Cross Blog.

I thought I’d continue where I left off and complete my last post, in honour of our PC being fixed. (My previous post was a very rushed affair on the office PC while waiting for Michael to finish his lunch).

I still had quite a bit to say, but was cut short when he wanted to leave.
The pain is verging on excruciating. Best that I book an appointment at the chiropractor.
In mid-December, I will have had this pain for a year. It comes and goes (well, it doesn’t quite go, but I’m sure you follow), but if I do anything remotely physical it gets aggravated.

I had my hair cut, finally. I quite like it. Quite a bit shorter. It’s a kind of whimsical, pixie-ish look. A bit shaggy. (Just call me Shaggy Maggie).

I had a good cry when I got home. So much for crying not helping, because I feel a lot better. The thing is, I always thought I’d beat this disease. Now I’m not so sure at all. And they say it’s a scary thing when you lose hope. I can feel my hope disintegrating, like mist before the sun.
And I feel really angry, at the route my life has taken.
I can’t remember feeling angry like this before, but I think that’s because I never advanced to acceptance, which I reckon comes before anger, in the psychological pattern of disease and loss.
So yeah, I feel relatively de moer in.

I do still have a tiny kernel of hope that refuses to die, however. It’s the die-hard kind of hope, I can tell. And I know it will be with me till the end of time. It even has a couple of ideas for me to try out, which I no doubt will. Maybe tomorrow though. Today I couldn’t give a damn.

Something that has surfaced once again, is my desperate want for a baby. It’s not really something that I allow myself to think about, but these last couple of days I couldn’t help it. I desperately, DESPERATELY want a child. I know Michael and I would make a gorgeous baby, and I know we’d be the best of parents. I know it! I’d make a good mommy, and he would make a splendid dad. I have tears rolling down my face as I write this. We have so much love to give.
It’s not an option at the moment, and perhaps it will never be. It’s the first time I can really face up to that. It would be a superbly selfish thing to do. The aggressive medicine that I have to take so regularly would put a little fetus in grave danger. And if I didn’t take the meds, it would put me in danger.
I don’t discuss this with anybody, because people make well-meaning but very unhelpful comments. Most people don’t seem to get it. There does seem to be a trend that pregnancy is helpful to ms, but not necessarily in the first trimester, and that is when it would be most dangerous for me to take medicine. And one can look forward to a whopping relapse post-partum. I just can’t bring myself to so blithely stick my head in the sand and do it.

And while I’m off-loading can I just add how tired I am of people staring at me in town because I walk awkwardly. I’m battling so at the moment anyway that I think I’ll start using my walker again. That way, people can see that I’m not drunk, just actually really having a hard time. Maybe I could even put a friendly sign on, like the one Michael gives to other drivers when they annoy him. And if they wanna road-rage me for that, maybe I’ll pick up my walker and wallop them over the head with it.
(Only kidding, but that image did cheer me up a bit).

I hate being so physically limited. I’ve never been a sit-on-the-side-lines type. I really wanted to do the Argus cycle race with my dad, long before I met Michael. And Michael makes a big deal out of the Argus, and his training. How I would have loved to do it with him. Before I got sick, we used to go cycling together, and always had a lot of fun. We’d sing Bohemian Rhapsody together and can ourselves laughing. I’m really competitive, and would have tried to beat his time, I know myself. He’s a man, and stronger, so that would have given him the advantage, but I’m nearly nine years younger than he is, so that would have given me the advantage, evening things up.
Plus, I’m scaly. I would have gotten an exercise bike and practiced secretly at home, ha ha.
Now we’ll never know, and never get to do it together, all because of this blasted disease.

I’m tired of acting normal so people will treat me normal. I can’t keep it up any longer. It’s too hard. People don’t realize what an effort a lot of things are for me. I’m not going to keep up a brave front anymore. I’m just going to say ‘no’. And I wont bother explaining why either. I’m tired of explaining. And if people get huffy with me about it, then that’s just too damn bad. And heaven help the next able-bodied person I see using a disabled parking spot. I hope it happens while I’m still feeling so angry.

Even though I feel so angry, I still have a stray tear rolling annoyingly down my cheek every so often. It’s been a very emotional couple of days for me, and I’m not a fan of keeping things in. I don’t actually think I know how to keep things in. Happy or sad, I need to share it with other people.

I wonder what are the chances of Michael taking me out to eat tonight? That’s bound to cheer me up a bit.

Later……

We didn’t go eating out. Poor Michael feels sick. He has a sore throat and a head cold.
I’m feeling a little better. Not singing and dancing for joy, but definitely somewhat improved.Formulating plans to get myself out of this rut, which is a good sign. Means I may even be out of the doldrums by tomorrow.