Tuesday, January 22, 2008
I'm Not Going to Die
I don't mean to be too dramatic, but in the summer of 2006 I was ready to die.
I hadn't felt good for over a year, I had fallen and broken my nose, I'd noticed a huge drop off of coordination and stamina. I didn't know what was wrong, but it was quite obvious that something was.
As I started my doctoring, I got myself ready for the worst. I was 41 years old and I'd had a pretty good life, all in all. My life at that moment was actually pretty good, not perfect, but certainly quite livable.
Forty-one years was a good run. I'd accomplished a lot of the tings I'd wanted to, done some fantastic things I'd never considered, had a good family and plenty of friends. If 41 years was all I was going to get, I'd decided that I was fine with that.
It's not that I didn't want to continue my life, I most certainly did, but I wouldn't leave any kids or a wife behind. I wouldn't really have anything of value for people to fight over. No, the summer of 2006 was as good a time as any to be done, I could leave with no serious regrets.
It was in August of 2006 that I found out that I have MS. So I wasn't going to die. I was told that this was about the best time in my life to be diagnosed, that MS doesn't typically treat people who have an onset at my age all that bad. There was hope that my MS could just be a minor inconvenience.
I received a lot of information with my medication. One booklet I remember showed a woman, just out of the pool, swim cap and goggles on, ready for another lap. I didn't feel like swimming laps, I never was much of a swimmer, but people with MS could swim laps? Not only was I not going to die, I was going to be able to live an active lifestyle.
I started seeing someone about the time I started taking my medication. My lifestyle had a completely different type of activity. Oh, I didn't feel as good in November as I had in October, but I was taking medication now, the advance of the disease would be stopped. Maybe, just maybe I'd start swimming laps. My life was looking up. I wasn't going to die, I was going to live an active and exciting life.
Shit started going bad. Ordering medication became a trial, dealing with the insurance turned into a monumental struggle and we don't even talk about the woman anymore (blog policy). I started feeling worse and worse, able to do less and less. At first I tried to write it off as "having a bad day," but if I looked at things honestly, it was clear that, on average, every day was a little worse than the day before.
In the spring and summer of 2006, I'd go to the park and play guitar for a couple of hours before going to work, in the summer of 2007 I couldn't carry my guitar to my car. I'd met a woman (a good one this time) and I was able to spend lots of time with her in the summer and fall of 2007. She has made a time in which I can't play guitar for more than ten minutes at a time bearable. I'm not going to die and I certainly don't want to.
Today I sit in front of a computer, typing fine with my left hand, using one finger on my right due to a lack of coordination on that side. Driving two hours to a job interview leaves me spent, the return trip being about all I can take. Everyday tasks are a struggle. It's all I can do some days to feed myself, holding a fork is sometimes the hardest thing I can imagine. I drop things constantly.
I'm facing another move, possibly two. I'm facing that in this condition. I have to rely on others, and that's just not in me. A guy who can't carry a guitar to his car is going to have to move, maybe twice. I'm not going to die.
Seventeen months ago I was ready for death if it were going to come to that. Thirteen months ago I felt relief and hope for the future. Today?
I don't know what I feel today. I have help, I'm not facing this all alone. That makes it bearable, but this is all threatening to just crush me and there's not a thing that I, or anybody else, can do about it.
I'm not going to die.
BOJ
I hadn't felt good for over a year, I had fallen and broken my nose, I'd noticed a huge drop off of coordination and stamina. I didn't know what was wrong, but it was quite obvious that something was.
As I started my doctoring, I got myself ready for the worst. I was 41 years old and I'd had a pretty good life, all in all. My life at that moment was actually pretty good, not perfect, but certainly quite livable.
Forty-one years was a good run. I'd accomplished a lot of the tings I'd wanted to, done some fantastic things I'd never considered, had a good family and plenty of friends. If 41 years was all I was going to get, I'd decided that I was fine with that.
It's not that I didn't want to continue my life, I most certainly did, but I wouldn't leave any kids or a wife behind. I wouldn't really have anything of value for people to fight over. No, the summer of 2006 was as good a time as any to be done, I could leave with no serious regrets.
It was in August of 2006 that I found out that I have MS. So I wasn't going to die. I was told that this was about the best time in my life to be diagnosed, that MS doesn't typically treat people who have an onset at my age all that bad. There was hope that my MS could just be a minor inconvenience.
I received a lot of information with my medication. One booklet I remember showed a woman, just out of the pool, swim cap and goggles on, ready for another lap. I didn't feel like swimming laps, I never was much of a swimmer, but people with MS could swim laps? Not only was I not going to die, I was going to be able to live an active lifestyle.
I started seeing someone about the time I started taking my medication. My lifestyle had a completely different type of activity. Oh, I didn't feel as good in November as I had in October, but I was taking medication now, the advance of the disease would be stopped. Maybe, just maybe I'd start swimming laps. My life was looking up. I wasn't going to die, I was going to live an active and exciting life.
Shit started going bad. Ordering medication became a trial, dealing with the insurance turned into a monumental struggle and we don't even talk about the woman anymore (blog policy). I started feeling worse and worse, able to do less and less. At first I tried to write it off as "having a bad day," but if I looked at things honestly, it was clear that, on average, every day was a little worse than the day before.
In the spring and summer of 2006, I'd go to the park and play guitar for a couple of hours before going to work, in the summer of 2007 I couldn't carry my guitar to my car. I'd met a woman (a good one this time) and I was able to spend lots of time with her in the summer and fall of 2007. She has made a time in which I can't play guitar for more than ten minutes at a time bearable. I'm not going to die and I certainly don't want to.
Today I sit in front of a computer, typing fine with my left hand, using one finger on my right due to a lack of coordination on that side. Driving two hours to a job interview leaves me spent, the return trip being about all I can take. Everyday tasks are a struggle. It's all I can do some days to feed myself, holding a fork is sometimes the hardest thing I can imagine. I drop things constantly.
I'm facing another move, possibly two. I'm facing that in this condition. I have to rely on others, and that's just not in me. A guy who can't carry a guitar to his car is going to have to move, maybe twice. I'm not going to die.
Seventeen months ago I was ready for death if it were going to come to that. Thirteen months ago I felt relief and hope for the future. Today?
I don't know what I feel today. I have help, I'm not facing this all alone. That makes it bearable, but this is all threatening to just crush me and there's not a thing that I, or anybody else, can do about it.
I'm not going to die.
BOJ
# posted by Blind Orange Julius @ 3:15 PM 
