An abundance of energy is an elusive pipe dream for someone with MS. A month or so ago, I would have traded my cat’s soul for just a pinch of the wonder stuff (sorry, Dora).
I should be more careful what I wish for. My thyroid has decided to go bonkers, a result of the Alemtuzumab treatment and I am bouncing off the walls like a demented bouncy ball.
I’m averaging around 4 hours of sleep a night, and most of that is disturbed, as I lie there counting the spiders on the ceiling.
However, always one to look on the bright side, I am squealing with unadulterated pleasure at being able to fit into my skinny jeans, once relegated to a dark cupboard, stained with tears. The weight loss is nothing short of a miracle and before I start the thyroid medicine, I am savouring every moment. I can’t pass a mirror or shiny surface without pausing and turning this way and that, buzzing with delight.
I have lost my appetite. No, really! I pass on the donuts, the Wotsits and even my beloved bacon butties and instead nibble on toast or Brazil nuts.
Another upside is stamina when it comes to the Masters. My third attempt at flash fiction was fabulous (IMHO). The words flowed, no editing necessary. At 3am I emailed it over to my tutor, sat back with a sigh and caught up with Jerry Springer. I am speeding through my research books for my first essay, post-it notes flying, fluorescent pen whizzing along the pages. I am a demon. I can’t keep up with myself.
The house is sparkling and my cordless vacuum is on constant recharge, just like me. I concoct marvelous meals, ready for The Teenager to diss and put to one side before he whips out a Domino’s menu and a sad face.
I can’t keep still, my legs tremble and jig endlessly. I bump in to walls, trip down the stairs and am nurturing an impressive collection of bruises.
It won’t last. It can’t. I am burning out, ready for the inevitable crash. I am scared of going back to the bad old days when I sleep in the afternoon and nod off during Downton Abbey.
I go back to the doctor on Tuesday when she will put a stop to my fun with meds. The clock starts now and in no time at all, I will be waiting for the sad ping of ready meals and ignoring the dust. Until then, I will handcraft some candles for Christmas presents, paint the walls and clean the taps with a toothpick. And dust the lampshades, organise my food cupboards, carve a pumpkin, re-pot my plants……before it’s too late.
