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What next…?

It gets to the stage when you seriously question just how many times you can pick yourself back up.

10 days ago I was travelling home after spending the weekend with my oldest friend. My parents had kindly picked me up and we were driving north. A few miles outside of Edinburgh, I started to have a seizure in the back seat of the car. My head banged hard multiple times off the car door. I was taken straight to A&E where it took some time to persuade me to leave the car and when I finally did I started the second of the seizures. This time I thrashed on the gurney. Truthfully, I don’t remember any of this. I suspect the story I’ve been told has been softened up a little. I did spend 3 days in hospital. I did have 3 seizures and I did give myself a small bleed in my brain as proved by a CT Scan that I don’t remember having.

I was discharged from hospital a week ago. I don’t remember too much about any of that, but I do remember starting to feel really unwell as time was going on. When it became a bit more apparent to me that there was something not quite right with my face, I called NHS24 & was given an appointment at a hospital.

Long story, short. I have been diagnosed with Bell’s Palsy. Half my face is paralysed; one eye doesn’t close; my ears are constantly ringing and yet there is a sense of deafness in my right ear. I can’t speak very well. I can’t eat very well. And without putting too fine a point on it, I’m pretty scared.

Apparently, there isn’t really anything that can be done for Bell’s Palsy. There is a small chance that steroids can help if they are given soon enough after initial diagnosis, so I am currently on a high dose of them, but there are no guarantees. I’ve been told that it’s hard to go out with my face looking the way it does – reassuring! I’ve also been told to try to do it as soon as possible – terrifying! I’ve been for more scans, so perhaps that counts as being in public?! I’ve also got another appointment tomorrow, so maybe that is good enough to reinforce the “get out there” mentality?

A few weeks ago, I wrote about wondering whether I’d done any of “this” to myself. Here I am again. Where to go from here? At what point do I get to feel sorry for myself without inviting the comments about being a victim? Surely, it’s ok to feel a bit hard done by, no?

Epilepsy. MS. Depression. Bell’s Palsy.

Can that not please be enough? Please! Apart from the headaches and the pain, I feel a bizarre kind of emptiness. A sort of “what’s the point”? I don’t quite know the purpose of these struggles. What am I supposed to be learning? Isn’t there an Idiots Guide to… I can read instead? Who the hell have I upset so much that these afflictions are my punishment?

Ah, here they come. The tears. I can blink them away from one eye, but the other just streams. I know it’s going to leave my eye red, sore and swollen. Yet, there is nothing I can do about it. Just something else, that I have no option but to put up with. When does it end? When will it end? What can I do to make this all go away?

Yep, feeling sorry for myself now. Who cares? I’m not strong enough to take this and if I want to dissolve into buckets of tears then where is the harm in that? I’m not hurting anyone by doing that and maybe I just need to know that it’s ok not to be ok. Right? We get told that don’t we? That we don’t have to be strong all the time and that it’s ok to be scared sometimes?

So, here I am. Another affliction I can’t control. Another solitary journey. Another route I can’t explain to another and more feelings of inadequacy.

I don’t know how many more times I can pick myself back up.

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Have I done “this” to myself?

The great unanswerable question.

What if I have?

I created this blog to try to keep me honest (if not sane). I wanted to share my tales with you (note to self – get some real friends haha). Maybe some of it will resonate with you, maybe it won’t. Feel free to let me know. But be constructive, please; there are enough real bitches in my day-to-day! As with most folks, in my experience, my skin is thick and thin. Some days negativity just washes over me and other days it sends me quivering into the corner with alcohol of choice to contemplate why everyone hates me and is it because I didn’t do (fill_in_the_blank) when I was six?! So, be constructive, be pleasant, be funny, be quirky, be you. Just don’t be nasty for the sake of it, please – you’re free to jog on to the next blog any time you like.

