I am not certain if many people come around this place very often, but, on the off chance that you have stopped by and are wondering what I am up to these days:
http://amygoesninja.wordpress.com
Please follow along. This should be fun to watch.

I have terrible posture.  I make some of your grandmas look like super models when they sit next to me with my question mark of a spine.  I’m a perfect storm of bad habits and MS muscle atrophy.

This being “The Year I Get Better Instead of Worser” (no, you did not miss an announcement.  that was the announcement.), Eric encouraged me to see about getting a professional to take a look at where my muscles are and how we are doing after 17 years of MS.  He took me to see a fantastic physical therapist near our home and was kind enough to sit with me in the exam room while we waited to meet with him.

I sat there, all hunched over like some sort of bell ringer and Eric asks me if maybe I might feel compelled to sit straight when the doctor walked in.  I didn’t think long before answering, “Nope.  I’m putting it all out there.  How can he fix what I don’t tell him about?”

It was one of those statements where the brain immediately segues into how that very sentiment could be applied to faith walking with God.  Do I have faith that He intends good for me?  Do I have faith that He can heal all my brokenness?  Do I have faith that complete exposure won’t leave me destroyed?

How can He fix what I don’t acknowledge?

This is just me.  Checking in and shooting the bull over the journey.  Anybody else putting it all out there for the Great Physician?

When I started to do a list of 100 for this year, I decided to complicate it by giving it a narrowed topic.  This made the list become a real monster to write.  I cannot believe how much effort it was.  It was also a lot of fun.  I highly encourage anyone to attempt such a task.

If you see me with a smile on my face at any given time, it could be caused by any number of things. To help you in your sleuthing, here are 100 things that make me smile.

