I gotta new way to walk (walk walk)*

The place where it all began...

The place where it all began…

Last week I took home my brand-new pair of Walk-On® foot braces- though I prefer the more fashionable phrasing, “assistive foot accessory” :) It all started about 6 months ago when I signed up for physical therapy at Kessler Institute for Rehab here in NJ. It didn’t take long to feel improvements that reached well beyond the muscle-strengthening, balance-increasing, core-engaging milestones. Just taking this pro-active step made me feel better. Not to mention the positive influence of having someone (a.k.a Liz) cheering me on for even the slightest improvements. We should all have someone who plays that role in life, dontcha think?

In addition to this twice a week cheer-lead gig, I have been part of the Kessler’s Wellness Program for PWMS and I can’t begin to tell you how it’s changed my life. It’s funny how the ability to learn is so contingent on timing and circumstance. (Considering my MS SoftServe mission you’d think I’d know that by now!)

The Cheerleader and The Cheered!

The Cheerleader (Liz Woods) and The Cheered (me)!

So it was at one of these sessions that a physical therapist (we’ll call him Joe, which is in fact his name!) talked to us about balance strategies. It was basic stuff that I hadn’t considered; like how to stabilize oneself by pressing the outsides of your feet to the ground. Smart right? Then he spoke about the assistive devices. In addition to balance and dizziness issues, I have intermittent bi-lateral foot-drop. i.e. I pick up my foot, my toes drop and then I do. It happens unpredictably on both sides and gets worse as I fatigue. This reality makes for some serious apprehension with every step I take. And even with the added insurance of a walking stick- I continue to fall. And every fall is a fall too many. (Especially when it’s in front of my daughter- that just sucks!) As far as assistive devices, I thought I knew what was out there. I had heard of the commonly used device – the one that sends an electrical signal down your leg prompting your foot to lift at just the right moment. I figured if things should get worse I know it’s out there. And after all, my foot-drop is intermittent and occurs both of my feet. What was I going to do? Wear a brace on both feet?

Yes… apparently I’m doing just that! When I learned about the variety of braces- each offering different degrees of assistance and all different degrees of unassuming, I realized I need to revisit this. So I did at my next therapy session. Liz sized me up, made a recommendation and sent me off to the brace clinic- also at Kessler.

While I waited for my appointment, I continued to doubt myself. Is this something I really need? I mean, I don’t have that bad a case of foot-drop… Well that feeling lasted for all of 10 minutes abruptly ending with my pre- and post- brace walk demo. As soon as I heard all the oohs and ahhs from the cluster of experts watching me from behind, I knew that this is going to be a huge improvement I my life. I hadn’t thought much about my apprehension in walking and how much energy I wasted on making sure I won’t fall.

My brand new assistive foot accessories!

My brand new assistive foot accessories!

When I took those babies home I looked and moved like a different person. I found an audience in my family ooh-ing and ahh-ing with every sashay & shantay. And while I was concerned about getting caught up in the feeling of “OMG, I have to wear these things to walk well?” I am completely distracted by the whole “OMG I can walk so well with these things.”

And they are oh so subtle. One might not notice unless that one happens to be on the ground and spots the carbonate strip running down the back of my calves. And who does that!?! :)

After 25 years of living with this totally-unpredictable, completely-incurable, constantly-changing disease I thought I had a pretty good handle on managing it. But managing one’s MS is not unlike a cat chasing the red laser pointer dot that disappears just as the paw is closing in on it. Apparently I’m gaining on it!

*If you don’t have a person in the house who has watched Sesame Street in the last 1o years then you probably aren’t singing this title like I am. And because I find the tune oh- so-necessary to properly express my enthusiasm watch this.

Surfacing~

I’ve been trying to come up with the words to describe this for months; though come to think of it, it’s probably more like a year. This inexplicable thing has been bouncing around my head, periodically coming together to make a sentence and then falling back into individual words that I can’t remember or feelings I can’t explain. It seems fitting to have this figured out before the year’s end. (Which happens to be moments away.)

So here goes:

For me, living with MS is a fluid experience. My changing abilities wash over me like the tide and leave me disoriented. My body defines and redefines itself with the ebb and flow of my disease and my emotional response is a balance of denial and strength. The current pulls me around as I’m dodging fears and rising to the challenges to keep moving forward. I search for solid ground to find perspective. But until I get there, I forget what normal is.

