Unknown

It’s so ironic how in the click of a ‘send email’ button, your mood can change drastically

I was feeling decent

Dare I say optimistic (I know, my first mistake)

I met with a social worker at the MS clinic yesterday

And after my awesome group on Friday

I was able to put so many of my thoughts into words to express to the social worker

We discussed numerous things including my difficulty attaining acceptance and my work woes

We discussed my worries with applying for LTD

With not having a job

Not having it be a part of my identity

Of what people would think

And most importantly how I would see myself

The social worker told me to listen to my body

I woke up today with a plan

I would email my employer requesting an application for LTD

In the event that at my next doctors appointment, I was ready to make a decision

So I did

And I got an email back quickly

Refusing to provide me with an application until my doctor provide them with those five questions they requested

Painting me as non compliant and difficult

The questions in case you’ve all forgotten are:

‘1. A description of any medical, physical or other restrictions which may result from your medical condition and which may impact on your ability to perform your job duties and attend work on a regular, full-time basis, meaning five days per week. (Please note that we are not asking for any diagnosis or details of your medical condition, other than as they relate to any restrictions it may have on your ability to perform your workplace duties and ability to attend work regularly.);

2. A prognosis from your physician as to the likelihood that your medical condition might improve, such that any current restrictions and/or modifications might not be required in the future, or may be required to a lesser degree;

3. A prognosis from your physician as to the likelihood of your ability to achieve regular, full-time workplace attendance (i.e. five days per week as opposed to your current average of four days per week) in the reasonably foreseeable future;

4. Alternatively, if your physician determines that it is unlikely that you will be able to achieve regular, full-time attendance in the reasonably foreseeable future, whether it is also likely that your attendance will tend to decline in the reasonably foreseeable future; and

5. Any suggested accommodations or recommendations your doctor may have for employer to allow us to better accommodate your situation.’

I wonder how many of you non MSers think these questions are no big deal

Easily answerable

But to someone with MS, these questions are repetitive and lack insight into what a chronic illness is

I jotted down my own answers beside each question:

1. Chronic fatigue, visual impairment and pain, anxiety and depression (both of which are physiological symptoms of MS), chronic pain and headaches and nausea

2. Unknown. Chronic illness is unpredictable and incurable

3. Unknown. Chronic illness is unpredictable and incurable

4. Unknown. Chronic illness is unpredictable and incurable

5. Possibility of patient applying for LTD if you ever send her the fucking form.

I asked again for the application and she refused.

Bah. I’m tired now.

Advertisements

What is it about a death that makes you evaluate and question everything?

I think it must be the finality of it and the possibility that each of us might pass away before we’ve done/said/felt something we have determined to be important.

And if we fuck it up

That’s it

There’s no take backs

No do overs

There’s this one chance at life

Yet, to fuck up is inherently human

We make mistakes

Sometimes we learn from them

And sometimes we keep making them over and over again

And yet to say at the end of your life (however long that might be)

That you have lived and will die with no regrets

Is kind of a beautiful thing

A lie undoubtedly

But indeed a beautiful thing

Much in the same way that fairy tales are beautiful

Or heavenly tales of the after life

Each of those beautiful in the way that can never be true

Real life stuff isn’t beautiful in such an edited way

It’s messy

And it doesn’t play out in such a fantastical way

There’s not a before

Not a once upon a time

Not a singular event that changes us

And then an after

Not in such a seamless order anyway

There’s lots of before moments

Lots of events that are detrimental to who we are

Lots of events that are completely insignificant in the greater scheme of things

But there’s not one final culminating scene in which the fairy tale closes

We don’t know when it will end

We don’t know when our life is over

And so we live it the only ways we know how

We segment this great big life into days and weeks and months

Not knowing when we will run out of them

We go on this way

Until we simply have no days left

And the story ends

Sometimes abruptly and with a bang

Sometimes quietly and with a whisper

And each of us never knows how the story ends

Up until that final moment

What will be replaying behind our eyelids as we take that last breath?

Will it be relishing our own versions of the happily ever after we lived?

Sprinkled with some regrets but overjoyed with all the things we did do

Or will it be filled with visions of a life that we never really lived?

