Catching a curve ball.

Its funny how life can throw you a curve ball, knocking you off your feet with something you never saw coming.

But once it has you look back, and can see all the little clues, all the hints and suggestions pointing towards it, you wonder how it took you by surprise at all.

I can think of four of these incidents in my life. The relationship breakdown with my eldest's father, the diagnosis of my son with Autism, and the diagnosis of my daughter with aspergers. In each of these once the dust had settled, the shock had subsided and the immediate period of 'coping' has passed, there was opportunity to sit back and reflect.

I'm sure many if not most people reading this have had a similar moment of quiet, accepting resignation, where you take stock and adjust plans to suit. It's never easy, but fighting against such things that cannot be changed doesn't help. Only acceptance allows some form of healing and progress to be made.

If you have never had one of these moments of shock and acceptance, then I am happy for you, and hope with all my heart that you never find out what it is like.

The numerically adept among you will have noted I only listed three of the four. Given the nature of this blog I assume you can make an educated guess as to the fourth.

"I'm worried it's m.s"

My deepest fear voiced quietly as I sat on a hospital bed, my mum beside me, a pillar of calm.

I won't ever forget her face, the pretty young doctor, about six months pregnant with a delicate floral headscarf, smiled sadly at me as she nodded.

"That is what we are thinking, the next round of tests will confirm if it is or not."

I nodded slowly in understanding, and thanked her for her time. The next day is much of a blur.

Gathering my things, being discharged from the hospital. A jumble of conversations with family at my parents, the carefully upbeat phone calls to relations too far to tell face to face and going home, to my small bedsit, and the cold, sickening finality as the wooden fire door closed heavily behind me.

Telling my partner, was nothing short of causterizing pain.

I called him on Skype, sadly we are in different countries, something that will hopefully be rectified soon.

I had to tell him that his partner will never get better, that she will drop further into disability, that the plans we had of a seeing the off beat track, exploring the nature and peace of the countryside, a holiday walking along the coasts of indonesia, so many whispered hopes, may now not be possible. May require a chair, or sticks but not walk far.

He took it well, supportive, and calm. I will never be able to thank him enough for his reaction that day.

I had hoped to run a marathon when I turned thirty, to mark 15 years since my mum completed that race, 15 year old me crossing the line beside her, having walked the course with her after she sprained her knee just six miles in.

A TRUE inspiration that day, that despite pain, and injury, she would carry on, she would cope, and complete.

Mum and I have talked a lot since I became unwell, slowly the clues have become clear, rising into view like shipwrecks pulled from from a murky sea.

Tiredness, more extreme than is usual for a mother of young children. The fact that sometimes I could not be woken, or would surface for mere moments before sleep claimed me again.

Shaking limbs, odd twitches and shudders, intermittent since my teens, but increasing in frequency, regularity and strength.

The x-rays and tests at 16, when pins and needles would coat every inch of my skin for anything between minutes and days.

Stress, they had concluded, or sleeping funny, nothing to worry about.

Then just over a year ago my already poor balance was getting worse.

Eight months ago it manifested as vertigo, where even the slightest movement would result in a stumble, a fall, or sickening nausea.

"take these and if its not better come back in a week"

I didn't go back.

It wasn't better, but it had improved to the point where rolling over in bed no longer resulted in projectile vomiting.
It took 2-3 months for it to clear completely, and in fact it never did, not completely. Moving suddenly made the room spin, and I fell more frequently than ever before.

But that's to be expected isn't it?

When you're tired?

I must admit I wonder what would have happened if I'd gone back to the doctor after a week.

Would I have known sooner?

Would I want to have known sooner?

Not really, in all honesty.

Until it severely affected my life, ignorance was for the best I think.

Now I sit here in my local pub, at two in the afternoon, with a pint of coke, a packet of crisps, and a roaring wood stove warming my tired and aching legs.

Acceptance is coming. Its not here yet, I still cry, worry, panic, mourn the loss of some dreams and stare blankly at the wall.

But I am not fighting the truth.

I am seeking the positives.

And right now a positive, is a drink, a packet of crisps, and a warm fire.

On a November Tuesday afternoon.

- Cookie