1. I always try to smile when I am leaving messages on people’s voicemail because I want the person I am calling to hear it in my voice and you can’t fake the sound of a smiling face.  You just can’t.
2. There are a lot of reasons why we got rid of the television.  One reason is Tyra Banks.  The day I sat through an entire episode of her show is the day I realized that I had a problem and needed to get off the junk.  The episode that I watched was about how to properly apply make-up.  Two lessons that stayed with me forever:  powder is a must AND smile when applying blush to just the apples of your cheeks.  I’ve tried to do it without smiling and it doesn’t work.  There’s no guessing where that apple is.  Sometimes, when I am putting on my make-up, I think with shame about how I came across this information and it is hard to smile, but I soldier on.  Tyra Banks makes me smile (to properly apply blush.)
3. Having all my nails the same length brings a smile.  My sister-in-law, Tonya, showed me this marvelous past time and I am happy every time I look at my hands and see that order has been restored in one small corner of my tiny kingdom.
4. Having sister-in-laws that I talk about nail care, among other things, with is smile inducing.  It is a real treat to know that I do not have a single in-law I would change.  Love, love, LOVE them all.
5. Walking into the laundry room right as the load in the washer or dryer finishes brings a grin.  This makes me feel like a homemaker ninja.
6. Picturing myself as a ninja righting the minor wrongs that occur in my loved ones lives is a fond daydream.  You’re just wrapping up a story with me about how your neighbor parks on your lawn and I’m lost in a fantasy about me as a ninja stealing his garden gnome.  I’m pretty sure that I’d be an awe inspiring ninja.
7. Floating in the pool always makes me happy.  I could just lay there all day.  Getting onto the float is graceless and mortifying, so once I’m locked in to that bad boy I am pretty committed.
8. A precisely made bed is heaven.  When I see a bed that is not just made, but made with pristine lines and a certain crispness, I feel immediately relaxed and smiley.
9. Vacuum lines on carpet invokes ordered peace.  Nothing says, “Top notch cleaning happened here” more than lines in the carpet from the vacuum.
10. While I’m on this train, I also LOVE a clean and dry kitchen sink.  Dry says that someone is on top of their game.  Don’t mess with that person.
11. Spell check make me happy.  I would have gone my whole life spelling it vaccum instead of vacuum if it wasn’t for spell check and its angry red squiggle lines.
12. Back scratchers are fantastic tools that you never appreciate until you get one as a gag gift and then it turns into a prized possession.  My back scratcher makes me unitchy and this makes me smile.
13. My husband smokes a pipe.  This makes me neither happy nor unhappy.  However, when he makes an especially brilliant point and then smugly clamps that pipe between his teeth for emphasis?  This makes me giggly.
14. Paying less than three dollars for an awesome wardrobe piece makes me over the moon happy.  I LOVE to shop and I especially love to shop at thrift stores on sales days.  There’s nothing like a huge bag of retail therapy for under twenty bucks.
15. Dental floss picks.  They made flossing a reality for me and I can’t make a list of 100 things that make me smile without giving them a shout out.
16. Knowing that Oprah Winfrey’s network, aptly named “OWN” is floundering.  She doesn’t know this, but she is my chosen nemesis and I’m just enough of a jerk to grin when I read about her low viewership.
17. I met some real life ladies one time who were on Oprah’s Favorite Things one year.  They both got cars and Ipads.  I asked both of them if their lives were more awesome today than before and they both said, “not really.”  Having my long held suspicions proven makes me smile.
18. My wedding ring tan line makes me happy.  Even my skin cells are committed to this marriage.
19. I like buying those cute little stickers for my finger and toe nails.  When I look down and see that little white flower on my big toe, I first get confused and wonder what on earth it is on my toe, but then I look closer and remember the white flower sticker that I glued on there the night before.  Remembering my fiscal cleverness makes me smile.
20. When Facebook first introduced the “like” option, I thought it was lame.  But now I smile every time I see that I got another “like”.   I don’t “like” as often as I should.  Serious Facebookers might appreciate it if I did.
21. I am not a serious Facebooker.  But, I totally am.  I’m not.  Well, maybe a little serious.  Socializing on Facebook makes me smile.  Seriously.
22. Gum that whitens teeth AND freshens breath.  I feel like I am multi-tasking when I chew gum like this.
23. I know that my Dad hates my brussels sprouts so much that I am only allowed to make them if he is in Alaska and I am not in Alaska.  His complete honesty, even at the risk of offending me, makes me smile.
24. I also do not like my brussels sprouts.  Being a grown up and eating them anyway makes me smile.  In a gaggy kind of way.
25. When something ridiculous is said in a large gathering of people and I can get a girlfriend’s eyeballs from across the room and we can say, “Did you see that!?” “Yeah.  I am so offended and also amused!” with only our eyes, that makes my heart grin.
26. I like it that my husband sends me regular texts that say, “I love you”, but when he gets all romantical and writes something from the heart I get all giggly and smiley like a teenager.
27. I really enjoy using words that aren’t words and not explaining myself, but rather assuming that my reader or listener appreciates my creative use of the language.  Fake adjectives are way awesomer than real ones.
