The Glass is Half-Full

  I am not sure if its aging, the current state of chaos in the world or something more personal, but I have had a difficult time in the past couple years finding the positive in everything. It used to be my superpower. Hence the title of the blog, the glass is half-full. Instead, I find myself struggling to find that positivity in all things. Its like my superpower has been voided by kryptonite or something sinister. And as its happened I've simply succumbed like a weak-assed ninny, laying down my the shield that protected my positive mindset and opening it up to the onslaught of skepticism and mistrust. The durability of my positive mindset was replaced with an attitude of 'oh what the hell-ism'. My desire to go out in the world and conquer all curmudgeons with my steadfast will to make them smile has been overcome by the that ever-forceful and evil lassitude. While I've not reached that state of my glass being half empty, its more like the glass is half full-ish. ...

I have been living with MS since 1992 - I used the calculator on my phone to determine that it's 29 years (because unlike the man pictured above my math skills are lacking). That's a long time and you don't need to be mathematically inclined to come to that conclusion. And when first diagnosed, my neurologist declared that with all the research he believed a cure was imminent likely 'within five years'. that would mean that we would have had the cure 24 years ago. We don't. So I am grateful I didn't wager any money on Dr. Wiley's prediction.  But what we do have, instead of a cure, is a plethora of pharmaceuticals to help stem this disease's progression and help us live fuller lives, longer. I am happy for that but am also curious and a tad skeptical because these drugs cost a person living with MS a lot of money and pharma has no financial incentive to search for the cure when they can keep us living less gimpy lives for many years reliant on their ...

I'm not prone to host pity parties. In fact, the last one I had was over five years ago when I transitioned to the wheelchair. It was a good one, if memory serves, and over forty pounds joined me where they lingered, resulting in a long miserable hang-over. But, it being a pandemic and all, I felt like hosting another pity party. I mean it's a fricking, once in a lifetime opportunity, right? Here I am, gimpy and immune compromised and shut-in for three weeks. I have my "co-workers" John, Matthew and Delaney here with me, Facetime and Zoom for human contact. But I miss my friends, family, WW coworkers and members, people at church, my pharmacist, Bill at the gas station, the owners and staff at a couple restaurants, the florist, the smart-ass cashier at Aldi, the wonderful people at the vet's office, all the healthcare workers I'd be seeing at the oncologist's/neurologist's/optometrist's/dentist's/family doc's offices and all the ...

Remember when 9/11 was just a date or a number you called in an emergency? Our lives changed dramatically post 9/11. For weeks after that September day, we seemed to walk around in a fog, like the haze that loomed over the now-fallen twin towers. I remember trying to minimize my obsession with the news, trying to keep the three little Piggins away from the enormity of the disaster. Remember when corona was simply a beer best served with a lime wedge? It now and forever will be instead associated with this virus that has upended our world in ways we could never have imagined. This tiny little, microscopic virus has brought the mighty to their knees. It has us quarantined and distancing socially (though I believe we've been doing this emotionally for years) and working from home. As anxiety peaks, our economy tanks. As toilet paper and hand sanitizer flies off the shelves, we are looking for new ways to stock our pantries. A good friend observed, "I never thought I'd...

I've not posted anything for a few weeks. I figured that out when in the last few days I had received messages and emails and texts checking in on me or asking how I was doing. Silence, I decided, is not so golden because in that void conjecture can take it's place, good, bad or otherwise. I am doing well, still a poster child for chemo. Last week, I started the Taxol which is a lighter weekly infusion. My sister, Kelli, came in from the other side of the Lake to take me to chemo and take care of me (something she has done my whole life!). Since this initial dose starts with a large dose of Benadryl, a good nap was guaranteed and Kelli said she might take pictures of me that may or may not have included drawing on my face with a Sharpie. Thankfully, she was kidding (right Kelli?) and my nurse Alicia, who is also a middle sister, was looking out for me by telling Kelli that she didn't have any Sharpies!  Those of you with sisters understand the bond shared. And my s...

When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. Have you ever made lemonade from fresh lemons? I haven't but I've got to believe it's a lot of work. I mean first you have to buy a LOT of lemons. One recipe I found said that you'd need five pounds at an average cost of $2/lb means your lemons would set you back $10. I'm not a mathematician, as my friends, family and coworkers can attest, so I used a calculator so you can trust my math. And then you'll need 2 cups of sugar - at a cost of about $1.70 for 32 oz. that equates to (again, I used a calculator so you can trust my math) 85 cents for your pitcher of lemonade. So, for your pitcher of lemonade it would cost $10.85 (again,  the calculator was used). According to my research and the recipes I read, it will take approximately 15 minutes to make your pitcher, because you have to boil the water with the sugar, squeeze the lemons, remove the seeds, stir and I'm guessing sweat and swear at why the hell you...

