Some of the symptoms of MS can also have an electric quality, causing us to feel as though we were buzzing, tingling, or being shocked. While out on an early-morning walk recently, I came upon another MS-electricity analogy, but this one relates to living with MS — the disease and its symptoms.
A Misty Morning Brings an MS Analogy to Mind
I try, on most days, to get myself and our Wheaten terrier, Maggie, out for a morning walk. Upon doctor’s advice and for my own sanity, we started on this routine last winter. It’s been good for both of us in more ways than require listing. The morning in question, I had a tall stack of things that needed doing, and the prospect shortened my sleep appreciably. We left the house much earlier than usual. The sun was up, but a thick marine layer blanketed the town, turning the day a sun-faded slate, like the roof tiles of an ancient cottage. It was one of those matter-of-fact mists — the sort of gray that can’t be bothered to do more than hang in the air and wait for you to walk into it and get soaked. As we walked, I expected the morning to brighten as the sun climbed its way up from behind the coastal mountains, which I knew were there despite their invisibility behind the nature’s damp curtain. But the day didn’t lighten. It stayed an even, muted version of itself for the hour or so we walked, until master and bitch were properly wetted. It was light enough for the time of day we’d left the house, but it hadn’t changed with the progress of hours. It was as if someone had turned nature’s dimmer switch from early summer to foreboding medieval battle scene. That’s when the analogy struck. Living life with multiple sclerosis is a life in which our disease controls the rheostat. It dims and brightens our days but, thankfully, hasn’t flipped our switch to dark.
We Get Used to the Dimmer Light That Is MS
As with my damp walk with Maggie, once I got used to the level of light in our day, I sort of didn’t notice it much. If I thought about it, sure, it seemed dimmer, more somber, a bit dull. But the tone of the sky didn’t inhibit our enjoyment of the seaside stroll (seaside stumble, more like it, but I’m on a roll here, people!). Our morning didn’t brighten into those we’d experienced together on that same walk before. That didn’t make it less of a joy, just a different one. Life with MS isn’t the same life I had without the disease. Is it “better”? Is it “worse”? “Yes, and yes” are my answers to those questions, but the more correct answer would be, “It’s just different.” Our eyes get used to the new level of light, and we just get on with it. We enjoy it for what it is. We try to make it better. We squint at the hard stuff, and we try to find solace in this new, dimmer light. It’s one of those axioms about living with MS that doesn’t make sense until you have lived with it for a while. Things are different — most everything is different. That doesn’t mean it’s bad. It doesn’t mean we can’t find fulfillment in this new level of light (I do try to think of it as a level of light rather than a level of darkness). We adjust, and we get on. Not as well, perhaps, as before, but on, nonetheless. Multiple sclerosis has dimmed the lights on us. It’s now up to us to find a way to avoid bumping into things and brighten our world from within. Wishing you and your family the best of health. Cheers, Trevis
