This is a tough one, because it can apply to so many aspects of what goes on in my head. I could tell you what my inner-voice says when I consider going back to school, or what I thought the very second one of my babies called me “mommy,” but I’m not going there. However, when it comes to me and about me in general, I can tell you this: I am female. And because it seems trendy to preach about sexual orientation, I was born a female, and I am straight. Perhaps, I am middle-aged, and I’m a military wife and mom of 2 kids. I love to quilt and have a huge stash (a/k/a fabric collection for you non-quilters). Within 2 1/2 years of turning 40, I became and adult orphan. If you have not lost your parents, you will not understand what this means. It means my parents are not here to sing Happy Birthday to me over the phone every year, and I really loved when they did that. I keep from the world that I have a disease that I cannot seem to find time for in my life. I think I’m mourning for the simple things I used to do without preplanning when and how I will take my medication or pre-napping before my next action. I sometimes feel like everyone knows about my secret disease when I walk into a room. For the few that do know, I feel like they are always sizing me up to see if I look different. It hurts my feelings–for some ridiculous reason–that after I finally feel comfortable and secure enough with a friend to take the plunge and them let them in, that they respond by telling me that I do not look like I have MS. It pains me as an insult would, because I do not ever want to look like I have any affliction and am terrified of the possibility or probability of actually looking the part. So, I wonder, if the response after revealing the secret to friend, will someday be something other than that friend telling me that I do not look like I have a disease; when that happens, will I then be ticked that I look the part? When I hear that I do not look like I have MS, it confirms to me that someday I will. I do not want to look the part of having any illness, and when I’m told I look fine and disease free, out loud I say to them that I will never be at that point, but inside it is a very vivid fear that I drag around, because there are plenty of times when I am a neurological mess and look awful, but I either stay home, or I don’t get out of the car unless I absolutely have to, and I try not to engage in conversation too much because I sound like a babbling moron who either forgets what she is saying mid-sentence or just forgets random words–without any warning to me, the speaker. And sometimes, when I can’t avoid showing up (this happens on a daily basis), I think people must surely assume I am a closet alcoholic or drug user because I seem to be somewhere out in left field unable to focus on normal chit-chat. Those are the times I want to be invisible. I’m on a see-saw with MS–sometimes I’m way above it, and other times it is way above me.
Do you have a patient with “radiologically isolated syndrome” — and, if so, what do you tell your patient?
I plan to write more of my opinion about this story later, but I could not resist getting it out there immediately. I can think of at lease five reasons of “why” it may not be such a great idea for this guy to be a street cop with the NYPD, however, I can also easily give at lease five reasons to hire him to maybe take a support position with the NYPD maybe as a detective at a job with minimal traveling and, of course, he’ll need a comfortable chair and, of course air conditioning–and lots of it. If he is looking to be out and about patrolling the subways and navigating the miles and miles of stairs during the hot summer or extreme cold everyday, then I have to say that this is not a job for him. More to follow later.
And no, I’m not talking about a cat. This morning, after meticulously examining each of the 350 silvery roots of hair on my head, and then attempting to color them in with this cute little “in between” coloring stick, I noticed something else while my nose was within an inch of the bathroom mirror. At first, it startled me. There was no way it could be. No one warned me about this, so you could imagine the shock I was in when I found a strand of gray in my left eyebrow. It’s true. It happened. I really found a gray eyebrow hair. As if dealing with silver roots were not bad enough, now I may have to color my eyebrows, and not just for a fun fashion statement. After all, who wants to look in the mirror and see their eyebrows turning gray?
While rummaging through my cosmetic bag for the tweezers–which there was a strong possibility they may not have been there since my 16 year-old keeps ‘borrowing’ them–I realized that it was not just any ordinary eyebrow either. It was extra long and curvy. Sort of a rogue single hair hiding in my eyebrow, and it didn’t quite blend itself in with the others too well. I yanked that thing out so fast and furiously that I thought for sure I was bleeding. Then, it lay there on the bathroom counter and I cursed it. How dare such a thing even consider that it would be acceptable to grow on me. I banished it by washing it down the sink drain–with hot water–on my husband’s side of the bathroom counter so that it could not find its way out and find me the next time I am brushing my teeth.
And, so you have it. I plucked the stray gray and washed it right down the drain. That stray gray is gone for good.