Well, I’m not sure if it’s a flare up or the dreaded ‘R’-word. Whatever it is, it’s awful.
It started over a week ago with the usual brutal, gatecrash-entry that MS specialises in.
A sudden, total collapse in energy, not seen since 2011. Garbled speech, crazy balance and a sense of being utterly spaced out; so much so that I have now nicknamed myself The Space Cadet.
Just to make things even more interesting, I’m having weird jolts of vertigo. Not continuous (I can just about cope with that), but sudden, horrible shifts in my vision, like a camera-shutter adjusting itself rapidly (younger readers, you may have to google this).
And if that wasn’t bad enough, I’m now feeling nauseous every evening.
Oh, and one more thing. The bizarre crying. I cry at everything. A piece of music, a random comment, the cat running up my curtains. And baked beans.
That was the final straw. Who on earth cries when they make baked beans on toast?
The Teenager had requested this particular meal choice when I was writing the shopping list for the week, a monumental task. So, great. Easy, fairly healthy, quick.
On the fateful evening, I assembled everything and served it up. I looked at the plate and burst into tears. The beans just looked so … sad. So vulnerable and innocent and somehow, a little bit lonely, even though they were surrounded by other beans. It was then that I realised I needed professional help.
So I called the MS team this morning and left a rambling message. I had a call back soon after and blurted out my tales of woe, capping it off at the end with, ‘and apart from that, I’m fine!’.
The Teenager is away in London this weekend, so maybe I will have some time to gather myself together before I go back to hospital with my Baked Bean Saga. How embarrassing. Kittens, babies, parcels tied up with string I can understand, but baked beans? I have a feeling I’ll never live this one down.