Category Archives: Dizziness

These are entries where I discuss my experience with the MS Symptom of dizziness which began in December of 2007.

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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.

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Stress Begets Stress Begets Stress when living with MS

Isn’t it annoying that stress has a negative impact on our health? I mean if we’re already dealing with emotional and mental strain, we clearly need endorphins not ulcers! Why isn’t there an immuno-modifier that can address this issue? And since we’re talking about lacking immune systems, let’s talk about stress and MS, because that combination is truly unjust. When you have stress and MS, it begets more stress and more MS, leading to even more stress and more MS! I pause to throw a dirty look at who or what ever is behind that serious misjudgment in human design…

(Want more? Click!)

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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?)

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Try to Remember~

When I took my daughter to her first singing lesson it all came rushing back. As she moved through her warm up scales, I leafed through the sheet music she had selected. For her, the songs of Wicked were a no brainer; she had just learned them at her theater camp this past summer and she already knew the words. Singing show tunes after scales was not something I had to Try (hard) to Remember. While watching her I remembered me- the pre-MS me- and “this ability” that didn’t change after my diagnosis.  It was here all along.

When I was a girl the music of Broadway was always vibrating through those cheesy fabric speakers on the console that sat on our green shag rug and took up no less than 6 feet of horizontal space. My parents loved this music and they played the albums until the grooves wore out. (For those of you under 30, that is a reference to the vinyl discs from olden times.) This comes as no surprise being that my mom’s dad (GP Aaron) was smitten with the musical and my mom grew listening to the  score that I knew so well.

Pippin, A Chorus Line and The Fantasticks were the soundtrack of my childhood. My sister and I knew all the words to all the songs and danced around the living room singing them at the top of our lungs. Though we only went to a handful of Broadway shows (A Chorus Line, Annie, La Cage aux Folles and of course Cats) that music was the fiber of my original family. And to this day my sister and I will break into song when a word prompts us, much to our husbands’ chagrin. 😉

In addition to a love of music those shows taught me some very valuable lessons. The first and perhaps most timely, was from A Chorus Line. “Hello 12, Hello 13, Hello Love” was a great conversation starter about the facts every pre-teen wants to know but is afraid to ask. La Cage introduced me to transvestism, an understanding made more complete a few years later when I saw Rocky Horror Picture Show. (Also a musical!) I recited the poetry of TS Eliot to a tune and learned about the travesty of war diluted by dance and song. And I’ll always remember the tiny play in a tiny theater on Sullivan Street where I found an instruction manual for sneaking around your parents to be with that first love. (Now that one really spoke to me!)

In spite of my compromised self image I continued to enjoy singing in the years that followed. When I entered high school, I immediately joined the choir and a year later auditioned successfully for both the acappella and treble groups. Of course by this age I could no longer find the reckless abandon that my living room afforded me. I was firmly positioned at level-8 on the insecurity scale of 1 to 10 [10 being most insecure :)]. And even acceptance into these advanced choirs didn’t help me feel more self-assured. So I took singing lessons hoping to find confidence. Clearly the issue would more likely have been resolved on a the couch and not next to a piano. Wow, I hadn’t considered that self-esteem indicator until I wrote these words. (note to self: call therapist!)

It wasn’t until I moved out of my house that I realized that not everyone grew up with a love of Broadway musicals. It’s funny how that works. We take for granted what we were raised with, assuming it’s standard fare. It was never more evident than when I was hanging out with college friends and after someone said “One” I launched into a very loud “….singular sensation, every little step…”  (crickets) Not the harmonic response I had expected. Just a silence filled with the wide-eyed looks and lifted eyebrows punctuated by an “alrighty then.” But all the while I could hear Grandpa Aaron singing in my ear; a voice of approval for this mutual love that he passed down to his daughter and she to hers.

In the 22 years that followed I never thought of singing again. Not once. Maybe it was because I was distracted by my MS can’t-do-list which was growing and after all, singing never held a strong position on my can-do- list.

But recently, I’ve learned that I can do more “performance” than I could even have imagined. I now host an MS radio show, write a blog and am the outspoken founder of the non-profit, MS SoftServe. Once its live it will be the first individualized learning website that grew out of the Master’s degree I never thought I was smart enough to get. Ironically, with MS I have found an expertise that has ultimately given me a confidence I never knew possible. And it only took me 23 years to get to here. 😉

Madeline and I are sharing our lessons. Every week we sit in the spotlight of a tiny room with carpet on the walls; singing a song that doesn’t require a stabilizing arm, a walking stick or the ability to be balanced. And my limitations are left outside the soundproof door.