I’m 47 and yes, I should know better. I have no kids, 3 cats, a mortgage, crippling anxiety,  epilepsy, MS, credit cards and a 9-5 that is never 9-5. I don’t have a criminal record, I have travelled some and my sarcasm is more than occasionally off the scale. I’m overweight, I have a potty-mouth and opinions coming out of my ears. But, I’m not nasty. I care about people more than I let on and though I often believe I prefer animals to humans, I’ve never been outrightly or deliberately cruel to any living creature. Basically, I’m an ok person. I have neither celebrity nor notoriety. I’m not poor, yet I’m not financially rich. I have lost my way a little in life. I have a need for a reset. I believe “focussed” has a double-s and I was always taught there are 2 spaces after the full stop at the end of a sentence. However, language is fluid and while I will never resort to a single-s focussed, I have bowed to single-space-after-a-full-stop pressure.

Recently, I decided to start having an organic meat and veg box delivered weekly. All part of me trying to be healthier, cut back on single-use plastics and enjoy lovely, fresh, local produce. Awesome. So, the delivery arrives a couple of days ago, jam-packed with fresh greens, grass-fed beef, natural yoghurt, eggs…you get the picture. I felt a swelling of joy and healthiness just welling up in me as I gazed at my bounty. Yesterday, surrounded by this wonderous nutrition, I decided to have toast, peanut butter and red wine for tea. The glass of red wine turned into two bottles and today I felt not just jaded but disappointed that I couldn’t be arsed to rustle up a quick whatever with all the gorgeous food I had or even stuck to the glass or 2 rather than the bottle.

Have I done “this” to myself? This is the question that is keeping me up nights at the moment. A throwaway comment, an endless supply of medical opinions, too many books read with too many differing approaches, too many conflicting ideas and my perceived intelligence is just not cutting it. I do the research, I read the opinions, I ask the questions and still, I can’t help wondering if there was something I could have done differently that would mean I would not be suffering from MS.

Epilepsy, it took a while, granted, but I’ve come to terms with it. I’ve learned to live alongside it. I don’t like it but compared to MS its a known quantity. I know it will hit me out of nowhere, it will knock me on my arse, I’ll spend a fair amount of time depressed and then I’ll pull myself together, get back up and move forward. MS though? Nope, I don’t know which way is up.

Maybe its because I sort of grew up with epilepsy, google didn’t exist and I wasn’t tying myself up in knots trying to figure out which scientific, peer-reviewed journal piece is the most reliable. MS hit me. Hit me hard and then ran away laughing. I feel like a baited bear sometimes. Chained. Tormented. Beaten. There is nowhere to run and the groups dedicated to saving and supporting can only do so much. MS is the stick, there is no carrot.

As is often the case when my mind is in overdrive and I’m desperately trying to find a way to answer a question that can’t be answered; I’m thinking about the past. Particularly friendships. I’m a big believer that not everyone who comes into your life should stay forever. Yet there have been some people that have been in my life for a period of time that I can’t quite come to terms with how they left my world. Sometimes, people just drift away naturally. Folk move away, get married, travel, whatever and they drift out of your life. There is no deliberate severing of ties, no harsh words, no event that causes a fracture. It’s all very natural and perfectly normal. Then there is the intentional ending of a friendship. There is a specific event or series of events that means the relationship is no longer healthy, reliable and productive. Then there is the loss that you don’t really know what happened or how it happened.

It’s this last scenario that has been on my mind a lot of late. I don’t really understand why some folk left my world and why I allowed it to happen. Now, there aren’t many that fall into this category, only 3 in fact. But I’ve never quite been able to understand what happened with the friendships. I wonder if they feel the same way. It doesn’t do to rake over the past. Yet, for me, the past holds the answers. It’s like I have this need to look back before I can look forward. I need to understand where I went wrong. And, in the same way, did I bring MS on myself?

Could the issues I have that fall under the scarred umbrella of MS, have been prevented. Did I do something wrong? Could I have ensured the health of my genes? If I can find those answers, could that mean I can reverse the damage done? Or is it too late? Is all I have left acceptance?

Unanswerable. Not unquestionable.

I’m reading this back through and it’s so disjointed. I apologise for that. I’ve opened my mouth and let my tummy rumble. Heyho.