28. Anytime I am in a car or a plane and I get a glimpse of some awesome view that belongs on a calendar or a puzzle, I feel like God has given me that view as a special present just for me and that always make me smile.
29. One time Mackenzie and I were going for a walk and we came up over a little hill that exposed a beautiful view of the city just as the lights were coming on.  Mackenzie gasps and stops in her tracks to take it in.  ”Just look at it, Mom,” she says.  Sharing something I love with someone I love makes the something I love and the someone I love even more cool and that makes me smile.  You know?
30. After militantly sweating out every Texas summer in my adult life in jeans (because I am a cutter of a different breed, evidently), I announced that this summer would be the summer of the skirt.  Aside from looking a little like a devoted Mormon, I have stayed cool and comfortable all summer.  Skirts that don’t make me look like a devoted Mormon make me smile.
31. I do not enjoy watching any of the “Star Wars” movies.  My kids have a fantastic working vocabulary of every one of them because they have a Dad devoted to their well rounded cultural education.  Parenting with someone different than me makes me happy.
32. My kids diligently avoid saying the b-u-t-t word around me and likely suspect that I’d never say it.  Their adorable belief in my virtue makes my heart smile every time I hear them stammer and say, “uh, bottom”.
33. When the weather starts to get a little bit cold, but the sun is still shining, I smile and feel all sorts of cozy to climb into a hot car.
34. Big, feminine hats make me very happy.  There are no words than can describe how awesome I feel about myself when I get to strut into a room wearing a fabulous hat.
35. I like to wear big, chunky heels, but they have to be very light weight for me to manage them.  When I find such a pair priced under twenty dollars I happily take them to the register with a glow about me.
36. Any time I wake up in the morning already knowing what I am going to make for dinner I float through the day in a haze of happy.
37. I am always happy to offer unsolicited advice to strangers I meet along the way.  I walk away feeling like I have made the world a brighter place.  They may not feel the same way, but I wouldn’t know because they are an unknown stranger and ignorance is bliss.
38.  I don’t know who it is, but there is a member of my household whom I can always count on to replace the toilet paper when it runs out.  Having a family that produces such diligence can only be a good thing.
39. Due to poor packing for a recent trip, I now have two toothbrushes in play.  When I go to brush my teeth and have my pick of the brushes, I feel quite luxurious and that makes me happy.
40. My family just received season passes to my high school’s sporting events and the encouragement that, “Any time a Dodd walks on this campus, it’s a good thing.”  Being one of the Dodd kids has always made me smile.
41. I ran across my high school drama teacher a few months back.  When I told Mackenzie who she was, Mackenzie says, “You were taught to be dramatic?”  Mackenzie is my biggest believer and my biggest fan.  She makes me smile.
42. When I was a senior in high school my friends and I would pass notes back and forth about our senior government teacher and joke that we were all dating him secretly.  We tore those notes up after each class and threw them away.  He NCISed us, read the notes, and began making sideways comments about them during class to make us squirm.  I can smile about that without blushing bright red now.
43. I have a pet goose named Gertrude and my neighbor has a pet goat named Snickers.  Gertrude and Snickers get into honking/bleating back and forths that can go on for more than ten minutes.  Animals communicating about living conditions and escape plans is funny to me.
44. Eric bought me Gertrude as a Mother’s Day gift because I thought she was the cutest thing ever and I guess my smile made him think that I HAD to have a pet goose.  Having a husband who diligently reads my face to see how he can please me makes my heart smile SO very big.
45. We have a chicken that we thought was a girl until “she” began cockle doodle doing.  His face is so earnest and his need to belt it out so desperate that it makes me smile.  When it stops making me smile, well, people eat roosters for less.
46. Our hens make the exact same clucking sound as the Cadberry Bunny every time they lay eggs.  You cannot not smile when you hear that.
47. My three year old niece, Avery, often says, “Yeah!” in the affirmative like Wayne Campbell on “Wayne’s World”.  Sometimes I ask her questions with an obvious answer just so she will say it and I can smile.
48. I live a literal stone’s throw from my parents and also from my younger brother and his family.  Sitting outside in the common area and having random family and kids come by to sit for a visit is a highlight of every day and it makes me and everyone who gets to come and visit this place smile.
49. Living as we do has given us the freedom to run to the grocery or out for a quick lunch date with no worries about the kids not having a grown-up nearby.  It can’t last forever, but it sure makes me smile while we’ve got it.
50. Here in a minute, I am going to say to my kids that it is time for bed.  They will brush their teeth, put on pajamas and go to bed with no parental intervention until it is time for prayers.  Getting kids to this age would make anyone smile.
51. I have made life long friends on the internet.  Finally coming to terms with the fact that I am one of “those people” makes me smile.
52. Whenever I get asked a question about something I am an expert in (like parenting, for example) I always get a smug smile across my face before I answer.
