Wheels on fire

So, where are we on the sensory relapse?

Hug - all gone. Thank fudge.

Wet clothes feeling - mostly gone. Huzzah.

Sandpaper hands - stubbornly remaining. Sigh.

But, as Meatloaf once wisely trilled, two out of three ain't bad, so probably a suitable time to celebrate.

And because I don't like making life easy for myself, I decided to mark the occasion with a bike ride.

Now this may not have seemed wise for a variety of reasons: crap balance, ropey grip, general tiredness, non-MS-related clumsyness.

But I felt the need to do something to recognise the almost-out-the-end of the relapse state, so a bike ride it was.

Off we trooped as a family to a nearby (and mostly flat) country park and saddled up.

My word, what a joy it was. I balanced, I whizzed through puddles, I didn't have to think about anything except peddling and smiling.

The absolute best part was trusting my legs to be able to get me up a (very) small hill and then freewheeling my way down the other side, laughing like a small child.

It was completely exhilarating and made me proud, post relapse, of what my body can do and how my mind has dealt with it.

:: Wheels on fire by Julie Driscoll, Brian Auger and The Trinity

Dear Prudence

So I thought I’d write a little bit about fear this week.

I know, cheering.

It’s been sparked by last week’s bike purchase and the things I was thinking as I finally went out on said cycle. TWENTY FIVE years after I’d last sat on one.

We are lucky enough to live within easy reach of the countryside and there’s a handy track behind our little estate, just waiting for nervy cyclists wearing their brother’s old bike helmet.*

So filled with both trepidation and excitement – but mainly trepidation – I clambered aboard and pushed off.

And do you know what, it WAS wobbly and it WAS scary and I DID fall off (distracted by a passing cat) but it was a complete and absolute utter joy.

I was reminded of being a teenager and biking to school, skirt hoiked up, whizzing happily in the traffic. I was suddenly younger and free-er and far more smiley than I thought I would be.

It wasn’t without worry – my steering was questionable and the brakes took me by surprise a few times. Also the seat really, really needs more padding, but I was so proud of myself.

It made me realise that I can, for the time being at least, do the thing I wanted to do – not despite the fear, but alongside it.

And I think this is quite a key part of living with MS.

There will always be fear – fear of diagnosis, fear of the damage, fear of medication: the side effects and the efficacy rates, fear of what others think, fear of relapses, fear of progression, fear of the unknown and fear for the future.

And while I don’t advocate not talking about your fears or refusing to acknowledge that they are there, it cannot help to dwell too much upon them. 

What can help is to find a way to live with this ever present companion and somehow accept it into your life.

Yes fear has a voice, but it isn't the only voice. There are other far more interesting, positive and wise speakers out there that I would like to ride with.

:: Dear Prudence by Siouxsie and the Banshees 

*The helmet might be kindly described as vintage, although my daughter collapsed in fits of giggles when she saw it, so perhaps laughable is a more accurate term. It belonged to my younger brother who last wore it over his questionable mullet at the age of 14. When I mentioned to my dad that I’d bought a bike but failed to buy a helmet, he went immediately went to his magic hoarding shed and pulled the original box out with helmet intact like some kind of head protecting wizard.