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Ruminations with Rumi…

I feel like I’ve been fighting my whole life. There is a war that rages between my physical deterioration and my mental or emotional strength. The weapons used are cruel, there is little respite and the stakes are fricken enormous.

Rumi referred to emotions – all kinds of emotion – as “unexpected visitors”. Rumi thought we should let these callers in and let them visit with us for a while. Give them a cup of tea and get to know them type thing. This concept from the 13th century passed the stiff upper lipped British by. Why do we feel the need to be restrained and remain resolutely defiant when an emotion comes calling?

Rumi writes beautifully. Well, the way he has been translated from Persian to English is beautifully done anyway. I’ve only relatively recently been introduced to his writings and they resonate with me pretty deeply. I read all sorts for all sorts of reasons.

I read because I desire to understand. I read because I want to learn. I read because I need to get lost in a world that isn’t mine. I read because I long to escape. I read because I must. I read because I can. For now, reading is an ability that has escaped the tortures of my mind and body. Reading takes it all away. It’s my shelter and my comfort. It reaches into my soul and makes it laugh, makes it think, makes it feel invincible and makes it forget. Reading nourishes me. Language fascinates me. Evolving language, at once, gives me joy and makes me long for the days when Mr. Marshall taught me that “focussed” has a double s!

When I hear someone describing reading as boring, I can only think it’s because they haven’t found the right book yet. Going back to Mr. Marshall for a minute (he was one of my English teachers at school), he always said there was no such thing as a boring activity only boring people. I’ve turned that over in my mind a lot over the years between him first saying it (he said it a lot) when I was 14 and now when I’m 46. I came to the conclusion a few years ago, that what he was trying to say is that everyone is different and will feel differently about every activity, be it reading, playing football, singing…whatever. That means the activity in itself cannot be described as boring. Boring people, however, are those that choose not to engage in any activity at all. That’s what I think he meant. He’s dead now though, so I can’t ask him. I wish I had at the time. But, well, if wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

Anyway, I’ve digressed. I do that a lot. So, why do we find it so difficult to sit with our own emotions and acknowledge that we have them? Are we conditioned to believe that we should only feel positive emotions? Are we only allowed to feel happy, excited, thrilled, delighted, amused, loved, loving? Why do we feel its ok to acknowledge that we feel angry about something but not that we feel hurt by it? Why do we feel it is a weakness to be able to show vulnerability, but at the same time not be shocked when we get hurt? Why do we see it as inevitable that if we display an emotion that is not perceived as socially acceptable that we will somehow be thought of as a lesser person? Who decides what is socially acceptable??

My experience of showing emotion has not always been positive. I didn’t show my true feelings for years after I was told that my tears were pathetic and weren’t going to be put up with. I was 15. In order to swallow down the emotions I felt (& god knows at 15 I felt them ALL), I built some bloody fantastic walls. My grandad, a builder, would have been mighty proud of my structures. The wolves were not going to huff and puff and blow my house down! My house. There was no door. There didn’t need to be. I wasn’t coming out and you weren’t getting in. Simple. I was described as having ice water running through my veins. Apparently, it was discussed at length by people other than me, that I felt nothing. I felt baffled by this. If I showed that I was upset or hurt or confused or in pain then that was wrong, but if I showed nothing at all then that’s wrong too?

As a consequence of this inner conflict, when my emotions burst out of me as they are want to do, they were generally inappropriate. I couldn’t control them. I tried to channel them in the various sports I engaged in, although I didn’t know at the time that’s what I was doing. I was young, I was scared and I felt alone. So, I stuck everything in my solid house, climbed out the one window and tried to live a life that wasn’t full of anger and frustration. And I did.

I’ve had many, many wonderful adventures in my life. I’ve seen a lot of things others can only dream about. I’ve done a lot of things that others can only wonder about. My memory bank is full to brimming with wonderous colours, sights, sounds, people, noises, feelings, music and laughter. The flora and fauna of many a country are stored away to be brought out in writings or in musings or just to give a little colour to my day. All of this is juxtaposed with my house.