Each day rolls into the next with changes that are often very subtle. And after more than two decades with MS, I have learned to accept what is for the day, the week, the month. I don’t spend a lot of time examining the specifics of how I feel. I just cope. And part of that coping is to avoid looking at the big picture. While “I’m soaking in it,” I can’t see what may be obvious to others.

See how confusing this is? I feel like I’m contradicting myself! Ok, let’s back up a bit.

My symptoms fall into two categories. There are those that I’ve dealt with on a daily basis, since I was diagnosed. Many of them are manageable with my prescriptive cocktail, others I have learned to live with.  For the sake of the metaphor, let’s call those symptoms Barnacles. The second category consists of the symptoms that come and go and come and go. Let’s call those Shells. Oh wait, did I say two? There are actually three categories. The third is the attacks. (Okay, I could go all shark metaphor here, but won’t over-do it!) The sudden onset smacks me with an unexpected wave and leaves no question about what is or isn’t usual. And while I am afraid that some of these new symptoms may go barnacle, I rarely lose sight of who I am outside of the relapse.

So, here are some examples of the parasitic barnacles I live with. Including, but not limited to: foot drop, difficulty walking, dizziness, poor balance and hmmm, what are those other ones… oh yeah, incontinence and an inability to pee. How could I forget them!?! These tenacious little buggers have been clinging to me for so long that I can’t remember a time when they weren’t a part of my everyday.

So you ask, how does this fit in to the inexplicable-thing category? It’s those elusive shells. They roll in and roll out and as I chase them up and down the beach, the water overtakes me and my defensive denial kicks in. Leaving me even more dizzy than usual. When I finally resurface, I can’t tell where I am.

I’m getting lost in metaphor. Maybe a real example will better convey what I’m trying desperately to say.

This year I noticed that I couldn’t stand for very long. The amount of time required to load the dishwasher or heat up a microwave feast eluded me. And because it came on so gradually, I barely noticed it happening. As the months went by, my standing time continued to decrease and all of a sudden I stopped and scratched my head. Have I always been this way?

From the outside this must seem ridiculous. How could I not know that this debilitating symptom is out of the ordinary? As I speculate further, I find myself standing in moving water. The next thing I know I’m submerged in a tide that was at my ankles a few moments earlier. And as the water touches my chin, I tread, trying to figure out who and where I am.

It’s usually my husband who reels me in. He helps me find perspective without lingering on the thoughts that are counter-productive in my coping. Realizing that this symptom isn’t a barnacle, set off internal fireworks over the Hudson.*

So the year is at its end. The next one is imminent and as is the case for all of us, I have no way of predicting how the tides will turn. Maybe now that I have the words all together in one place, I will be less likely to go adrift again. Though I must say, denial, when used reasonably, can be a very comfortable flotation device.

*Oh, and btw, “my long-standing-ability” has greatly improved or “How I learned to stop worrying and love the Ampyra.” Does anyone get that reference?)

Loss(t)

I’ve had MS for 21 years, 6 months, 16 days, 19 hours and an undetermined number of minutes.  Of course this was only accurate for the brief moment when I typed it and now the number has changed – as has my experience with loss.

As the words Multiple Sclerosis rolled off my diagnosing doctor’s lips, my fear lingered on what I would lose. It was all I could hear. From that moment on my future would be dictated by the loss de jour. With no menu-board telling me what I could expect to be served, I flinched not wanting to look forward. I began my 20s with undetermined, inevitable loss. And though my actual symptoms were slow to start… the loss (of security, confidence, constancy, steadiness, reliability, uniformity, evenness, permanence, solidity, stability, sure-ness) leaves me lost.

I lost my best friend 1 month, 9 days, 18 hours and an undetermined number of minutes ago, and that number is constantly changing. In all of my years of living with loss, nothing could prepare me to cope with losing her. It is a wound that will never heal. Like the scarring on my brain that doesn’t allow me to stand too long or walk too far, no neurons will compensate for the ones that have died. And while I will go on with my life, I have to relearn who I am without her. And I flinch not wanting to look forward.

My loss goes beyond physical limitations or the uncertainty I must embrace to keep going. My loss lives in the fear that I can’t be me because of all that isn’t here.

