So, there's this tickle-like feeling on my back.
Just a light, fluttery, tickly feeling on a very specific piece of lumbar real estate. In a certain context, this feeling could be downright pleasant. In this one, it is anything but. It's not just that it's in a place that is hard to reach. It's not even that easy access for a scratch or rub wouldn't make a speck of difference. And it's not that it's the middle of the night when I should be sleeping and the sensory distraction isn't exactly welcome.
So, what makes this tickle so very upsetting to me at this moment? Because it is a tickle I know well. The exact same feeling, in the exact same location. The same light fluttery feeling at least a few times a minute that I felt quite often during Year One of MS (aka the awful-horrible-how-did-i-ever-finish-my-masters-degree-while-battling-relapse-after-relapse-and-just-dealing-with-the-scary-terrible-diagnosis year). The same feeling, in fact, that I usually would feel as a warning symptom, before the deluge of more-debilitating symptoms made their presence known. So, you see, a tickle is not just a tickle. It's not just one of the dozens of annoying little sensory issues I deal with in relation to MS. It's that its the symptom that I seem to deeply associate with that scary what-is-coming-next feeling.
After Year One of MS and its eight or so delightful relapses, after starting Tysabri and being relapse-free for 4-ish years, I did very occasionally feel the tickle. And its warning cry brought no following deluge, so my rational mind should be able to accept that this is not necessarily an If-Then kind of situation. And, I do, mostly. But this sensory misfire always takes me back to that scary, dark frame of mind. It always reminds me that there is scarring in my brain and spinal cord. It always reminds me that, warning cry or not, something could be coming next. Lots of things could be coming next. And next could be never, or soon, or later, or now.
Talk about the tickle monster.
Showing posts with label uncertainty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label uncertainty. Show all posts
Monday, March 12, 2012
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Uncertainty and the Fragility of Life
A very good friend of my younger sister passed away this morning. She was 24, a preschool teacher, full of life. Pneumonia, complications, death. So sudden and unexpected and unthinkable. I did not know her well, but news of her passing put me into a deeply pensive mood today.
I've been lucky in that I've not lost anyone close to me, other than a dear Grandmother when I was in junior high. Today, I've shed several tears just imagining how those close to this girl must feel today - her friends, colleagues, and especially her family. Such anguish. I can't imagine how I would feel if I lost a close friend or family member. Devastating. I know it has been a very hard day for my sister, and I grieve for her and the pain this loss brings with it.
A loss like this - sudden, unexpected, someone so young - really reminds me how very fragile life is and how much is uncertain about our days. Especially early on, I spent much time worrying about the uncertainty factor in relation to MS. It is still certainly something I worry about, simmering away on one of the back burners in my mind. But just because we have a diagnosis that absolutely means uncertainty, how is that any different from the human condition itself?? None of us can ever know what tomorrow holds, or even from hour to hour, minute to minute. My sister's friend worked on Friday, had to go to the ER on Saturday, was rushed by ambulance to another hospital on Sunday and died Monday morning. Who could have anticipated such a tragedy?
From this deep well of sadness, though, comes the beautiful reminder to appreciate the present, to live every moment like your last, to leave every interaction with every person as though it's the last time you will see them, and to be grateful for all that you have, especially for all the people you love. Make sure they know how you feel.
May you stop dreading uncertainty, and truly accept that all is uncertain and that's okay. May you shift the energy of dread and worry to searching for and reveling in the beauty that is all around us - the people, nature, the arts, physical stuff, life. Hold that beauty like the fragile gift that it is and treat it with the greatest of care.
I've been lucky in that I've not lost anyone close to me, other than a dear Grandmother when I was in junior high. Today, I've shed several tears just imagining how those close to this girl must feel today - her friends, colleagues, and especially her family. Such anguish. I can't imagine how I would feel if I lost a close friend or family member. Devastating. I know it has been a very hard day for my sister, and I grieve for her and the pain this loss brings with it.
A loss like this - sudden, unexpected, someone so young - really reminds me how very fragile life is and how much is uncertain about our days. Especially early on, I spent much time worrying about the uncertainty factor in relation to MS. It is still certainly something I worry about, simmering away on one of the back burners in my mind. But just because we have a diagnosis that absolutely means uncertainty, how is that any different from the human condition itself?? None of us can ever know what tomorrow holds, or even from hour to hour, minute to minute. My sister's friend worked on Friday, had to go to the ER on Saturday, was rushed by ambulance to another hospital on Sunday and died Monday morning. Who could have anticipated such a tragedy?
From this deep well of sadness, though, comes the beautiful reminder to appreciate the present, to live every moment like your last, to leave every interaction with every person as though it's the last time you will see them, and to be grateful for all that you have, especially for all the people you love. Make sure they know how you feel.
May you stop dreading uncertainty, and truly accept that all is uncertain and that's okay. May you shift the energy of dread and worry to searching for and reveling in the beauty that is all around us - the people, nature, the arts, physical stuff, life. Hold that beauty like the fragile gift that it is and treat it with the greatest of care.
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