It’s only been in the last 10 years or so, that the window to my house has been cracked open. There is still no door. So if you want in, you have to really WANT it. One of Rumi’s most famous quotes is “the wound is the place where the Light enters you”. I liken that to the cracking open of that window and allowing someone other than me have a bit of a wander around. It surprises me to this day how hard I find it to let people into my life. This blog helps me immensely in my journey toward sorting through my house and throwing out old rubbish. I know now and acknowledge that I’ve been suffering from depression for most of my adult life. Acknowledging that was probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but liberating at the same time. For a few years, it was only me and my GP who knew. (When I think about this, it isn’t so. I suspect a lot of people knew that I was suffering, but god forbid they suggested it to me.) When I decided to go public, it was done so casually that when I think about it now it makes me giggle. I would just drop it into conversations. As an adult, I’m better at knowing when it is and is not appropriate to do certain things. So while I would throw out this comment about “my depression” it was always in the right place in the conversation. It had to be.

So, my mental state is on one side and the deterioration of my physical packaging is on the other. The MS diagnosis is still fresh and raw and I struggle every day to find positives in it. At the moment, most days, I don’t see any bright side at all. Well, other than the one that lets me say “it could be worse”. I was at the hospital a few days ago and tried to get answers to the muscle weakness, the internal inferno, the other changes that are happening to my body. There are none. No-one can tell me if the weakness is a relapse. They think it probably isn’t, but they can’t be certain. No-one can tell me if the weakness is the beginning of my MS getting worse. Right now, there is nothing to be done. There is nothing that can be done. Although I feel the time is right to start saving hard for whatever future is ahead and what kind of walking aid I may need. I contemplated building an extension to my metaphorical house. I decided not to. I can’t always articulate my feelings, but I no longer want to bury them. Mainly because I simply can’t be bothered anymore. Its hard work pretending to feel something that you don’t and it’s even more exhausting trying to deny a feeling that is pervading every cell in my body.

So, I know to expect my depression to be with me. I know that the medication I take for it allows me to deal with it, in the main. I know that the medication doesn’t make the depression go away, but it does give me a bit more of myself (if that makes sense) to be able to cope. I also know that, for me, I have to sit with it alone for a while so I can process it enough to share it. I’ve learned there are no hard and fast rules when it comes to dealing with depression. I know that what works for me, won’t work for everyone. I know that just because I’m willing to share my story, doesn’t mean that everyone wants to hear it. That’s ok. That’s actually how it should be. We aren’t all wired the same way. We aren’t all moved by the same things and we aren’t all disgusted by the same things.

Thank goodness!

So back to the words of Rumi…my body may seem meek, but my spirit does somersaults in the sky! At least it will when depression has finished it’s cup of tea and it’s visit is over.

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Soul Mining…

I sponsor a goat. Her name is Ellen and she was rescued, along with 2 little friends, from a life of agony because of a disability. Ellen is a Nigerian Dwarf goat. Her illness is not hidden, but she was all but abandoned because her front legs are deformed. Thankfully, the owner of the farm where the goats were, agreed to hand them over to the Barn Sanctuary and she is being well looked after and having braces fitted to help with her deformity. Ellen is a lucky little goat. Someone saw her life and knew it needed to change.

I also sponsor, through Marine CSI, a Great White shark. Seamus isn’t deformed, but if you get in his way, you very well may be. Such is the nature of a shark to have to bite to know if it can eat you. The water is his domain. You’ve been warned.

It has been a very strange few weeks. Things just don’t seem right. It’s hard to describe what I mean, it seems that nothing is sitting comfortably for me and my feet are getting itchy. For once, that’s nothing to do with the MS! As well as dealing with all that comes with MS and epilepsy, sufferers also have to deal with the everyday ailments the same as the rest of the population. For me, this week anyhow, that’s been the dreaded stomach bug. There is no need to go into detail here, but I know you all get it. Well not necessarily the stomach bug, although…Anyway that, the fatigue which has moved in, unpacked and shows no sign of leaving, and the general feeling of unease, has left me unsettled. I don’t know what is wrong.