***

Life isn’t static. Everyday we all have new input, new experiences, new reactions and new understandings. For me, one day can bring multiple levels of change. Like the other day, I thought I would run an errand. We needed some miscellaneous items from the town stationary store and my daughter had some money burning a hole in her pocket that she felt sure would be much happier in the local toy store cash register. So we set off and I dismissed the question marks that always fill my head when I leave the house without Keith. Of course I can go pickup a few things with my daughter. What is more basic than a mom running an errand? Unfortunately my apprehension was validated. After finding a parking spot too far away, walking to the stationary store and the toy store around the corner, I was exhausted. I could barely stand up as Madeline raced around trying to decide what her spending money would allow her to take home. I counted down the minutes I had left on my feet and alerted her to our pending departure. In a quick moment she made her decision and purchased a bear made entirely out of recycled plastic bottles. But as we started to leave she had changed her mind and wanted to return it. I’m not sure how I would have handled it, had I had the energy to make a reasonable decision. All I knew was that if we didn’t leave the store soon, I wouldn’t make it back to the car. After explaining that I couldn’t stand anymore, an angry Madeline left, ran ahead of me and out of sight. Unacceptable behavior under any circumstances – but it left me stranded in inadequacy. I was unable to be a mom on the most basic level. Frustrated and deflated, I limped toward the car, silenced by the distance and my lack of ability.

Of course she knows that running away from me is wrong. Was she just the petulant child storming off because she didn’t get what she wanted?  Or was she running from the reality of my MS and how it impacts our everyday.

At home that night, Keith and I were discussing how we would talk with her the next day, and I was feeling lost and un-able on so many levels. It is so hard to be forced to look at the basic things I can’t do. It knocks me off of the optimistic determination that carries me on most days. And I’m flailing as I search desperately for a foot-hold.

Later, I im’d a friend venting my frustration and adding to my list of witnesses. He told me of when he was teaching his kids the importance of holding his hand. Saying he needs to hold their hand so that he doesn’t get lost. And if they separated, they would grab his hand and say “Daddy, you don’t want to get lost.” It wasn’t too far a leap to recognize that Madeline and I both need each other to be safe in the world and stable on the ground. Reminding me of the very recent memory of two dear friends who came to rely on each other in just that way.

This is the loss I feared, 21 years ago at my diagnosis. I left that toy store unable to keep my daughter safe. Watching her do what I can’t do, out of the realm of my protective arms. She, running from my MS, masked by anger and frustration about a bear, and I slowly follow, wondering who I am. And just now, as I type this on what would have been Linda’s 43rd birthday, I find her… I know what she would have said had she been here. And I know that her presence will always help me- be found.

advocating from within

advocate [v. ad-vuh-keyt; n. ad-vuh-kit, -keyt] verb, -cat⋅ed, -cat⋅ing, noun- a person who speaks or writes in support or defense of a person, cause, etc.

Living with a chronic illness can be challenging on so many levels. In addition to being physically and emotionally compromised, we have to step outside of it all and advocate on our own behalf.  Depending on the symptoms of the day and the emotional state that goes with them, it is often impossible to make the right decisions. Especially when we can’t always see clearly what is happening. And while many of us have family members who advocate for us, they too are experiencing the emotions of our coping and may not have a clear perspective of what needs attention. I’ve always said that in a perfect world we would all be assigned a “primary care advocate.” A person would guide us through our needs and provide solutions in a way that only someone not in the midst of the coping can do.

Last week I visited with my dear friend Linda who is fighting cancer and saw first hand the importance of having an advocate. We spent good time together, recounting special moments and creating new ones. I had no specific agenda for the trip. It was great to be with her and offer more than virtual love. I held her hand, kissed her face and listened to the messages that can’t be sent via the phone or computer.  I hoped to make her laugh and she me as if there was nothing but the two of us in the room.  For this to happen we would need to find moments for her to be pain free. Linda goes from serious pain to happy and adorable in the flick of a switch. It’s incredible to watch. Of course the same happens in the reverse when that antagonist re-enters the room.  This battle is constant. There was never a long enough window of time for her to think clearly. With no opportunity to look at the big picture, how could she represent?

I spent this first day attentive. Watching her press the button to send an extra surge of meds to relieve the increase in pain. All the while working hard to stay awake, get rest, care for her little one and eat. The latter of which is the hardest. She desperately needs to put on weight, but eating is very painful.  I kept reminding her to hit the button at the slightest discomfort and as a boost before and after meals. It’s amazing how hard it was for both of us to remember. Her expression was the prompt, but we looked for an earlier cue to preempt the pain. It was already clear to me, how my being there was helping beyond the distraction of good company. But it wouldn’t be until the next day that I could really see the role I filled so easily.