53. My smug smile is almost always followed by an, “I’m sorry.  I had no idea it was combustible.  I’m sure your Grandma will understand” smile.  It’s a weak smile, but a smile nonetheless.
54. When Mackenzie says, “Mommy?” I cringe because I know she is about to ask me to do something that will require me to get up.  When Mackenzie says, “Mama?” I smile because I know I am about to hear something very interesting.  She doesn’t know that I know the code.
55. When I’m feeling blue and in the dumps, I have girlfriends who will dare to look me in the eye and say, “Seriously!?  Get up!  Let’s do this!”  Friends like that make me smile.  A few days later.  After I kicked them out of my house.
56. I like bright and colorful knee high socks, but they can’t look like something Kenzie should wear.  This makes finding such socks a very difficult chore.  When I find them, I smile big.
57. Holy cow, America!!  Are we only on 57!?  This is going to take me FOREVER.  That reminds me:  My kids recently saw “The Sandlot” and have since only said “forever” like the kids in the movie.  ”For-eh-vur” makes me smile.
58. My brother-in-law (I only have one) is a hipster and this means that he brings all things cutting edge into my life.  I’m too much of a doofus to be a hipster, but because of David I have the inside scoop on their music and coffee.  Drinking my super good, hipster approved coffee makes me smile.  Smugly.
59. David is the one who showed my kids “The Sandlot” and I am pretty sure he caught that segue.  Smart, hipster brother-in-laws make me smile.
60. My current Facebook profile picture really bugs Eric; but it makes me smile, so it stays.
61. Eric is rarely very active on Facebook or my blog, but when he does come on to give me a little praise, I get all kinds of smiley.
62. The start of a new school year means that it won’t be long before the college underclassmen start posting their Facebook pictures of their super awesome tattoos and/or piercings.  I smile when I see those pictures because I got one too and I remember what it was like to be unique and clever.  Just like everyone else.
63. I presented Isaiah 51-52 to a ladies group recently.  A baby believer told me that she was going home to read Isaiah like never before.  That is why I do what I do.  That baby believer made me smile and still makes me smile.
64. Any time I go to present memorized Scripture dramatically, there is always one person in the room who whips their Bible out to read along.  Those people used to make me break out in a cold sweat and cry a little inside because I know that they know when I mess up.  Now, I smile while I break out in a cold sweat and cry inside – and that’s progress.
65. I smile when little toddlers do the long stumble and fall down.  And then I immediately wipe the smile off my face and say, “Aww.  Poor Baby.”, even though I am still smiling in my head.
66. Angry teenagers loaded with piercings, cigarettes, and black nail polish make me smile.  Mostly because I want to hug them and smiling just seems like the safer alternative.
67. Tiny little dogs are just about the cutest thing ever and they make me break down into a puddle of smiling.
68. I just spent a whole hour of my life that I will never get back trying to put a funny picture of Oprah on number 17.  I failed at getting it centered and finally gave up.  Being honest with my ability level make me smile.
69. Sometimes, while I am working on this list, I think about certain people reading it and I smile because I know they are going to be smiling.  Working on this list is making my face hurt.
70. Read Isaiah 61:10 out-loud and with a thick Southern drawl.  Do this without smiling.  I can’t.
71. I have Febrezed my dog.  Confessing to tiny crimes makes me smile.
72. Confessing to the really deep dark ugly sins (like lust, envy, gossip and greed for example) doesn’t usually make me smile right away.  The confession itself is very uncomfortable.  Repentance follows confession and I smile a whole lot about that.  I prefer to stay there.
73. One day I was feeling especially blue and I went to the Salvation Army for a retail therapy session.  I found a t-shirt that said, “Happy Camper” and bought it right away because I was not a happy camper and the irony of it made me smile.  I am now a happy camper and I have the t-shirt to prove it.
74. Another time, when I was looking for some retail therapy, I found a fabulous blazer from Nine West for only four dollars.  Listen y’all, I think I could do a whole list of 100 deals I’ve gotten.  Being fancy and looking cute makes me smile.  Doing it for pennies on the dollar makes me smile even bigger.
75. This past summer I decided to go ahead and own the fact that I am Miss Fancy Pants.  I like to wear blingy jewelry and cute pants.  I am a daughter of the King (real talk, y’all) and it is okay if I sometimes dress like it.  Owning the truth of who I am makes me smile even to type about it.
76. I had a George Clooney crush back in the days of ER.  I happened to marry a fellow whose eyes crinkle JUST like George Clooney’s when he smiles.  When his eyes smile, I smile.
77. I remember well how smugly I smiled when I got the pre-marital advice that, “Marriage is a lot of work” from well meaning old people who had no idea how much I loved Eric and that Eric and I were going to be different.
78. Can I use one of these to repeat that smug smiles lead to chagrined ”my bad” kind of smiles?  This is always true.  No smug.
79. Being married is not a whole lot of work – being married happily is.  I freely give that advice to all beaming young girls with fresh faces and clean engagement rings that haven’t seen real duty yet.  I forgive their smug smiles because I know.  I know.  Knowing makes me smile.