I don’t know if anything is wrong! Perhaps that’s the issue. Maybe everything is just too darn familiar. Familiarity breeds contempt, right? That could well be it. I know that I can’t take a deep breath, I know that I can’t shift the fog and I know that I can’t put my finger on what the problem truly is. Or maybe I just don’t want to. I search my soul a lot. It seems to be never-ending, but I guess that’s the whole point of a soul right? I search and look and pry and dig deep. I turn things over and put things back and return to familiar hunting grounds and see the same things. My soul is where I go when I need to research. My soul is my personal Google. I’ve been here before. Many times. The aching chasm of my soul that’s shrouded in mystery and yet alive in glorious, unashamed technicolour. It’s rich and deep and yet can be mean and shallow. It is comforting and frightening in equal measure. It sits on my sleeve and gossips with my heart. Then it retreats after it’s whispered its fears and joys, leaving me with nothing to grasp.

My soul. The keeper of all my secrets. My friend, my conscience, my harshest critic, my biggest fan, my brightest light and my darkest shadow. There lie all the answers. I know that because I believe, our souls – yes, all living beings have one – encompass everything you can’t touch or see but just know instinctively is there. Every book, every article, every column ever written about so-called self-help, tells how it all starts within. And that’s all well and good, but the only way you can start that process then, is to know what is within. Know thyself. I can’t remember right now who that phrase is attributed to, I think it was Socrates that probably coined it, but it could have just as easily been Plato. Thinking about it, neither of them probably said that phrase at all but their writings will have been a long version along the lines of how you can’t really know anything unless you know yourself. But, how can you truly know yourself? (That last sentence was put there by me, I don’t think either of them actually questioned it, but willing to be corrected on that point).

If we are ever evolving and I think we are. We all act and react differently to different stimuli and as we age our tolerances change with us and so we are always becoming something new. If we are changing all the time, then how do we keep up with who we are. Let’s take me for example. This time last year I was reeling from an MS diagnosis. Everything I thought I knew about me and my body was suddenly ripped away from me by those 2 letters. I was numb for a bit. Highly emotional for a bit. Terrified virtually always. Angry, stunned, confused, depressed and lord knows how many more adjectives could describe the feelings that coursed through me. I never returned to the Kirsty I was the day before. I tried to recover me. But that me was gone and I’m left to shape a new me. Ever evolving. What I knew to be true then, doesn’t seem to be true now. How I used to react to different situations and different people has changed. I used to know how I would react. I only know now that I won’t react in the same way.

Sounds a bit confusing and it is. A bit like the Titanic, my soul doesn’t want to give up all its secrets. I can find new ways to search it and develop techniques that help me deal with its depths and caverns, but it seems unwilling to yield to my constant requests for it to help. I know the answers are there, but I just can’t seem to dig them out. So, my soul has swallowed every old version there ever has been of me and so all that I need to know is there somewhere, but I don’t have the right combination of search terms to unlock them. Soul searching is hard to do. Any search will always uncover something you’ve worked hard to forget and bury. Soul searching will always point you in the direction that you need to go, but it doesn’t give you the strength to put your boots down on that path and walk it. Soul searching is best done when it’s been sat with your heart. That’s when the answers are closest to the top. Your soul can give you the directions, but it can’t make you take the journey.

The soul is never going to say the answer is 3 doors down on your left. (Although it could be, if that’s where your heart has told your soul it’s desire is…). The soul is going to give you the piece of unmoulded clay and an idea of what the finished article could look like. It is still up to the current you, you as you are now, to take the search results and action them.

As a matter of interest, as well as Ellen and Seamus, I also sponsor Amur Tigers through WWF, Rhinos through Care for Wild, dogs through Dogs Trust, a young girl through PlanUK, plus I donate to UNICEF and help remove plastic from the oceans through donating to 4Oceans and my cats consist of one adoption and 2 rescues. They all have souls and their souls all whispered to my heart.

And yes, I stole the title for this post from The The. Credit where credit is due.

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Rotten luck…

So, just to add to my sad little tale of woe, it appears I now have dry rot. Well, not me personally, but my flat. Although, it seems like quite a good analogy for my brain!!

