Ghost under my bed photo #6
Often I ignore the thing living under my bed, pretend it doesn't exist and pray that it goes away. My disease lingers like the ghost in this picture with eerie disregard for anything else in my world. It waits.
I have purposely not addressed my Multiple Sclerosis or my past brain tumor, lately because I am afraid that some over zealous social worker may google my name (yes, it is my REAL name folks) and find my blog. Not that I have anything to hide at all here, they have copies of my medical files, but I just worry. Heck, I have even e-mailed her with my blogspot name in my e-mail signature, which is why I changed it recently.
I am a perpetual worrier.
This morning though, when I saw this picture, I thought that this is exactly what having MS feels like. Like there is a monster under my bed. It lurks there and I, most of the time, I am blissfully asleep, unaware of it at all.
But it waits for me.
MS is a patient lover.
Last night, as I was getting ready for my Rebif injection like I do every Monday, Wednesday and Friday night, I went to the fridge and got out the Nyquil (cherry flavored, I prefer it cold.) Off came the little cup thingy, off came the lid and with the fridge still open I wandered into the den/office to look at my books on my book shelves.
I looked at A Separate Peace, The Old Man and The Sea, The Sound and The Fury...I wondered why I have two copies of A Farewell to Arms. I thought about starting East of Eden again...and then I wander into the kitchen and thought:
"Why did Charley leave the fridge open?"
See, that is the thing with MS, it lurks and I never know when it might creep out from under the bed.
I worry that I may be suffering cognitive problems because 38 isn't old enough to be that absent minded, I mean who forgets that they are in the middle of getting something out of the fridge and goes and pursues their book selection? I took my shot of Nyquil and then went and took my injection of Rebif, which hurt like the dickens. Sometimes it hurts so much I threaten to cold-cock my adorable husband.
Really. Me, the nice Christian woman.
But see it is just my over active imagination making too much of nothing. I have gotten easily distracted my whole life and it could be a part of being creative. Do other creative people find it hard to stay on task? When is it time to worry? Try going shopping with me, forget it. I am like...ooohhhhh looky, preeeetttyyyyy.......and I TOUCH every little thing.
One of my favorite movies is What About Bob...I really get that movie. Cracks me up pretending a heart attack so he doesn't get one.
How do I reconcile and make peace with the ghost living under my bed?
So this is my non-fiction response by Christina K. Brown
Posted by Christina K Brown