Finding my voice as 42 year-old woman, living within the restrictions of MS for over two decades, is empowering.  I’m no longer afraid to get up in front of that audience and I have finally found, that something special that Madeline and I can share; one that doesn’t ask more of me than I can handle. And wouldn’t you know it- it was there all along. After all of these years I can now see that I am the “one” I’ve always sang about in a song that transcends time.

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I Can’t Wait ’till My Colonoscopy!

A month ago I started experiencing a problem that had nothing to do with MS and I can’t even tell you how exciting that is. I generally steer clear of scatological talk (cause lets face it, it’s disgusting!) but for the sake of this discussion I must explain that my “problem” brings to mind a Niagara Falls metaphor.

Having symptoms that change as fast as Facebook status updates, I’m very aware of what I feel when and for how long. After five days with this unfortunate experience, I went to my GP. She sent me for blood tests and x-rays and then to a gastroenterologist who sent me for a cat scan, and now I have a colonoscopy on the calendar. Apparently I have “mild, non-specific swelling in the lymph nodes of my abdomen and groin” (isn’t groin an unpleasant word…kinda like spleen or bile). So I’m curious what is wrong and hope that it has something to do with my abdomen sporting the pregnant-chic look; but the investigation and not knowing doesn’t faze me. Being poked, prodded, tested and schlepping all over town for the right specialist to bring test results for reassessment isn’t foreign to me. And I have no doubt I will be fine. But the surprising part of this experience isn’t the blasé optimism I’ve so easily found. No. The part of this that has me sitting with my jaw slack-and-agape is that this is the first time in my adult life that I’ve had a health concern that isn’t MS related.

As a woman who has been living with this “nobody knows why” disease, I have learned to accept what is, and not throw my hands up in the air with every new symptom. But look at me now! I have films and digital renderings that correlate with my symptoms. Did you follow that? I have symptoms that actually reflect what is going on in my body. Look! It’s here, here and here on my catscan! This is a totally new experience for me. MS is an amorphous disease. It’s often hard to describe a symptom and it can’t be pinpointed on a scan. While MRIs are an amazing diagnostic tool, they don’t provide a map to the symptoms that impede my ability to function everyday. No one looks at my annual MRI and says “Hey, this scar here is why you can’t walk far; this one is why you are incontinent and have regular bouts of pain and this is the pesky little guy that makes you dizzy all the time.”

So, here I am, reclining on my flexible office chair with my hands behind my head, smiling. Of course I can deal with this. It is actually fun. But in the midst of this bliss I find myself glancing around to make sure no one is looking at me; sitting with the sad, pointless speculation of what my life could have been had this been my first major health issue. Of course I shake it off and look to the more positive aspects of being me, while trying not to lament my summer reality that I can’t really leave the house unless it becomes unseasonably cool, that I’ve been taking so many medications for the last two decades that I have to carry around those little plastic reminder cases and that I struggle with the fear of the unpredictability of doing errands alone.

I take a moment to mourn this loss and then I go back to the bliss of a health problem that will very likely be resolved. And while I’m there I breakout the list of things that make my life full and fabulous. Cause lucky me! I got a bunch of those. And at this moment, the best part is that I will count down the days until my colonoscopy when I will likely learn exactly what is wrong with me and how to fix it.

I am so excited.

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“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.

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The Language of Motion ~

Most people move without thinking much about it. The turn of the head, the lifting of a foot, crossing a room to get the newspaper- each done with the ease and brilliance of all the body’s systems working in concert to achieve a simple goal. So when that which is involuntary becomes impossible – it affects more than the nerves and muscles that are working hard to regain their normal role. It is more than that which can be scanned or examined. And while explorations of the mind will get you closer- it remains untouchable. In fact many of the nuances are unclear to the person who houses the defective control system that is known as MS.

So when the dizziness I’ve been living with since December 2007 began to increase, I didn’t think too much of it. Every day brings about a different experience of how I interpret and move in the world since that winter episode a year and a half ago. While I may wake up dizzy-free, the sensation is usually found not long after by moving in ways that are subtle and hard to predict. It has become the most visible challenge of my 21-year MS ride. One that forced me out of the closet with a walking stick- in to the role of an MS educator of all those who didn’t otherwise know. And while I have found surprising comfort in that new character – I’m constantly reinventing the part, rewriting my lines and finding my place in a play that is different every day. And in this re-staging, I consider motion.