According to Wikipedia (all hail google and Wikipedia), dry rot is “wood decay caused by certain species of fungi that digest parts of the wood which give the wood strength…”. Yes, this is very much sounding like the MS & epilepsy that ravages my brain and body on a constant basis…And the treatment? Removal of the offending, affected wood and chemically treating the surrounding areas. Sounds a bit savage, but that is the “cure” for certain types of epilepsy and both afflictions are “controlled” chemically. Oh and no, it’s not covered in a standard buildings and contents insurance policy.

The whole dry rot condition is brutal, devastating and requires treatment. Expensive treatment. Epilepsy and MS are much the same. If you’re lucky though, the treatment is free.

Dry rot tends to be an invisible condition. Usually, you don’t know you have it until you want to redecorate or renovate some part of your house (or, as in my case, your neighbours do). As with epilepsy and ms, it’s usually something significant that triggers the eventual diagnosis of the disease. You can’t always guarantee a person’s health based on their physical appearance. These are just 2 so-called invisible illnesses, there are so many. In my immediate family, there is epilepsy, ms, depression, congenital heart defects, Sjogren’s Syndrome, arthritis and dementia. Everyone knows someone who suffers from an invisible illness, although they may not know it. Diabetes, lupus, lime disease are just a few others, but it’s mental health issues that spring to most people’s mind when the term is used.

The last few weeks have been hard. (I seem to say that a lot at the moment!). The dry rot situation left me teetering on the brink of I don’t know what last week. I was meant to meet the builders but instead, I begged my brother. We were going to go together. My brother arrived at my house and I lost it completely. I had a meltdown of epic proportions. Floods of tears, hyperventilating, snot, inability to talk coherently and a steady unwavering conviction that I couldn’t take any more. My brother hugged me for the first time in 46 years (we’re not good at emotions in my family) and he went to the meeting alone and declared he would deal with everything, the builders will deal with him and all I have to do is move out when I get told to, oh and pay for it.

My brother seeing me in the state I was in was a helluva shock for him I think. We’re not good at emotions and we’re all guarded with each other in my family. I find frustration and anger easier to show than fear. It was that fear that my brother got the full brunt of last week. I don’t think for a single second he thought his sister would be crying on his suit jacket that day. This same brother who won’t sit on my sofa in case he gets a cat hair on him, was dealing with me dripping tears and snot instead. Kudos to him. He stepped up and was there when I truly needed him.

There is a point to this rambling about tears, snot and diseases you can’t see. We don’t always know what a person is going through. We don’t know what battles they face on a daily, hourly or minutely basis. We don’t always know what drives certain responses that are sometimes inappropriate. We don’t always show how we are truly feeling to those that really need to know. There is a myriad of reasons for this.

We are often quick to jump to conclusions and even quicker to judge. My house shows no outward signs of being ravaged by rot, but it is. I show no outward signs of being at the mercy of one disease that could kill me at any moment and another that could leave me in a wheelchair, but I am. My dad said to me many many years ago that I had ice water running through my veins. My brother saw last week that I don’t.

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Rambling weebles

The past 6 months or so have probably been the worst of my life. Worse than the passing of a loved one? In some ways, yes, I felt like I lost my body, my brain and my self. Worse than breaking up with a partner? Yes. I felt like I was splitting from my health.

Recriminations were rife, even though I tried not to indulge. Looking for something to blame was common. “It’s not you, it’s me!” my brain was screaming at my body. There have been tears. Oh so many tears. There has been much rage and anger. There have been threats of giving up – what’s the point? There has been a darkness that I didn’t know was possible and some realisations that may well have come too late in my life. There has been a lot of soul-searching. A LOT of soul searching.

