This is hardcore

As they do for so many things, the French have a phrase for it.

And in this case, the phrase is ‘la petite mort’ which quite literally means the little death.

Interestingly, in modern usage it also refers to the sensation of orgasm. But that interpretation is not going to be the subject of this post, I am not late night Channel 4.

Sexual references aside, it can be used when an undesired thing has happened to a person and the experience has affected them so much that "a part of them dies inside.”

And I've been contemplating my own MS-related petite morts recently. It’s been a cheery time.

It’s hard to rank the little deaths because how does, say, loss of speech compare to loss of spontaneity? Or loss of potential stack up against loss of memory? Or loss of sight versus loss of confidence?

Perhaps we need an MS Fight Club to sort it out. (The first rule of MS Fight Club is… oh hang on, I’ll remember it in a minute, it’s in there somewhere.)

Anyway, it’s whiled away a few moments and I’ve decided that I can’t rank them, but I can report them.

• Loss of confidence – a bit of a slow creeper this. When I was diagnosed at 27 I was a journalist, knocking on doors, covering court cases, writing to daily deadlines, getting chased up streets - all the kind of stuff you may imagine, but I was nice with it. Honest. Over the following 13 years, as my cognitive symptoms increased, my confidence has been gradually eroded. Struggling with names, places, words, connections and directions is horribly familiar to people with MS - as is the subsequent questioning of your own capabilities. Most of the time I can't work out which way to turn the front door key and stand stranded on the doorstep, simply marvelling at my competent former self.

• Loss of vision – gah. Three bouts of optic neuritis have left me with damaged sight and colour vision. There are many, many frightening problems in MS, for me visual issues are very near the top.

• Loss of motor control – it all went down my right hand side during a relapse in December 2013 and didn't return for 16 very long months. I couldn’t manage simple tasks without a fight – doing up buttons, writing, chopping veg, plaiting my daughter’s hair, texting or applying eyeliner in any kind of acceptable fashion. Fortunately for my communication needs, there is voice activated text. But, as I discovered during one memorably sweary exchange, it asterisks out the naughty words.
Bl**dy useless when trying to give full vent to the bu***ry bo****ks relapse.

• Loss of direction – not just literally (although I’ve given up being able to take in journey instructions) but employment-wise. I work, but it’s not at a really high level. It's hard to see how working part-time between periods of sick leave will lead to huge responsibility. Bye-bye security, bye-bye potential, hello enforced working life rethink.

So these are some of my MS losses, and as with all deaths, there has to be a grieving process to allow us to survive change. Each relapse brings its own petite morts and its own need for grief. 

We lose, we grieve, we lose, we grieve - in a progressive disease it’s one way street. 

Gain acceptance of the last loss, start grieving the next. 

Again and again and again.

Plus ça change, as the French would say.

:: This is hardcore by Pulp