Documenting

Because I am the most-earned sore, I am grateful. Physical Therapy is literally* kicking my ass, but I’m also literally doing better — each day has shown some beautiful little betterments of my clumsiness. I can go from sitting to standing (and vice versa) with fewer wobbles and falls. Learning is power, yo. Though it has long felt like I needed to be taught how to wield the weapon my body has become, I imagined that 32 was too old a dog to teach new tricks like “sit.”

Now I can sit and stand with a better working knowledge of what parts of me need to go where. Because none of those parts are intended for the floor.

The day’s been long — PT was afternoon, neurology was morning. The list of complaints I brought with me were all indeed normal disease progression. I’m trading Gilenya for Tecfidera in a few weeks and have scheduled another MRI that will hopefully rule out spinal stenosis. One life-strangling condition is enough, but basic research on spinal stenosis insinuates this new scan is needed; one symptom is “Shopping cart sign”- “the need to grab a shopping cart when going into a store in order to hold onto the cart and bend over relieving the pain in the legs.”

uttasana

Dude, I don’t go grocery shopping without bringing my Uttanasana.

But my claudication could be related to MS, or to any of my numerous, spectacular falls. I could (and should) write a David Sedaris-esque book of amazing, occasionally injurious debacles. I should. Yesterday I dropped several feet from a piece of children’s playground equipment — the chapters really write themselves.

At this particular moment in time, however, I am going to take a day-cleansing shower and unapologetically turn off my bedside lamp.

*one of the many exercises does involve trying to kick my own lady lumps