Friendly fire

I think it’s fair to say that I think about my MS every hour of every day.

While I don’t like for it to define me in any way, you can’t help it sometimes. I leave work every day at 3pm, for instance, and apart from a colleague with ME, and another who’s not quite in remission yet from cancer, everyone else in the office works till 5.

But I’ll always be surrounded by a cloud of symptoms, invisible to everyone except me. I still have the diplopia gifted to me by my 2008 relapse and a little noise creeping into my vision courtesy of a scarred optic nerve. I get swimmingly dizzy doing up my shoelaces sometimes and goodness knows why there aren’t bruises peppering my elbows and knees, the number of times I’ve walked into walls and the like.

Last night I woke up at 5am and decided I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep unless I went to the loo. This turned out to be a bit of a palaver, mainly due to the fact that our bedroom is cluttered with suitcases and holiday packing ready for two weeks in Florida from this weekend. Added to this and the general grogginess of sleep is that I get some spasticity in my arms and legs when I get up and my balance is not the greatest it’s ever been.

So I did quite well to get to the bathroom and back unscathed.

Last night I dropped back off to sleep straight away. What happened next I blame on a vasterbottensost cheese and malt whisky nightcap. I slept soundly and deeply, but dreaming that I could no longer walk and needed a wheelchair to get about and a stairlift to get upstairs.

It seems that my under fire neurology is now targeting my unconscious life. I’ve always been free of MS in my dreams until now.

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