80. Anytime a camera gets pointed at me, I always smile in this super fake, very uncomfortable, awkward way.  I don’t know why.  It’s a sad condition that I have never been able to shake.  This concerns me when I think about my plans to be the next Oprah (What!? Yeah.  I said it.)  Imagine the unflattering covers on National Enquirer.
81. Two weeks ago my son made the leap from reading because I said so to reading because it is an activity he enjoys.  It was a long road with him and I smile every time I walk in the room and see him cross legged and lost in a book.
82. Ian asked me a few days ago if he could please have a job because he needed some money “real bad.”  Why was he jonesin’ for cash?  ”So I can put it in the bank.”  Being the next Donald Trump’s Mom makes me smile.
83. I recently developed a case of trigeminal neuralgia, related to the multiple sclerosis.  This causes me to have an occasional and excruciating face tic.  Smiling can bring on a tic.  Also?  A breeze, a love pat, the brush of my hand to move my hair, the pulling on of a sweater, a big yawn, and also, smirking.  I continue to smile, though a bit like Popeye.
84. I am certain that multiple sclerosis is not going to be the undoing of me.  I am so very certain of this, that sometimes I imagine myself running to the tune of “The Eye of the Tiger” and I smile real big because I feel pretty confident that could happen.  ”It’s the eye of the tiger, it’s the thrill of the fight…”
85. Right now though, I don’t run.  I don’t even walk very pretty.  This might make some people frown, but I get the joy of wrapping my hands around a cane handmade for me by a dear soul because she wanted me to know that she is rooting for me.  I’ve got stands full of people rooting for me.  My whole life is one big high five and “atta girl!”  There’s no reason not to smile.
86. Let’s use number 86 to revisit “The Eye of the Tiger”.  See if singing it in your head doesn’t make you smile.
87. I recently got to make a phone call to a hospital in Israel.  Because of the time difference, and having to get my phone plan changed to allow international calling, it took me 24 hours before I was able to get through and do my two minutes or less of chatting.  I was SUPER pumped.  Here I am, some poor little Gentile kid, calling ISRAEL.  It really wasn’t that a big of a deal, but having to wait gave it a sense of huge something.  I’m pretty sure I sounded like a grinning doofus when I said, “My name is Amy Peterson and I’m calling from Texas, USA.”
88. This summer, my Eric planned a two week road trip for our family that was lovely and smooth from driveway to driveway.  It was a dream of a journey and he was the best captain ever.  I smile every time I think about sitting there beside him while we drove through the midwest.
89. On our Christmas trip to WI some years back, Eric and I started a silly car game where we competed to see who could say “Iowa” with the least amount of mouth movement.  We crack each other up every time we pass through that lovely state saying it over and over.  ”Eye-Yuh”
90. Eric has a collection of hats that he wears according to weather and mood.  I love walking around with a fellow in a smart geezer cap.
91. A recent visit to a physical therapist has me doing some crazy weird daily stretches and eating (gag) bananas.  I dislike exercise AND bananas.  Knowing that I can do my body a solid favor by giving it good food even though I dislike good food makes me smile.
92. Why on earth would I consult a physical therapist? Deciding to get off my rear end and do something about this multiple sclerosis makes me smile.  Like Popeye.  Take that, MS!
93. When I’m not busy eating bananas, I enjoy the occasional Dove’s dark chocolate.  I’m always embarrassed if the cheesy little Dove’s message of celebrated mediocrity makes me smile.  ”Flawed is fabulous!”  Yay!!  Boo!!?  I’m so confused.  Maybe flawed is simple bearable, Dove’s.  Did ya think of that?
94. One day I would like to see a more engaging Dove’s wrapper.  ”Congratulations on not getting eaten by zombies.”  That’s how you grab the public’s eye, Dove’s.  That’s how you make the people smile.
95. Sorry about the above rant, but boxing against giant, faceless, corporations makes me smile.  Occupy Dove’s!!
96. Being as sedentary as I’ve become over the past few years has meant that my son has an easier time pinning me down for an hour long play by play of something funny he saw or read.  Right now, I smile and nod even though I can only understand every third word through his rushed, high pitched retelling.  I smile and nod because my son is spending his time telling me about something that matters and my crushed body is just the thing I need to force me to sit and cherish it.  Thank you, crushed body.  I mean it.
97. Eric just sat down beside me with a delicious sandwich made with Thanksgiving turkey.  He makes the best sandwiches hands down among anyone I know.  He is making me a sandwich now and I’m totes smiley face.
98. Seeing old men who are old school gentlemen to their little old ladies makes me smile.  I just love seeing that.
99. My three year old niece walked into the room recently and said this sentence, “Guys, I’m not wearing any pants and I’m sorry about that, but my Mommy is going to get me some new pants and when she does I will be wearing pants, but right now I am not wearing pants and I am just really, really, so very sorry about that.”  When I am ninety, I am pulling that bit in a Burger King.  Thinking about that plan cracks me up and gives me something to live for.
100. My 83 year old friend told me some time ago that, “You don’t have an inner child.  You have an inner old lady and I suspect she smokes.”  I think she’s on to something and that makes my inner old lady smile.  And wheeze for a breath.