The language of motion changes in me at every moment, in what is spoken out loud in my movements, or silently in the evolution of my awareness. It is a constant monologue. I have limits in how I move in the room that are exaggerated when I step out my front door. But the script of my inner workings know no bounds. So while at most times I can’t remember the lines required to make a simple gesture easily performed by the entire audience, I soar on the inside and thrive in my limitless awareness and understanding.

As I take my fifth steroid IV treatment, for an attack that crossed my 41st birthday/ 21st anniversary with MS, I wonder how fluent I will be, and how much my dialect has changed. With these high doses coursing through my veins, I find synthetic energy that is both wonderful and frightening. I’m no longer searching for the words and expressions to make simple movements across the room. And while the dizziness remains, I search for an interpretation that will allow me to get back to where I was before this episode. Though I know I must also consider more challenging thoughts.  I may need to start with a blank script and  a different role in this new production.

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Of Course Amy Can Ride a Bike~

When I was a child, my mom read the Astrid Lindgren book “Of Course Polly Can Ride a Bike” to my sister and me. It was a story about a little girl who was not old enough to consider a bike sans training wheels and on her birthday she “borrowed” her neighbor’s, only to crash it at the bottom of a hill.   My sister and I would often use the dramatic quote: “Blood on my birthday!”…as it seems appropriate in so many of life’s situations. 😉 When I was pregnant with Madeline, I bought her the book so that she too could reference this moment and share a wink with her Aunt Leslie and me.

Today, after weeks of trying to adjust to the reality of myself in a scooter for the longer jaunts that I am incapable of walking, I finally decided I would try to ride my bicycle. With compromised balance,  dizziness, and muscle strength that won’t allow me to walk more than 10 blocks I had avoided it for over 5 years and had good reason to believe that it would not be on my plate of options this coming season. In fact, when Keith was cleaning out the garage I didn’t even recognize my bike. It wasn’t the old friend that I missed over the years… more so the stranger I didn’t want to admit I knew. It’s amazing how the mind copes with loss.

So, today (Sunday) Madeline asked if I would ride my bike with her and Daddy.  I said apprehensively that I would try. She promised she would teach me how to do it again and so we took the Mongoose off its high hooks and reintroduced it to gravity. As Keith pumped air in the tires I asked Madeline if it was strange for her to have to teach her mom these things. (Madeline often exaggerates her cuts and bruises, feigning sprains and possible broken bones in a way that recognizes how she observes my limitations that don’t go away) And she said “No Mommy, its not strange, I’ve been with you a very long time and I’m used to it.” And while Madeline has taught me many things, I knew that this experiment would stand out. I told her not to be too disappointed if I couldn’t do it, it would be no reflection on her abilities to teach. Of course I was really preparing myself – knowing that if I couldn’t do it, it was no fault of my own. Though I knew the disappointment would be great- and I feared it.

So, the bikes were ready and Madeline described how I should hop up on the seat and start pedaling. This foot goes up and pushes, while this foot goes down. She was clearly enjoying her role. Starting and stopping would be my greatest challenge, if in fact I was able to achieve balance required to maintain the motion.

And I did. And it was magnificent.

Madeline felt proud that her coaching was so effective and I basked in my ability to move faster than I had in recent memory on my own action. With each stop and start I found new confidence and the uncertainty pushed to the ground by each successive pedal. We rode to Edgemont Park and circled the perimeter twice, and though I was ready for a third we opted to use the energy for the ride home.

It was a curious feeling to cover so much ground and only be reminded of my limitations when I stopped. Getting off the seat my dizziness returned. It was almost alarming because for those moments as I propelled through the park with my husband and daughter, MS was incognito. I was in a public space acting out a part seamlessly…with no one knowing the truth but us three. What bliss.

I’m looking forward to taking this experience to Kessler when I’m assessed for a scooter. My limitations can’t be understood in a first glance. I can’t be pigeon-holed as a person who can’t walk and needs a motor to go the distance. Although at times it may be true,  I’m also the intrepid woman on her bicycle who blends in beautifully with her surroundings while enjoying the light breeze blowing past her face early on Sunday morning.

