Only problem is, so is The Teenager for his A Levels and me for my second year of the Master’s. Oh, and work.
My mind is spinning with lists, plans, worst-case-scenarios. And what on earth do I write about for my dissertation?
Luckily the pesky MS melancholia has lifted somewhat so I am no longer drifting aimlessly around the cottage full of angst and woe. Instead, I am bumping around the house like a pinball wizard, clutching bits of paper.
I really didn’t see this third course of treatment coming. I had imagined it somewhere else, years and years down the line. When perhaps I could stay in hospital and knit myself a bed-jacket and thumb through old copies of People’s Friend. And maybe commiserate with the lady next to me, bless.
In reality, I’m rushing around in between work, buying pyjamas, slippers, mini bottles of shampoo and conditioner. The Teenager is sorted. The cat is sorted. I’ve told Uni. I’ve ordered a pile of books to read when I’m off work.
In amongst all this rush, I need to take a step back and … breathe.
After my last relapse lifted, I was doing just fine until yesterday when MS slapped me once more right in the face: I was suddenly pole axed. I staggered home from work, crawled to the sofa and fell asleep. When I woke up, I rationalised it, ‘it’s a one-off, it’s fine, it really, really is fine.’
Today. Before a thyroid appointment at hospital, I fell asleep. It’s fine.
And this is MS in a nutshell. You just never, ever know how it will be. From one day to the next. Like most of you, I wake up every single morning not knowing what MS has in store for me.
Funnily enough, the endocrinologist asked me when I last felt awful. I consulted my Little Book Of Symptoms (Both Weird and Fairly Normal) and said, ’29th July’. She looked at my blood test results, ‘oh, yes, there was a blip then, did you feel anything strange?’
Well, that’s a very, very long story …