Love to hate you

Me: *drinking tea, reading peacefully*

MS: *crashing noisily through door, arms full of heart-shaped balloons, chocolates and flowers*

Me: *sighing, marking page in book* Oh hello.

MS: *opening arms wide, dropping gifts everywhere* Hiiiiiiya.

Me: Subtle entrance as ever, I see.

MS: Now, now, don’t be like that. No sarcasm today. For today is the day that I, yes I, represent love! Kindness! Appreciation! And also chocolates.

Me: *suspiciously* Well, that’s nice. Any reason?

MS: Duuurrrrr. It’s Valentine’s Day, you dope and I bring the love. All the love. I am an incurable romantic.

Me: You're incurable. There's a difference. *think, narrows eyes* Stupid question, but these presents - are they for me?

MS: *laughs hysterically, slaps thighs, wipes tears away* No, you deliciously defective dope. They're for meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

Me: Yes, thought so. And - do please bear in mind that I am reluctant to ask this - why?

MS: Well, my little brain-scrambled friend, today is the day that we celebrate our very significant others. The date we cherish and reward those who permanently and consistently enrich our innermost being.

Me: *grits teeth* If by ‘permanently and consistently enrich our innermost being’, you essentially mean ‘just won’t go away’ then yes, I guess that is you.

MS: I know! Fabulous isn’t it? Never mind these *gestures at pile of gifts on the floor* just think what I’ve brought you in the 14 years we’ve been together. Oooh, 14, that’s lovely isn’t it? Matches today’s date and everything. It’s like we were meant to beeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

Me:*drops head into lap* And what, exactly, have you brought me in those special years?

MS: Well, if you didn’t have me, you obviously wouldn’t have experienced the high adrenaline thrills of losing control of parts of your body at totally inappropriate times…

Me: Errr…

MS: ….the exciting challenge of huge life decisions involving all that really important stuff like work and children and money, the late-night ambulance rides and LOADS of thrilling medical tests that – if you had to pay for them – would bankrupt you, yet you get them all free…

Me: Errrrrrmmm….

MS: ….the bracing freedom of having to tell complete strangers your personal medical details, the character building admin of appointments/insurance/official claim forms and applications, the indulgence of spending days in bed because you just can’t move, the early independence of letting your daughter do things without you because you're wholly incapable….

Me: *mouth agape*

MS: …..close your mouth please, cherub, we are not a codfish.

Me: And in what world, is any of that a good thing? Seriously what has any of that proven? I can’t believe that you have the barefaced cheek to waltz in here like a diabolical Lady Bountiful and start throwing the contents of your entirely appalling Pandora’s Box in my face.

MS: *pouting* Bit OTT. Come now my little grump muffin, let’s not fight, It’s Valentine’s Day.

Me: *muttering* Nothing, that’s what it’s given me, nothing.

MS: *huffing* Actually, I think you’ll find it’s shown you the strength you didn’t know you had, the patience you always needed and the courage you always doubted.

Me: Hmm, okay. I’ll give you that.

MS: And it’s also made abundantly clear the love that surrounds you.

Me: Okay, well, er, thanks.

MS: Seeeeee, and you wouldn’t know all that if it wasn’t for meeee. Seriously I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

Me: Bit misleading.

MS: Don’t be ungrateful. *gathers up flowers, chocolates and balloons* See you soon my luscious life partner and perhaps I’ll bring you another one of my unexpected treats next time.

Me: I’d rather you didn’t. *starts Googling divorce lawyers*

:: Love to hate you by Erasure

Fall in love with me

It’s our tenth wedding anniversary this week.

I know, I know, we don’t look old enough.

But yes, ten years.

A quick google tells me that the traditional gift for ten years is tin. Not the most glamorous of anniversary offerings, but there we are.

Although if I think about properly, tin actually resonates rather well with my hubby. (Bear with me on this one...)

When we first got together we had been great friends for five years. But we’d dated for just six months when I was hit with my first relapse.

Hospitalised, newly diagnosed, over-thinking, I was worried about my future and about that of my then boyfriend.

How could I expect him to take on someone who, for all we knew, could become very ill very quickly? How could I ask him to take a chance on a future with someone whose present had suddenly been thrown into such turmoil?

As friends we were rock solid, but as partners we were only just starting.

I remember saying he could leave, that he didn’t have to stay and deal with an uncertain future.

But anyone who knows my husband knows that leaving would never be an option. That staying and facing it as a team would be the only road he would choose.

I hope he knows quite how much that early decision means to me.

That his love, support, trust and belief have been central to the way I am able to cope.That his decision has got me through the last 10 years and will lead us into the next.

Which brings me very neatly to the answer of why tin resonates so well.

In the film adaptation of L Frank Baum’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, the tin man searches for a heart, only to realise he’d actually had one all along.

After all, as the great and powerful Oz puts it: “A heart is not judged by how much you love, but by how much you are loved by others.”

And he is loved. Very much.

::Fall in love with me by Booth and the Bad Angel

Army

I hit thirteen years with MS yesterday.

I know, exciting times.

So in honour of this inauspicious occasion (although an occasion nowhere near as inauspicious as the one happening across The Pond today) I have compiled a little list of things I’ve learned.

1. Eye patches are cool: well, they’re not are they, let’s face it. But they might end up being one of the aids (temporary or otherwise) that will make your life that bit easier. Same goes for all those other medical appliances that I try not to look at in the catalogues, but that one day, when I’ve dealt with my pride, might help me.

2. Advice is helpful, but it really is okay to trust your instincts: By all means seek advice, seek it from medical professionals, fellow MSers, online forum boards, friends and family. But you don’t have to agree with it. If something doesn’t feel right to you, or for where you are at that moment in time, listen to yourself.

3. Humour is a remarkably effective lifejacket: This is so, so important. It’s not that you have to embark on a stand-up tour as soon as you are diagnosed or turn every crappy incident into a gag-filled after-dinner anecdote, but do try and retain your ability to laugh. Multiple sclerosis takes enough off you, don’t let it take this precious weapon.

4. A bit of hope is stronger than a lot of fear: I’ve written quite a lot about hope in this blog and where I stand with it. I maintain that it’s helpful and I’m trying to keep it central as I continue with the Tecfidera.

5. I owe a massive debt of gratitude to my family and friends: obvious, but incredibly, incredibly important. I didn’t know, 13 years ago, quite what the hospital admission was going to mean. I didn’t know it was going to shape my working life, my family plans or continually force subtle shifts in my perspective and personality. But I do know that without my family, my friends, my husband and my daughter I would not have got this far. Thank you all for the phone calls, the desire to understand, the surprise presents in the post, the meals cooked and delivered without me having to ask, the childcare and the pep talks. Thank you for the night-time hugs, the daytime support, the rides to hospital, the cups of tea, the steadying arms, the physio teamwork, the care, the concern and the laughter.

This post is dedicated, with love, to everyone in my army.

:: Army by Ellie Goulding