Epilepsy has caused me much anguish over the years and a lot of pain both physical and emotional. I feel like I should have been better prepared, in some ways, because I’ve already been dealing with a neurological disease for 30 years, so adding in another one, while not ideal, shouldn’t be that hard. Right? Wrong. Epilepsy knocks me on my ass and then I get up, go through the depression and get on with life. I’ve made my peace with the limitations it placed on my life. I don’t like them, but not being able to drive, not being able to deep sea dive etc, while not what I would have chosen for myself, have not proved to be the end of the world. It took me a long time to get to that place of peace and it’s not always been a stable place!! In some ways, because I’ve grown up with it, epilepsy didn’t/doesn’t hold the same level of fear that MS has introduced. As my life evolved so did my coping mechanisms. I haven’t always got it right, but the humour that I can sometimes find in the situations seizures have put me in, made things easier for those around me and that in turn made it easier for me. Sometimes, the laughter is hard to fake.

MS has caught me out. As you get older, you kinda expect certain things. The way everything goes south, the wrinkles that appear, the memory that’s not quite as sharp as it was, the tendency to utter the phrase “when I was your age…” and the knowledge that some debilitating conditions could appear in the future, But that future was my 70s or 80s, not my mid-40s. The discovery that MS may have been with me for a bit longer than the diagnosis is a shocker and the knowing that it could, and probably will, get worse is hard to stomach. My choices are stark. But they are choices and they are mine to make.

The way I see it, I have reached a three-pronged fork in the road and the time for dithering is passed.

I can go right. Right takes me to a field where I sit down, give up and wither with the coming of autumn and then die in the snows of winter. The bench I’d be sitting on is hard, the view is bleak and I forgot my scarf.

I can go straight ahead. I can take the drugs, heed the medical profession, not rock any boats and wait for the inevitable to catch up with me. This route would lead, eventually, to the same field that’s at the end of the right-hand path.

The third option is left. Left will mean taking control of that which I have power over. Left means that summer is longer, autumn is radiant and winter is crisp but faced with a scarf. Left means taking advantage of what is on offer to me in terms of treatment and supplementing it with what else I choose to put inside my body and hence my brain. Left means making my body and mind stronger. Even stronger than they had to be through the trials of not just epilepsy, but life in general.

That is the clincher. Life wouldn’t stop just because I’d decided to. Life goes on. Life finds a way. Sometimes its a crappy way, but it is a way. Why should I not try to take part in that? Would it really be easier to just give up? I know there will be days to come, when giving up is all I want to do. I’ve already tasted that. I’ve already come through some of that darkness. I know there are days coming up when I might actually not physically be able to get up. The numbness might give way to weakness in my limbs. My brother has a saying, that if you put your head in the sand, then you leave your ass exposed. How true. I’m aware of what my future could hold for me. I’m aware that there could be immense difficulties ahead. That lucidity means I damn well know that there could also be some bloody awesome times ahead. I’m ONLY in my mid-40s. My life isn’t over because of 2 letters! My life can still be what I make of it. My life WILL still be what I make of it.

This is where the vast amount of soul searching that has been done and is still to be done, comes in. You have to figure out what is important. I’ve had to work out what is important to me. What am I prepared to put up with and what am I not prepared to have in my life. That isn’t easy. That hasn’t been easy. It won’t be easier in the future. Yet, I have a backdrop to weigh it against. MS, Epilepsy and maybe Ocular Sarcoidosis. Thats my back drop. Thats my canvas. In the grand scheme of my life what is worth it and what isn’t. Is putting up with a nasty, vindictive person in my life a good way to spend my time? Yes, it makes it easier for other people to play nice, but what does it give to me? This is one of many questions I’ve asked myself. I don’t have all my answers. I don’t think I will ever have all the answers. But, again, that is part of my tapestry. That’s my jigsaw. My attitude towards the pieces that are laid out before me is changing. I’m ok with that.

There seems to be a helluva lot of bird crap on my path of life just now. Regardless of which road I choose to travel. I suspect there will be more to come. I try to remember that people pay money to spread crap on crops to make them grow bigger, stronger and healthier. The crap on my path is free, albeit I don’t want it sticking to my shoe.

Just as weebles wobble but they don’t fall over, well hell, I’m still standing!

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MS, Epilepsy and Cooking…

There has been carnage in Kirsty’s kitchen the past couple of weeks! I have made a few conscious decisions based on my health situation and it’s time to follow through.