Perhaps you’ve noticed that I have been a bit sparse around here lately. You’re not the only ones I’ve been neglecting. You haven’t seen my fridge, but let me tell you, he’s been neglected something fierce as well.

I’ve been quite under the weather and I didn’t want to make a report of it because there just wasn’t any good sense to making a public fuss about it. I had a marked relapse of MS that was made worse by all my regular symptoms getting revved up significantly. On top of this, I had extra kids to stay on top of and my health took a huge hit.

This flare up had me more afraid than I care to admit to. I feel as though I am trying to walk in neck high mud. Everything I put my hand to is an effort beyond description. The fear of a permanent disability hovered just above me every day and it started to really affect my thinking. I couldn’t write about much else and so I chose not to write.

Why mention it now? Because there is light at the end of the tunnel. And I am reasonably certain it is not a train.

The symptoms of the actual attack, which included a twitching nose (VERY annoying) and a dropping foot, have all but completely gone away. My fear was not eased as the symptoms eased because I was finding myself still unable to keep up with my home and family to the standard I have for myself.

My perception of everything changed at about 10:30 last night. I got up and started to clean the kitchen. Really clean the kitchen. I kept telling myself that I needed to go to bed soon and that I should stop, but then I realized that the same thing had happened the night before, and the night before that. What was it about the hours after ten or so that suddenly gave me a boost of strength and ability?

The air conditioner.

You’ve heard me gripe before about the severity of our cooling drama. What I didn’t realize was the profound effect it was having on me. I’ve had MS long enough to be well acquainted with Uhthoffs Phenomenon, which is the sudden worsening of neurological symptoms brought on by heat exposure. It is why I do not walk to the store between May and September.

The best my air conditioner can do on a very good day is keep my home at 79 degrees during the hottest hours. This means that all day long I am working up a sweat and getting over heated just enough to maintain a certain level of inability, but not enough for me to make the connection until just last night.

Eric and I were both overwhelmed with relief to make this discovery. And it helped us come up with a solution. Eric will be waking with the children while I will be using the night time hours to do my housework until we are able to move. We are not certain where we are moving, we just know that it has to be a ground floor place that is not subject to heat rising.

During the day I will simply do my darndest to avoid getting hot. This means I will only do the bare minimum of housework and childcare, leaving the bulk of housework for the evening hours when I can work without falling apart.

It also likely means I will remain sparse around here, as I tend to get wild attacks of word salad when I try to write in the heat.

I have been in a bit of a dark funk these last few weeks, thinking that all my years of relative good health were coming to an end and I cannot begin to tell you how positively over the moon I am at these recent developments.

God’s grace is sufficient for me. His power is made perfect in my weakness. I live this. And right now I am going to live it with an ice cold Dr.Pepper and a rerun of I Love Lucy.

My maternal Grandpa served in the Philippines in World War II. He came away with bullet wounds, soul wounds, and a desire to never again see any creature suffer.

Today is Memorial Day and I would like to share with you a bit about Grandpa’s war experience. This is a real treat, because it is not I who wrote this, but my dear Grandma. He first told her what he saw in the Philippines nearly forty years after it occurred. This is her account of what he told her, taken from her book “After the Darkness of Night Comes the Dawn”.

After we finished our meal, he pushed his plate back, looked very serious and spoke with a highly shaky voice, “I need to talk to you. I think I know now why I got the Silver Star.”

He began his story with Saturday, March 24, 1945, when they took the town of Santo Tomas and drove the enemy out. They had to go house to house, store to store, running all the Japanese out.

The Filipino people had fled to the hills after the Japanese came in. He said it gave him such a funny feeling going into those homes with his rifle. Not only was he afraid of running into Japanese soldiers, he felt he was invading these people’s privacy. Their homes were just as they left them, with pictures of their loved ones sitting around.

One Japanese soldier ran out of the house, and several Americans shot him. Jimmie said it was a gruesome thing to see. As he was going to the front of one house, several Japanese began running out the back.