Last fall, I was asked if I wanted my portrait painted as part of an exhibit entitled "Moving Through the Unimaginable". The requester was a young woman I have long admired, but for the moment I began to doubt my admiration for her because she described the exhibit's subjects as having 'endured adversity or trauma or disease with grace'. I didn't initially see how I fit into that description, but after some discussion with my hubby and reflection, Whitney's (the requester) esteem in my eyes was restored and I agreed. I was looking at myself through my own eyes. Know what I mean?? I don't see myself as exuding any grace as I've 'endured' my experience with M.S. In actuality, I get quite ticked on days like today when the sun is shining and everyone seems to be out enjoying the sunshine and balmy 42 degrees (I live in Michigan and 42 in March is a heat wave!) walking their dog, or biking or just walking. I know my pure-bred mutt Wall...

Add insult to injury. My hair is gray. AND thinning!!! And to pile on to my grievances, I am losing weight but most of it appears to be coming from my face and breasts. Yikes. I'm having a difficult time feeling like the hot-mama I used to be or to trick myself into believing I still am. Hell, the wheelchair definitely doesn't help. On a recent bar-hopping excursion (when we crashed our friend's anniversary celebration), we went to several establishments I frequented in my younger and wilder hot-mama days. It was a night of dichotomys. The me that I was would have never looked twice at the me that I am. But I so wanted to jump out of my skin and chair and celebrate like I used to. Okay, maybe not exactly like I used to (I am after all 50 something and the mother of three adult children), but just for a moment and without any recriminating video proof!! But now I'm getting over myself as I realize nearly every woman over 50 probably feels something akin to wh...

Rain, rain, go away. Don't come back another day. My hair is frizzy. Barometric pressure makes me dizzy. If I go out, wet I'll be. No umbrella hand free to protect me. I'm no Longfellow! And I don't think I'd win a poetry slam, but you get the idea. Rainy days, even when they're not Mondays, get me down. Because when you're navigating the world while four-wheeling, rain presents additional challenges. Last week, for example, the wind was blowing hard enough to blow my wheelchair seat cushion off my car where I'd placed it while removing my chair. It landed in a puddle, upside down, and rested there long enough that the absorbent material in the comfy cushion absorbed quite a bit of water. I may have let an expletive fly, because a store clerk who was standing up against the window under the protective eave, smoking a cigarette and looking at her phone, actually looked up. She didn't come to my aid, but she looked up. Thankful...

I'm fairly new to this four-wheeling life. I try to maintain mental balance by not venturing out too much on my own in unknown situations. (That was a way of saying, I don't take too many chances or I'd get frustrated!) But I threw caution to the wind a couple times this past weekend on Mackinac Island - and only a couple times did that pungent Mackinac Island wind (you know what I'm talking about those of you that have been there - a strange mixture of horse dung, fudge, popcorn and lake breezes) blow me over. First, the Island overall is not wheelchair 'friendly'. It's hilly off main street and if you're in a manual wheelchair (especially a lesser one like mine) going uphill is a challenge best overcome by going backwards if alone or by a really strong pusher (thank you John!). And if you're alone and going backwards in a crowd (and isn't there always a crowd in downtown Mackinac), you're likely to get plenty of; stares, offers for ...

Emerson Marie and me. Taken last week at Chrissy Field in the Golden Gate Park I've written in the past about my travails with this damned MS - mostly about falling in very public places and trying to overcome the embarrassment of landing in full view of many and at awkward moments. I've written about trying to overcome my concern of 'what others think' and probably vowed a gazillion times to move on valiantly with my life with MS. I wrote about being 'too sexy for my cane' and then having to reluctantly move on using a walker for my primary mode of transportation. Well, today, I am without my cane and my walkers sit in storage! Not because I'm too sexy or I've gotten stronger and can now do marathons (even it I could, I wouldn't! I've never understood running unless it was running to a party or away from my past. I mean you're running, often in public, and getting all sweaty and parts are jiggling for all to see and I have knock knees s...

I've had some unusual titles to my posts, but I'm fairly certain this one takes trumps them all! Hold on, it's going to be a bumpy ride getting to the reason for this wacky title . . . I sat down to pray Sunday and was thankful God knew my heart because the prayers were scattered! I started praying for a friend who'd been in a terrible car accident, and then her husband,and then mine who was traveling to see the husband (his bestie, though I'm fairly certain they would never, ever refer to one another as 'besties' and might instead die of embarrassment at the term), then greater understanding into their bond of friendship. Then I got an answer to the prayer of understanding - brotherhood. So then the prayer bounced to my sons that they have such a bond as their father and his friend, and then on to my son Michael's exams in law school and then on to my daughter who also is heading into exam week for her first year in college in St. Louis. Then the pray...

That headline or title would not be emblazoned across many publications or blogs - but for me, it's headline-grabbing-neon-blazing news! I have, of course, wonderful Wally to thank for the new-found opportunity to lace up those walking shoes. And walk we do - I've taken him around the block a couple times a day since Sunday. For four years now, that was a feat unimagined. I call it my Igor Shuffle - it's not pretty to watch or to personally experience; my left leg and foot drag especially after much effort. So, it's become easier to not make the exertion. And there are the falls, or trips, as I'm walking- and they're not only bruising but embarrassing. Like the time the nice, little old lady asked me if I needed help after a particularly public fall. It's like the chicken and the egg - which came first - the tripping or the fear of walking? Or should I say, fear of falling. I digress. (So what's new!!!). In addition to our new puppy, I think I have...