Office spoons

There's a cute little analogy that goes around about how to pace yourself with MS. It for some reason equates your energy to spoons - every day you start off with the same number of spoons, and you use them up throughout the day - getting dressed is a spoon, making breakfast is a spoon, going to get groceries is five spoons, and so on. Once the spoons are gone, you have to wait til they come back.

So if you plan ahead, you can have your cake and eat it to, so to speak. You just make sure there are enough spoons left to do what you want in the day.

Aha. One problem. With MS, our drawerful of spoons is like the drawer of spoons in the office. You know, the one that one day can barely close because of all the spoons, and the next day has only one bent one in the corner, and for some reason, a pickle fork.

With MS, there's a secret someone taking away and adding spoons. So, though we may think we can do this and that when we wake up, we may go to the drawer and find our expectations have to dramatically change. We have to adapt, every day, to what we find in that drawer.

It's hard to explain this to people without MS (PWOMS). But most people understand about those office spoons.

Being a bad patient

I've never been what anyone would call "cooperative". I'm far too mulish and convinced of my own intelligence to go along with anything without some resistance.

But around the MS thing, I do try and be a good patient.

Because I worked in primary care, and I know well how bad patients get treated. Non-compliant patients get treated like scum. No one asks if the patient had good reasons for not taking the prescribed medication - or if anyone ever asked him. No one likes the patient who misses appointments (in primary care in Ontario, three such misses without good explanation meant you got dropped off the doctor's list. But who determines if the explanation is good?)

Patients who argue with their doctors get branded with the "personality disorder" moniker and then get pushed to the bottom of the list.

So, as a nurse, I've always tried to be endlessly polite and then do my hollering AFTER I got off the phone. I take my medications (mostly) like a good girl, and try to be responsible about self-care.

Today I nearly lost it, though.

I was booked for a pelvic ultrasound for this morning at 9:50. They told me to show up 15 minutes early, but I'm wise and didn't. I drank water on the way so I wouldn't be frantic with the need to pee. I'm not pregnant but I suspect looming fibroids and my MS has tinkered with my bladder sensation and control.

I walked through the maze of the local children's hospital, where I sat and waited for my number to be called. It was. At that point I was able to register. I went back and sat down. And waited.

I was surrounded by pregnant women, alternately breathing and crossing their legs. If you've never been pregnant, you can't possibly appreciate what it's like to wait for a pelvic ultrasound. You are nervous, want to see the baby, and the same baby is tapdancing on your filled bladder.

With my middle child, I was so full by the time they took me, they told me I had placenta previa - when really I had too much pee in my bladder.

So I was sending soothing and understanding glances at the pregnant woman while gradually getting more and more uncomfortable myself, as the HOURS passed.

Eventually  - a full hour + after my appointment and with three more people to go before I could be seen - I couldn't bear it any longer. I went to the desk and politely told the lass that I had to go (in both senses of the word). She whispered she'd try to rebook me. Much was made of the fact that I'd already registered - perhaps that gets fed back to some assessment?

Anyway, my rebooked appointment is at the end of APRIL. In four months. Surely to God they had an opening before then. Not that I'm in any hurry to recreate this experience.

You can't tell me that wasn't punishment for me leaving.

And now I'm mad.

Mad Sow, Mad Cow

Some of you blog readers may wonder why I refer to the blog as "Musings of a Mad Sow". No, I don't think of myself as an angry pig, though, honestly, if I gain any more weight...
No, it's all about Denny Crane on Boston Legal. Right before I was diagnosed, I got hooked on the show, particularly enjoying when Denny would say something completely irrational and then gesture to his head and say, "Mad Cow", as if that explained everything.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zz0H-Py2rjc&feature=related

One of the signs of MS in me was the loss of the barrier between my interior and exterior monologue. You know, that inner voice that says inside your head, "This guy is a jerk", while on the outside you smile sweetly and say all the right things.
I was in management, so my straight talking almost led to me being escorted off the property
It was quite agonizing, really. I'd realize that my mouth and brain had betrayed me and try to retrieve or patch things up, but often it was simply too late. So, since MS had the right initials, I decided to try to redirect my mouth by pointing to my head and saying "Mad Sow".
Oh how I wish it would work.
For the most part, now that I am less stressed and have slept adequately, my mouth is under better control, but it's not anywhere near perfect. I am much more intolerant of foolishness than I used to be formerly and need to remind myself that being part of any bureaucracy is NOT a good plan. And yet somehow I keep ending up being part of them.
And my mad sow keeps putting her little hooflet in.
Like many of us with invisible disease, my physical symptoms are small - except for numbness and an inability to walk further than a block or so. But the mental ones are glaring, at least to me.
I was "gently reared" as they say, and I cringe at being thought rude. My dad didn't raise me that way. But wherever those lesions nestle, they've liberated my tongue and tied up my Miss Manners. Maybe I need to follow that old African tale and dig a hole and yell my true feelings into it. Maybe then the sow would be appeased.

http://www.documentingreality.com/forum/f2/post-picture-angry-pig-72235/index3.html

Somehow I doubt it.

Buff but bummed

Okay, so I've been working out like crazy for a month now.  I've earned praise from my automated coaches on Wii Active ("Keep this up and you'll be coaching ME soon!"), I am now familiar with the elliptical downstairs and have managed to get to three bars into the "weight loss" category - I've even developed considerable arm muscle mass and slimmed my legs.  My blood sugars rock. My body moves without complaining too much and my balance has improved.
So why oh why am I spending the REST of my days in sleep or sluggish brain death? I should be getting peppier as I go, as I lose weight, gain muscle - but instead I slump and collapse after lunch, sleep for hours, wake for dinner, sleep more.

And worse, despite the muscles, lifting groceries is still so difficult. Doing housework seems beyond me.
I know my body is getting in shape, but something in it isn't getting the memo. Although I can see slight improvements to stamina, I'd expect more after 30-60 minutes of exercise almost every day for weeks.
All I can hope for is that with cooler weather, all this work will show. And nap to extremes now.