But Mom... It's P I N K

Daniel's in protest about carrying my pink purse. Over the last couple of days I haven't been able to carry much. Even toting my purse makes my arm feel like it's being pulled from its socket. He's been such a little trooper though. I mean, what 8 year old wants to carry his mother's pink purse? Undoubtedly, it would it help if it was grey or black, any neutral colour that wouldn't draw attention to him. However, a purse is still a purse and I can't blame him for not being particularly cheerful about lugging mine around. Rather than change the colour, I'll dig out my little wallet to stash in my back pocket.

This latest relapse has knocked me off my feet. I had such high hopes that the steroid treatment would help me overcome or shorten my relapse, but they didn't. At least not in any truly meaningful way. My arm has lost a lot of strength and control and my left leg feels like it has been cast in concrete.

Yesterday I was beyond grumpy and incredibly off balance. Reminiscent of a tattered old crow, my late arrival at the office was less than stellar. As I attempted to reply to comments about my being in rougher shape than those that had partied hard throughout Superbowl Sunday, I turned and lost my balance - my arm automatically flung itself out to grab the wall to steady myself. Steady would have been infinitely preferable to my staggering, 'drunken' display of extraordinary uncoordinatedness. Is that a word? I'd slept poorly and I felt achy. Oh my God, achy... at times, aside from my incredibly sore arms, it felt like someone had taken a board and hit me across the back of my shoulders with it. I just wanted to crawl back into bed and go to sleep... and sleep...

In retrospect, I think that part of yesterday's problem was that I had eaten a bunch of bread on both Saturday and Sunday evenings. I'm no nutritionist, so my thoughts are purely my own and in all probability sound like total crap to everyone else, but here's my theory: My over-consumption of bread didn't allow my body to keep up with repairing the cells that have been under attack by my own immune system during this relapse. My system was too busy trying to deal with the bread and the possible inflammation that likely arose from its consumption. However, I ate well yesterday and feel much better today. Not 100%, but better. The aches have been greatly diminished and while the control of my left hand and arm aren't fantastic, I'm able to type and manipulate paper. I won't be doing origami anytime soon, but flipping over paperwork on my desk is manageable... and pink purse carrying. I think I can manage that today.

See You Soon, Left Hand

It's official - I'm in relapse. Darn it.

I spoke with the nurse at the MS Clinic and what with the dropping of items and the other issues going on with my left hand and arm, she confirmed that I'm in a relapse. Then she asked what I wanted to do...

Do? I have choices?

1. Nothing
2. IV steroids at a hospital (3 day treatment)
3. Oral steroids

Hmmm... I'll choose door number 3. Visualize fireworks bursting midair.

With any luck the steroids will help prevent some permanent nerve damage and derail the relapse before I lose complete control of my left hand. Today it feels chilly and more sluggish than yesterday. Out of curiosity I wonder how strong my grasp would register on the grip-o-meter at UBC? I'm such a nerd - I want to quantify what's going on. Ha!

Earth to Left Hand, are You There Left Hand?

Okay, I'm having a difficult time admitting to myself that I'm losing control of my left hand. I haven't told Daryle about how bad it is and I haven't informed my neurologist. Everyone at work is in the dark as well. Whenever I think of mentioning it, I stop myself. This one is terribly difficult to deal with.

I can still type, although my fingers are stumbling across the keys a little. How can I describe how they feel? It's like they're suddenly in unfamiliar territory, or as though the air has become quite dense. My grip isn't very good either. Over this past weekend I kept dropping things. You name it, I dropped it.

As I've mentioned before, I'm a little afraid to tell my neuro about it. I don't know if I can handle the feedback. On the other hand, what if this is the real deal, another damaging relapse? If that's the case, then I should call right away in case I need to go on the iv steroids to minimize the damage. Pardon me, but BLOODY HELL!

Having this is so inconvenient.

In addition to feeling less than graceful, I now need to fill in extra paperwork to continue with my medication. My benefits company has advised me that my coverage will cease in April if I don't apply for assistance from the government. I understand that they're trying to minimize the impact of the costs on their plan, and I also understand that threatening to cut people off their meds is probably their only leverage for getting the forms completed in a timely manner. Regardless, it feels like someone somewhere is thinking that I'm taking advantage of the situation. That I'm racking up the exorbitant medication costs on purpose. Yes, I really, really want to inject very painful, acidic medication every day. It's so much fun and I'm so glad it costs so much - about half the cost of our mortgage. Yes, this is what I want.

Even though I whine and complain about it - I will fill in the form and continue to jump through the hoops. What choice do I have? I should feel privileged that I have access to the medication, that I will continue to have coverage once I complete the necessary paperwork. Can you see my radiant smile? No really, I've talked myself into feeling better (quite frankly I've talked myself into getting my head out of my rear).

Sigh. Gosh I'm whiny these days.