He said, after capturing the town, they spent the night in the cemetery where Japanese soldiers were buried. One man dug a foxhole and struck a Japanese soldier’s body. It rained all night that night and they stood for hours in deep water. Of course, he never slept a wink.

On Sunday, after a restless night in the cemetery, they had a mission to accomplish. The sergeant revealed to them a few Japanese soldiers were nearby in the woods and had plans to take the town back. Their mission was to hold them back.

Jimmie was made to feel sick by one of the men he had to spend time with in the foxhole. He had been in the war for some time and had become hardened to it. He kept a pouch around his neck where he kept Japanese soldiers’ teeth that he pulled after they were dead. Jimmie said that the first time he saw him pull out the pliers and pull the teeth, it made him literally ill. He did not want to be with him on this mission.

There was a schoolyard next to the cemetery with swings and other evidence of a happier time when children played there. Jimmie sat down to eat his k-rations and a kitten that had spent the night with him stroked his legs. He shared his meal with the kitten and patted it a few times.

As he was talking he would choke up, tears rolled down his cheeks and he would have to regain his composure.

He said there were eighteen men on the mission, and they started out on foot away from the little town. They continued walking and came upon a bridge with a peaceful river below.

The battle started and soon after, the soldier with the Browning automatic was wounded. Jimmie said the Browning automatic drew a lot of fire as the Japanese soldiers wanted to take it out of commission first. The sergeant picked Jimmie to take over the weapon. Things were really getting rough, and the Japanese were gaining ground.

The Americans had artillery fire that came over them for support. A round was too close and caused what they call a tree burst because it caused the trees to flare. The men were down as low as they could get on their stomachs, but the artillery was getting too close to the ground and was not going over them. Jimmie said that, in short, it scares you to death. Confusion and fear had completely engulfed the men. They had to radio the artillery to raise it or they would kill their own men.

The battle was raging and the situation was not good. Jimmie told me that when Sergeant Price said it was time to go, it was already too late. The withdrawal plan was that the man with the Browning automatic would be in the middle and three men at a time on each side would drop back simultaneously, with rifle fire continuing until they were withdrawn. Jimmie was the last one as he had the Browning automatic and was spraying bullets back and forth until he ran out.

He threw his gun down as quickly as he could and was moving out. On the way out, Jimmie was wounded and two soldiers helped him back to safer ground. They helped him onto a litter and he said his Sergeant, Lieutenant, and Master Sergeant were there.*

His Lieutenant lit a cigarette, gave it to him, patted him on the shoulder and said, “Cummings, that was a job well done.”

Tears were streaming down his face as he talked. He kept repeating over and over, “I just did what they told me to do. I was just following orders. I was just following orders.”

After he was sent to the hospital in New Guinea, he had a lot of time to think. He realizes there were other battles he went through that were probably worse, but they were always on the move and he didn’t have time to think about them. This battle went over and over in his mind. He tried reading his New Testament and he prayed, but the memory was still with him.

He remembers being next to a Japanese soldier who was a prisoner of war. He was in a wire cage and was able to speak English, so Jimmie was able to talk to him, give him cigarettes and so forth. He realized this man was away from home also. This man had a family and wanted to be home with them also.

He doesn’t know when his memory left him, but I’m sure he was grateful when it did.

Here was this gentle farm boy who never wanted to hunt or fish because he didn’t want to kill anything. I thought of how, through all of our married life, he would not kill a mouse that ran across the floor or even swat a fly. He always said that they have just as much right to live as we do. This gentle lover of all creatures was given a gun, sent overseas, and told to kill humans.

When the horror of war was more than Jimmie could take, his mind blocked it out until such a time as he could handle it. Although he hates war, he tells me he knows cruel dictators have to be stopped. “It’s like seeing your neighbor beating his kids or another neighbor, or trying to come into your home to make your way of life unbearable.” He said he is proud of his country and wanted to keep it free. Maybe someday men will find a way to live in peace.

*Grandma wrote this a few years before Grandpa passed away. It was also written before he was able to bring himself to tell her about the two days he actually spent waiting for those soldiers to pull him off the battle field. That’s a story that she told me the last time I ever spoke with her. I wrote that one down and will share it another time.

I have only three recipes that are all mine. This means that there are three things that only taste the way they do when I make them. This is a big deal to me. I guard these recipes and only share them on very rare occasion with dear friends who are in great need.