Thanks for reading~

ag

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MS Aware… ness

This past week  was MS Awareness week. It’s this week that all of the organizations dedicated to eliminating the disease and supporting the people who are living with it turn up the volume so the rest of the world can hear.   It’s got me thinking about the word- Aware.

I recently received an email from someone who was introducing themselves as so many do – with her diagnostic tale. She described her version of MS in reference to how it has progressed to a point that she is aware of it everyday. I immediately paused to consider.  It’s an interesting way to establish one’s level of disease impact.  So I try it on.

I was diagnosed at 20 years old with my identity still in its pupa stage. As a result MS is an integral part of me. The inseparable fiber of who I am. No matter what my symptoms are on a given day, if I’m breathing I am aware that I have MS. Of course my symptoms make it next to impossible to forget, but it’s much more than that.

It may be because part of my forming sense of self as a young woman was with the  knowledge that my future would require an ability to cope.  And because there was no way to determine what I’d be coping with, in both the immediate and distant future, I needed to learn to live with the not knowing. I think that was the most difficult aspect to wrap my head around.

In the beginning it showed itself mainly as fear. And not in the productive way that forces you to strategize and plan; but in an insidious way that derails everything. The kind of fear that takes every moment your mind is at rest and fills it with all the worse possibilities in scary detail, often with a dramatic score. (I was in film school after all- theatrics at the ready!)

But as the years went by this fear turned into something else. It had cadence and rhythm. What was imperceptible while in the midst of it,  is crystal clear in retrospect. And while I’ve struggled to come up with words that effectively describe it,  I  immediately recognize it in others who have been living with these two letters for a long period of time.

It’s a verve that underscores our coping. A long history that informs and ultimately empowers our uncertain future. Maybe I would have been that person no matter what my life map looked like.  Either way, I enjoy the resilience that I’ve earned. And relish in its constant application to what MS and life in general throws my way.

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And the other foot-drops…

On the way to see my beloved neurologist last week I was thinking about my decision in December 2007 to use a walking stick- not an easy one to say the least.

For quite some time I had been tripping over nothing- though I never thought too much about it. I was branded a klutz at a very young age and always chocked it up the tendency to a flawed gene I had inherited.  So when concerned family members asked me if I had considered using a cane- I defensively claimed that if I needed a stick, my doctor would certainly have recommended it. And thus the phantom obstacles continued to block my path, with many a bloody knee and an embarrassed moment on NYC subway system.  I glossed over the absurdity of this all-to-frequent occurrence with a bit of performance art.  Brief moments of flight followed by random explanations announced to everyone and no one. Look that sidewalk is uneven! It’s these shoes! These practical rubber soled shoes tripped me.

And so it went unchecked until December of 2007 when the dizziness  arrived, an unwelcome guest who would never get the hint. What I hoped would be temporary became a new way of life. It was my husband’s inquiry that made me realize I would need to reconsider what I’ve assigned as my neurologist’s responsibility. Keith’s question has more power than my original family and it forced me to realize that my life requires another “foot” on the ground- a tripod if you will to help me navigate the concrete jungle as well as the bumpy green suburbs.

This need was reinforced when I visited with the vestibular neurologist who when testing my stability marveled that I would consider walking without a stick.  Placing his own stick near his desk reminding me of Joe Gideon’s exam as the doctor and patient both had cigarettes hanging off their lips hacking away during his physical— only less ironic. (see All That Jazz)

So, where was I? Oh yes- my doctor’s visit. After the routine performance of move this, touch this, walk like this, tell me this- my Dr. said,

“What are you using a cane for?”

“To compensate for my foot drop” I say.

“Well foot-drop doesn’t show in your reflex test or in your walking test.” he said

“But it does show when I’m kissing the sidewalk!” I hadn’t thought quickly enough to say.

So I’m leaving his office wondering why my Dr. would question my decision – one that was very difficult to make- and serves an important purpose in my life. Could he have said “Tell me, why have you decided to use a walking stick?”

I know, I know. Dr.s treat diseases and  symptoms while nurses treat  people. How is it that they can’t be housed in one person? Is there is no time to teach it in those advanced degrees?  And to think that I thought that my Dr. would have recommended it, if he felt I needed it. In addition to having this disease, and living with the constant symptoms and their physical/emotional effect- I have to be my own advocate. Any large company would view that role as a conflict of interests.

Hmmmh. I miss Linda Morgante more than ever.