Monday morning I joined Linda for her Dr.’s appointment. We were quite the pair. She – walking gingerly with her pain pouch in a bag over her shoulder, tube running in. Me- with my walking stick, deliberate in my navigation while holding her arm. Moving around the hospital, it was unclear who was supporting whom. Of course the reality is we were both giving and receiving in complementary ways. Like the last piece in a puzzle that didn’t look like it would fit, but once in place completed the picture perfectly.

When we made it to her meeting with her nurse practitioner, Linda reported on her experience since her last visit including her pain level and how often she needed to hit the button.  I was surprised that her report didn’t match what I had witnessed the day before. She is a stoic, strong woman. I’ve watched her endure a lot more than most could handle. At first I hesitated to interrupt, but as the exam continued I knew I had to say something. When I did, her nurse suggested that they increase the pain meds and as Linda resisted, I saw myself.

I know the feeling of not wanting to increase my drugs for fear of the long-term implications. The thought of being reliant on medication- pills or liquid being pumped into your veins for the long haul is not an easy concept to digest. In Linda it looked more like a fear of submission or failure. So I questioned her nurse to say what I hoped Linda needed to hear. They were the words that soothed me when I had a similar struggle. “What dosage are other patients using?” As her nurse counted into double digits, I saw Linda’s face calm a bit.  It helps to have perspective. I was her advocate, moving in to that role with ease. A role that I could never be for myself.

During my most recent MS attack, my husband and I were discussing some “what now” options. During that conversation he told me things that he never had before. Apparently he had been living with a great deal of stress in his concern for me. I was commuting to NYC, working a full day at NYU and coming home too exhausted to function in a meaningful way. My worn-out self did not the best mommy make. He never mentioned his concerns before because he didn’t want to take the wind out of my sails. And my tendency to persevere in spite of it all prevented me from seeing the reality playing out in front of me. I’m glad Keith was there to show me what I needed to know. Looking back I realized that this wasn’t the first time I needed someone else to point out what couldn’t be clear in my mind.

It took way too many times kissing the NYC streets for me to recognize that a walking stick would help me to navigate my world more safely. The foot-drop combined with a shot of dizziness is the perfect cocktail for scraped knees and a humiliated ego. But I always assumed that if I needed a stick, my Dr. would tell me. This was my frequent retort to my mom’s gentle (yet sledgehammer-like) inquiries.  A walking stick felt like a progressive failure to me. As I waited for my doctor’s recommendation- I endured more falls in denial. When Keith suggested considering it, I couldn’t ignore the evidence anymore. I knew intellectually the benefit it would provide, but I feared how it would speak to me, about myself. I didn’t know who I would be with a walking stick and I was not interested in meeting that person. Keith helped me move past it. He suggested that I treat using the stick as a social experiment. (Just How Nice are Those New Yorkers?!) And that concept empowered me to go forth.

The irony of this whole scenario is that when I went to my doctor’s office shortly after this decision, he questioned why I was using the cane. He said based on my exam there is no evidence of need. I couldn’t believe something that took so much emotional fortitude to accept was being questioned by my doctor -who, btw is a premiere MS neurologist worldwide. Nothing showed up in my exam to indicate this need. Of course he couldn’t recreate walking 3 blocks, become fatigued and dizzy and have my foot-drop kick in. I guess more detailed questioning would have unearthed this evidence.  But as they say, the doctor treats the disease and the nurse treats the person. After that appointment, I witnessed again, what I already knew.

With 21 years of MS under my belt, I like to think I’m an effective advocate for myself.  In many cases I am. Though my mind must play a fragile balancing act. And as I struggle to navigate past the information that fuels my fears of  “what if” I know I’m running the risk of missing something that could be very helpful. With Linda I felt inexplicable strength based my own experience in the doctor’s office. Knowing what my needs are, I easily stepped into the role of advocate for her. And in her, I saw myself. I was that patient – from the outside looking in and I knew exactly what to do.

Finding Familiarity in Fatigue

For the past few months I’ve been answering questions on multiplesclerosiscentral.com. It’s a excellent place to find information and connect to others with MS who have similar concerns. Serving in this capacity has been enlightening, not only in the satisfaction of using my 21 years experience with the disease to answer questions; but also for the learning opportunity it provides. Recently I wrote to someone who is unsure of her diagnosis, but is experiencing fatigue. After addressing her specifics, I linked her to my blog essay on the subject and in doing so took the opportunity to reread it, as well as the comments.

