Changes

Had a bit of time to think about the last blog and realised that I’d forgotten one key loss.

This is what 13 years of cognitive decline will do to you. Tune in next time for another one that's suddenly come to me. (As long as I remember to write it down, obvs.)

Ah well, it’ll give me more space to witter on about it – and it is *imaginary drumroll* loss of certainty.

I realise for a lot of people with MS, this is immediately obvious – possibly thanks to an almighty felling relapse and a long time spent reading forums – but for me it took a bit longer to register.

When I was first diagnosed, I was still working as a newspaper reporter. My editor at the time was not known for his sympathy to anyone a little bit different.

It was not the environment in which to be a newly disabled woman.

But I am nothing if not stubborn – and a little self-obsessed – so I talked to him about writing a feature about my diagnosis on the basis that it a) had human interest, b) might help others and therefore position him as a caring-sharing type of guy and c) would make quite a hefty chunk of copy for the features page and stop the daily just-fill-the-page panic.

The feature was captioned by the sub editors (reporters don’t get to write their own headlines) and when I saw the printed version, there it was: “Learning to live with my uncertain future.”

At the time, I didn’t think too much about it. I was more concerned with checking that picture desk hadn’t chosen the least flattering picture of me. Just to note, this was a genuine concern, there were many.

But as I’ve ventured further down this bumpy road, I’ve realised how suitable the headline was.

And yes, I know none of us know exactly what the future holds and yes we could all get hit by the same bus tomorrow while in our collective clean underwear, but generally we can book a holiday a few months ahead and think on the balance of probabilities we’ll be okay.

Not so with MS. Oh no. Some days I’m hard pushed to tell you I’ll be okay at 3.30 when you’re asking the question at 3.25.

And this is the really key concept to get to grips with when you’re told you have MS.

Yes, there’s the fear, the endless medical appointments and the battle to keep positive when you just want to hit something. 

But over-riding all of this is the knowledge that MS could sideswipe you from nowhere at any point with any symptom causing any damage.

With zero warning, little mercy and absolutely no consideration for what you thought you had planned.

So yes, you wise subs, I am now certain about the uncertainty. 
Just goes to show that sometimes you can believe what you read in the papers.

:: Changes by David Bowie

Metal Mickey

*Hums in irritating fashion* It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas, everywhere you go.

Or it is if that everywhere is my daughter’s school and you’ve just been to the festive fair. If you did, you’d have seen hubby and me in our nylon nightmare reindeer jumpers looking slightly panicked while manning the bottle tombola.

We like doing the bottle tombola, it’s busy and fun and excellent for spotting (and trying hard not to judge) the people who make one too many return visits.

It’s also really interesting to see what gets donated under the guise of ‘bottle’ – this year we had everything from a large bottle of Famous Grouse to a small one of Peppa Pig bubble bath.

People had been very generous and we had an army of bottles, homemade chutneys, jams and bath stuff lined up in logical regimented rows ordered from lowest number to highest. 

I’d spent the day before with other parents sticking the winning numbers (ends in a 0 or 5 you know) to the winning bottles and folding up endless, endless amounts of losing tickets.

When it came to the pressure of the day, I could cope with the maths (50p a go, 3 for £1) and managed to match almost all the bottles to the correct tickets, but like a washing machine and socks, some went inexplicably astray.

Fortunately we have planned for this and stashed some spares under the table so no one went home disappointed (apart from possibly the person who had a clearly unwanted bottle of Worcester Sauce resplendent with a few month's worth of dust. But that’s the exciting lottery of a tombola.)

So we survived, and hopefully raised lots of cash for the school, but good grief I then genuinely couldn’t think for the entire rest of the day.

One of the most frustrating things I find about MS is its stealth-like ability to whip the cognitive rug from under your feet. Or speech. Or thought processes.

If I’ve overdone it (either physically, emotionally or brainpower-wise) my ability to think or speak coherently utterly deserts me. I feel like the lumbering metal figure of Tik-Tok, Dorothy’s wind-up guardian in the really quite disturbing land of Oz.

When Tik-Tok’s clockwork springs run down, he becomes frozen or mute or, for one memorable moment in The Road to Oz, continues to speak but utters absolute gibberish.

And this was a pretty accurate representation of me after the bottle bonanza – but without any of the joy of having actually drunk any of the alcoholic-based donations.

Tik-Tok is unable to wind himself and can stay mute, immobile and useless for hours, days, months or years on end. How familiar that sounds.

This time, fortunately, an afternoon and evening of rest helped rejuvenate my springs. But as the disease progresses my inner Tik-Tok continues to wind me up.

:: Metal Mickey by Suede