Weighed down with regrets that could have been chances if not for the fact we didn’t take them

Once upon a time I knew how I wanted my story to end

But my head got stuck somewhere along the way

And I’ve become stilted by some life altering events

And now I can’t reimagine a happily ever after

That includes me

Let alone

One that stars me

One May Have Good Eyes Yet See Nothing

I started to write an update as it’s been two weeks since my last infusion day…

But everything seemed so trivial when I saw it typed in front of me

There’s so much that I want to say and yet it doesn’t feel like it would amount to much

So I’ll make this brief and say the only thing I’ve really been wanting to say:

I’ve been watching TV like all day every day

The bingeing kind of TV watching

The kind I’ve been unable to do in so long

And I was scared to say this aloud or type it out

But fuck it it’s my blog after all

My eyes don’t hurt

I’ll say it again for the people at the back

MY FUCKING EYES DON’T HURT!

I can’t remember a time when they didn’t hurt

It’s been that long

How crazy is it that I can barely remember the before MS version of me

I’m not foolish enough to think this is permanent

But for now I’ll relish in this moment

Temporary and short lived or not

And if it all comes back in the blink of my eye…

Write. Write until it stops hurting.’

-Anais Nin

I’m like the Tonya Harding of the non figure skating world

More specifically

I am the Tonya Harding of the sick persons world

Like Tonya, I’m not the easiest to like

Like Tonya, I don’t evoke feelings of sympathy

Like Tonya, I’ve had to work at everything I’ve ever wanted

Unlike Tonya, I know the war is with myself

No one else ever should a chance

I know that there is no outside force that can be changed which will miraculously make my own life any easier

Nor will it make me the perfect poster child for a winning MS campaign

Or the face of the next Bell Let’s Talk day

I’ve accepted that things will likely always be a little harder for me

It’s my cross to bear

I’ve learned not everyone has one

And yes they are indeed lucky for that

Would I change it if I could?

Without hesitation

Do I think that there is anything within my control that would make said things easier for me?

Not a chance

The cross I have to bear

It’s a big one

It’s heavy and solid all the way through

And I drop it often

I can’t ever lose it though

Because I know it’s mine for this lifetime

So I pick it back up

And march on with it

It never feels lighter or easier

But I get more comfortable with it

I still stumble, and I struggle

But I have learned something

That cross will always be mine

And so I bear that damn cross

That has my name so deeply carved in it

That it could only ever be mine

No doubt or question

Sometimes I think I was born with that fucking cross

It was always mine

It claimed me

Before I had a chance to even breathe

A bruise by any other name

A bruise is like a badge

You’re not just handed one

You earn your bruises just like a badge

A bruise means you showed up

It signifies that you actually ‘did’ something for a change

That bruise carries with it the same honour as a trophy raised above your head

It says ‘hey world this might not mean anything to you but to me it means everything

Your bruise is one of a collection of bruises and scars

They are proof

In the flesh

That you’re real

That your battle is real

It’s evidence that you are still here

Inhabiting this world

This universe that you’re a part of

Left it’s mark on you

And you are treasuring it

Like the beautiful reminder that it is

Watching the marks build up

With a sense of awe

At what you’ve accomplished

In this life

Stretched out in front of you

Like a winners banquet

These bruises of mine

Look like victory

Hi my name is Angela and it’s been one week since my last infusion…

It’s been up and down

Steroids really fuck with my entire system

Most of the physical side effects have dissipated

Left over is irritability

More so than usual that is

I don’t know how last time around I spent an entire month in isolation

I’m seriously going mad inside

I’ve watched shows, played around with my hair, cleaned, planted some herbs on my terrace and slept

And thought

A lot

I’ve been thinking about what’s next with work, how the kids are doing, if this treatment will work, the upcoming Paxil withdrawal, how they really do get the caramel in the caramilk bar

And the list goes on and on and on

I’m not gonna lie

The Paxil thing has been at the forefront

I have been totally obsessing over it

I’m terrified

But that’s another blog entry altogether

Right now

I’m trying to make it to two weeks post treatment

And then I will rejoin the world

If it’ll still have me of course

Which has always been debatable

At best

Like me

Temperamental

At best

Road map

I was 18 years old

I had just gotten my very first tattoo

In Montreal with my good friend

I got a tiny little fist

It took maybe 15 mins

And then we walked to a park

And I had my very first panic attack

This picture was taken when I walked away not really explaining myself to my friend

I don’t remember ever experiencing a feeling quite like that

Yet I instinctively knew that it was a ‘panic attack’

I grew up seeing my father have them

Almost daily

The knowledge didn’t help not comfort me

Somehow I made it through that first episode

I can’t really say how

And all these years later

And that tattoo

Of that little fist clenched in a show of power

Is still bumpy to the touch

Like a warning of the struggle up ahead

But I’d rather think of it as a tangible road map of what I’ve been through

And survived