Those who know me well, know I like my food. I enjoy my food and I prefer it with either coffee or wine. Yet, for the sake of my health and to feel like I have a modicum of control over my body, I have chosen to change my lifestyle and that includes reviewing my diet.

I have decided that I am going to switch up my previous carnivore ways and move toward a wholefood, plant-based eating plan. In case you’re wondering, this means no meat, no fish, no dairy and no eggs. Why? Why? Why? I hear you cry (unless of course, you’re already eating this way and are whoop, whoop, whooping instead)! Let me explain…

Just a couple of weeks ago, I was delivered news that put my world on it’s head. In all honesty, I was (& probably still am) devastated by the news that I had MS. Brave public face aside, I was/am crushed. All I could see were dashed dreams & tattered hopes. But, I chose me. I’ve decided not to admit defeat to a disease. I’ve resolved to do what I can do to make positive changes in order to have the strength to meet the challenges ahead, head on. One of the few aspects of life I can change is what I eat. My brain does have an input (think cravings) but it also desperately needs proper fuel to fight disease.

So, for me, moving toward a wholefood, plant-based way of eating is a way of having some control and an attempt to make myself feel better and stronger. The benefit to animals and the environment, I have to admit, are secondary in my thinking at the moment. This is all about me, me, me. I’ve known for quite a while now that my lifestyle didn’t really do me any favours, so regardless of whether the changes to my diet and the fact I’m working out with Edinburgh Fitness Solutions have any affect on my neurological afflictions, they should have a hugely positive impact on how I feel in myself. 

So that’s the “why”. The “how” is where I’m at!!

Changing a long-standing habit isn’t easy. Especially if, like me, you find it a struggle to “give things up”. So, I decided that I’m going to do things a little differently. This is where it is useful that I’m doing this for myself and not because I’ve been told to by any medical professional. As far as I understand, there is no proven way to eat yourself out of MS. So, that gives me both a comfort blanket and a safety net. It also means I don’t have to give up habits overnight. I’ve done my research and I’ve decided that for me, my body, my lifestyle and my health, trying a wholefood, plant-based way of eating could be beneficial. There is no guarantee that it would work for everyone, but I want to know if it will work for me. So, I’ve been transitioning.

I’ve sought out and spoken to people who choose to be vegan (yes, that’s the generic label), to find out their experiences and get any hints and tips. I’ve done some research and am fully aware that being vegan doesn’t automatically make you healthy. And that’s why I’m also reducing the amount of processed foods I eat and why chaotic carnage reigns supreme in my kitchen! One of the people I spoke to advised me not to think of it as giving up certain foods (cheese, milk & eggs being my biggest worry) but to regard it as an opportunity to try new flavours, textures and foods. That way, you will be less likely to feel deprived and that you’re somehow missing out. This is working for me. 

So, I’ve been going through this transition for about 3 weeks now. It’s going well, I think. I’m rediscovering my taste buds and some foods that I previously decided I didn’t like, I’m finding that actually when I try them, they’re not so bad. Meat and fish have been the easiest to let go of. The meat surprised me, as I thought of my self as a major carnivore! Cheese was a little more of a struggle, but through trial and error I’ve found an alternate that I can happily live with. Milk in my tea – wow. Tough!! Coffee, if it’s good quality, I can happily drink black, but tea? No way. Tea with soya milk? Bleurgh! Tea with oatmilk? No way Jose! Tea with hemp milk? Not a chance! Tea with coconut milk? Like hell!! Black tea? Well I’m getting there. I’m finding that rooibus is working black and my favourite, Earl Grey, if it’s good quality and bizarrely decaf, then yes, I can do that.

Most folks don’t know that I’m moving toward this new way of eating. I’m not being evangelical about it (there was no way I was missing out on a surprise Afternoon Cream Tea on Saturday) but the more people find out I’m choosing this way to eat, and the more eateries I discover to cater for this way to eat, then all the better.

The last blog I wrote stated “I choose me”. I stand by this. I’m doing this for me. So far, most have been supportive and those that haven’t? Well that’s fine too.