danger of turning into a ranting, solitary loony who can only talk about her cat.

Tomorrow, it will be different. I am re-engaging in normal life again. I may just buy her some Felix. If she gets off my duvet….

(This is not the first time I’ve complained about my cat (tragically). You can read more about her here, in my previous post, I Used To Like My Cat)

Tagged , , , ,