This Is What I Have Been Thinking About

Recently I was playing a game with my boyfriend, step-father and mother and it was great and fun and all of the things you’d expect out of a family game. And one card that we drew challenged your partner to identify one thing they think you are proud of. My step dad said that I should be proud of choosing to live every day strong, with MS.

I argued this.

I stated I don’t feel proud of it because I don’t have a choice but to live with MS. I don’t have a choice but to wake up, put on my shoes and go to work no matter how heavy my legs feel, how blurry my vision is, or how numb my torso is. I don’t have a choice but to attend brunches my friends coordinate, or to play a game with my boyfriend even though he likes staying up late and I much prefer Netflix in bed at 9 (who am I kidding, I prefer bedtime at 8) despite aching limbs and tingly extremities. I don’t feel I have a choice in going to yoga or going for a walk, even when I am so nauseas even the slightest movement is treacherous. I have never seen  MS as a choice.

For me, I did not have the luxury of choosing which chronic illness I have, or choosing which medication would make life more manageable for me. I did not have a choice in how this disease took away my eye sight or my confidence in living my daily life. So again, for me, I did not have a choice in continuing to do the things that allow me some sense of sanity. I don’t have a choice but to go to work when I am dizzy, because I don’t want to depend on another person to support me, house me, and feed me (even though I’d love to eat my mother’s and grandmother’s cooking daily). I don’t have a choice to turn down social events, because without them I would feel isolated, sad and lost. I don’t have a choice but to stay up late on occasion for Michael because he does so much for me, I can risk a lazy day following a night of attempting to learn Mario Kart. I don’t have a choice but to attend yoga, or to ride a bike, or to walk when it’s nice out, because if I don’t I fear I won’t be able to walk again.

So, when my kind, caring, supportive step-father tells me I should be proud I smile and I am grateful. I smile and know I should be proud, but that if I get caught up in that pride, I slip. I get complacent and I allow myself to wallow in self-pity, dread and loneliness.