Lifestyle: The Darkness

Published by: on Monday July 30th, 2012


Tonight, I am beyond exhaustion.  I am typing with my eyes closed because I can’t keep them open.  I forgot to take the medicine for my spasms today.  I took it about an hour ago, and the spasms are finally beginning to subside.  I can only think of sleep.

I know I have to make that long walk to the bedroom.  It is only thirty feet away, but it looms before me like a marathon.  I will have to try to stand up long enough to brush my teeth.  I will grab the handle by the bed.  I use it because I need something for balance while I get into bed.  I will stand there – holding on – willing my right leg to cross the huge chasm of one foot.  Will it work?  Can I shift to one side or the other?  How can I make it happen?  I am so tired.

I try lurching, so my foot will end up on the bed.  It works.  Tonight, it works.  I am so relieved.  I can be so weak that it takes several tries before I succeed.  I am more and more tired with each attempt.  If I move a bit, change the angle, push a little harder – maybe it will happen.  So far, I haven’t fallen asleep on the floor.  Of course, that would be a problem because while I may be able to get down on the floor, I could never get up.

I happen to be tired tonight, but the physical battle is the same every night.  I have Multiple Sclerosis and know that each day leaves me a tiny bit weaker because of the existing damage.  I know the day will come that I will need assistance.  I face an end of life that will leave me completely helpless.

Tonight, I am tired and sad.  As you might expect, Multiple Sclerosis contributes to depression.  It doesn’t normally get to me, but I am half asleep.  I drift off, momentarily, only to be awakened by the reality of gravity.  I know I have to get up, so I do.

However, even now, it is okay.  I know that tomorrow will come.  I know that I will be better tomorrow.  That is the nature of hope.  That is why I put my sadness and loss on a shelf where it belongs.  I envision myself getting up and moving toward the bedroom.  I will think of the satisfying moment when I I pull the covers up and fall asleep before I can finish the thought.

I will focus on tomorrow.  I know the sun will rise, and I will be ready.


The day has dawned.  I open my eyes.  What will be working today?  How will I get up?  I assume the position and push hard.  Wow.  I’m up, on my knees and crawling to the edge of the bed.  I’m off and, well, not running but, at least, walking.

I feel fine.  I feel rested.  That is always a good sign.  No headache.  That is an even better sign.  It’s time to get going.  I survived the assault – again.  I know it’s just one day at a time, but the day is mine, and I will take it.  Good morning.