Out of the 100 essays posted on this blog I think that the responses to this one resonate the most. So, I’m taking a moment to invite more of you to read this post, discussing what is perhaps the most challenging MS symptom to live with and explain to others. The comments on this post invigorate me to continue writing in order to explain to all who want to know what living with Multiple Sclerosis is like, as well as for those who already know what it’s like, but just need reaffirmation.  As always- your comments are most valuable to me.

“this” ability

It’s official.

With a June exacerbation my perspective changed. The dizziness intensified and I was unable to move without finding myself in a turbulent ocean. It was as if waves were pushing me in both directions, a sensation that is by no means easy to describe. That, in concert with a number of other challenging symptoms, landed me on 5 days with methylprednisolone- the classic treatment for an MS episode. One that I became all too familiar with since long before disease modifying drugs hit the market. With a synthetic burst of energy,  a convenient side effect, I celebrated my 41st birthday and 21st anniversary of my MS diagnosis in one day. And for once, a side-effect was appreciated… allowing me a state of being beyond my normal abilities. I milked it for all it was worth- went out to eat for every meal and enjoyed many moments on this significant day that fell in the middle of this unfortunate episode. And beyond the steroid boost, I thrilled as the numbers grew on my facebook-birthday-fundraiser for MS SoftServe.  Matching the frequency of my accelerated heartbeat, each one of my digital re-introduced friends wished me well. A positive reinforcement only known in modern social-networking. And as is the case after any all day party, I was left tuckered-out with a virtual house to clean.  Coming off the 5-day intravenous treatment was more challenging than any post-party metaphor could convey.  When all of my natural adrenalin rushed to the empty space that the steroids left, my system crashed. For over two weeks I slept and slept and slept. I’ve had many experiences with the steroid shock treatment and none of them ended like this.

When the neurological dust settled, I was left with considerable movement-based-dizziness in addition to the other symptoms I carry like luggage wherever I go. But this was different than the episodes that have preceded it and not only because of the symptoms that are now constant. In this case I realized something that I hadn’t known before.

The post-episode halt left a space for conversation and understanding at new levels. A system reboot- a defrag- reconnecting lost signatures.  Apparently every day that I left my house with foot dropped, vestibular disturbed, movement compromised, he feared the worst. This most optimistic man that I married feared that I wouldn’t make it through my work-day without injuring my self. And every night that he was teaching and late commuting- he heard in my voice the exhaustion that prevented me from being the mom I needed to be while he wasn’t yet home. This drive in me to persevere no matter what MS threw my way, was in fact weakening the fortitude that kept my foundation strong. My perseverance was compromising every thing and every one.  I don’t know where to start in this long list of ironies.

So through his eyes, I was able to see that working every single day for 7 hours plus the commute to NYC was not evidence of how much I could endure- how MS didn’t own me. But was instead the ingredients that compromise my ability to function at the level that all three of us deserve. I wasn’t spitting in the face of this disease, I was giving it control over the wrong parts of my life… and by taking myself out of the most visible realm of accomplishments “…and I work full time too!” I could concentrate on the most important one… being at home and awake for my family.

And so, as the papers are finalized and my role with the university completed, I’m finding new abilities in this label. My limited energy is now made available to my magical daughter and my dear husband. We all deserve more than what wasn’t left at the end of the day. And with that I’m learning that this ability- is the greatest of all.

I look forward to finding more than I expected with this “official” disability. Something that could only to be realized when I stood still long enough to see what they had been pointing at all along.

//

Find Me In Fatigue

Fatigue is hands down the most difficult MS symptom to experience and explain. While all invisible symptoms defy description, finding words to convey the feeling of this type of exhaustion is not easy. Because everyone thinks they understand “being tired,” it is particularly helpful to draw a line of distinction between that and this experience. So I will try to do that… words are my greatest ally, after all.

When I was first diagnosed in 1988, long before any disease modifying drugs were available to treat MS, I knew full-on fatigue. This neurological experience isn’t anything like being tired. It consumes you in its grip. It’s long fingers wrap around you and suffocate your being- robbing you of your sense-of-self. Each and every cell struggles to endure and with that, is a disconnect from all that defines you. It lives in you no matter what you do. It doesn’t even require physical movement to take hold. Just sitting and reading a book or playing scrabble- any level of concentration would be fuel for exhaustion. My memory of my time with fatigue is not one I care to revisit. It was a time with no hope, filled with fear of what role this thief of my personality would play. Trapped in side my worn-out body, I could not imagine what would become of the effervescent me.

And to make matters more challenging, I was surrounded by people who tried to tell me that they “get tired too” making me more isolated and angry than ever. Living with MS is a tough ride, but having to constantly explain yourself, defend yourself even, makes it even harder. Copaxone has allowed me to live life mostly free of fatigue, so I was caught completely off guard last Sunday when it reared its ugly head.

That day I pushed myself hard. Not by working out, or riding the Lifecycle at the gym of which I wish I was a member….. just by going to the local art fair searching for that elusive hand-crafted mug. Walking around Art in the Park (ing lot) at the Montclair Art Museum was enough to do me in.

But let’s talk mug… a welcomed distraction! This mug of mine needs to be special. It’s the one that feels perfect as I wrap my fingers around it and support it with my palm, warmed by the contents. The one that deserves to bring that ideal cup of java to my anxious lips. Yes.. I wax poetic here. I love coffee… and I need my perfect mug to have and to hold. My last victim found its fate as a hippity-hop was flung across the yard and tore it from my hands, tragically taking that rubber vehicle’s life with its own. The shards of mug sliced through it in a feat of physics I would love to replay in slow motion. A sad day for both me and Madeline. :(

So, I excitedly arrived at the fair, the very one that brought that perfect predecessor to my home. With walking stick in hand; daughter, sister, nephews and parents near by, I descended. I had it all planned out. I would do a quick jaunt to assess where my new coffee vessel would be adopted and rejoin the family. Of course in spite of separating myself from the group, I couldn’t quite achieve the speed and agility I hoped for, and couldn’t put my finger on the ideal mug. I ran in to the posse just in time for shirt-painting, tie-dying, music-listening, food-wanting, gift-buying, bathroom-going, arm-tugging, constant-whining and thus my chances of finding my soul-mate-mug were diminishing by the second. But my family was on board. They knew how important this was. They each were given a description of said item and an assignment of what to do if they found it. Cell phones are very important in this type of mission. Phone messages with pics of mugs from across the park were employed to avoid excess travel! Anything to shorten my trip was appreciated.

Finally I found one and though it wasn’t perfect, it was close enough. I bought it and took one more trip with Madeline to get her friend’s birthday present, and then a second stop at the bathroom, and finally to meet the rest at the gang at Applegate Farm stand for that much desired-dairy-destiny. (can’t resist hyphenated alliteration!)

Unfortunately my effort to get there was thwarted by the entire physical breakdown of my overly-taxed body. To the outside observer I must have appeared to be a cast member of the Night of the Living Dead; dragging my leg, lunging myself forward to find a momentum. I suppose holding a walking stick and Madeline’s hand helped to dispel that image. But from the inside it was all black eyes and decaying body. I dragged myself to the chair that all ushered me to, and sat.

And when I got home, I sat. Unable to think or even be… stifled under the greatest of exhaustion that compromises my entire self. Sleep and depression weren’t far behind…. a delirious slumber filled with the fear of what I will be when I wake up.

Luckily with Copaxone fatigue is only reached when I push myself far beyond what is reasonable- it is no longer the MS symptom that underscores everything, found after walking 20 feet. Instead it is only found when I expect to be able to do more than my body will allow. Usually that is a lot more than 20 feet, but it falls short of a trip around a festival, a museum or around the park. (and you can forget the Bronx Zoo!) You’d think I’d know that line of demarcation by now… maybe it’s my optimism, maybe denial. Whatever the case may be, I often find myself in this zombie like state disappointed I can’t do something that seems like a “no-brainer”. And thus, I am left with the realization that there is a solution for these scenarios- and it’s that next step that I’ve been avoiding for some time. Can a scooter be as empowering as my walking stick is? I hesitate to type it, but I believe I know the answer.

When I awoke I realized a change of scene would do me good. So I called my neighbor to join her for a coffee. Her kitchen is adorned with mugs that feel great in hand and reinforce this journey with a line drawing and simple message – because in spite of it all Life is Good! That and the great conversation she always supplies is just what the dr. ordered, Thanks Susan! :)

Thanks for reading.

ag