I’m not going to tell what two of those items are, but I let it leak that I make the best peanut butter cookies ever and I think it is only fair that I shared my much tweaked, and highly prized recipe.

Why am I sharing this recipe and risking the very real possibility that you will no longer need my friendship because now you can make your own cookies? Because I want to say thank you. Thank you for reading. Thank you for commenting.

You may never know just how much I get out of this writing thing, but I hope that having a taste of the very best peanut butter cookie ever will in some way convey to you my gratitude.

Are you ready?

Preheat (duh) oven to 375

1 and 1 half cups of flour

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 quarter teaspoon salt

mix these three in a mixing bowl and set aside.

in a larger mixing bowl, blend together:

1 half cup of shortening

1 half cup of peanut butter

blend well and then add:

3 quarters cup of brown sugar

1 quarter cup of white sugar

1 egg

1 half teaspoon vanilla

1 Tablespoon milk (if you like them soft)

Add flour mixture slowly. You may find it works better to mix by hand rather than with a mixer. The cookie dough will have the consistency of soft play doh.

Here is where it gets tricky and we separate the cookie purists from the average cookie eaters. If you want the best cookie ever, you’ll do exactly as I say. If you want to hurry up and eat the cookies already, feel free to cut out a few of these steps.

Working with about two Tablespoons or slightly less of dough at a time, roll the dough into a ball and then shape it into a patty. I know that your average recipe says to flatten it with a fork, but this leads to cracks on the dough and I find the crack unattractive. We want attractive cookies, no?

After you have it shaped like a patty, dip the cookie on both side in white sugar. You want the cookie covered. Trust me. It is as good as it is bad for you.

You will be placing the cookie on an UNGREASED cookie pan. No grease or spray is needed because, hello?, did you see all the grease that is already in the cookie? They will be fine.

After you have your cookies all lined up on the pan, you will want to add the fork marks. I made them once and skipped this step. They weren’t the same. It just isn’t a peanut butter cookie without the criss cross fork pattern.

Bake the cookies for 7-10 minutes. You want them to be golden, but NOT golden brown. Golden brown cookies are too crunchy.

When you take them out of the oven, they will be very fragile until they have been allowed to sit for about two to three minutes. When they are slightly cooled, take them off the cookie sheet and put them on a cookie cooling rack (I only recently acquired an authentic cookie rack, you can put them on a plate.)

This is when you have a large variety of options. You can eat of one of the cookies, for quality control purposes, but I must warn you that one leads to two and two leads to three and then before you know it you are back to the part of this post when I asked you, “Are you ready?”. You can share the cookies, but you may wind up in the same predicament.

IF your cookies survive to the point where they can actually be stored, I recommend storing them with a slice of bread. The bread makes the cookies tender and keeps them fresh longer (this trick also works with store bought cookies).

This is where I store my cookies:

Odds are that your Grandma did not leave you with a cookie jar as awesome and fabulous as mine. I am very sorry about that, but you can take comfort in knowing that I have the best cookie jar ever.

Now you have my recipe and my thank you for reading. This is the part where you leave me a comment that says, “You’re welcome”. Get to it.

.

*EDIT*

My dear friend Sarah reminded me in my comments about the chocolate chip cookies she recently made. She totally pwns chocolate chip cookies.

*Edit 2*

Eric tells me that my cookie jar is the ugliest cookie jar ever.   I’m not saying that I would have picked it up on its own merits without the sentimental value attached, but really?  Ugliest cookie jar ever?  Also he thought “Get to it” was harsh.  So, scratch that.  And he loled at “pwns”.

“Mom? Are you sick?”

Mackenzie asked me to sit down with her yesterday so she could have a talk with me. Turns out she was ready to ask about my health.

“What do you mean, Kenzie Faye? Are you asking if I have a cold? Or a cough? Or a belly ache?”

I didn’t want to burden her with more information than she needed and you never know where kids are going when they start asking questions.

“No, I mean your body. Is it broken?”

Even though I had been preparing myself for this talk for some time, it still took me a moment to gather my thoughts and catch my breath.

“Well, Mackenzie, my brain has owies all over it that make it difficult for my body to do what my brain tells it to do,” I seriously have to give myself mad props for explaining something as complicated as Multiple Sclerosis using the word “owies”.

“Can you take medicine to help you get better?”

“There is no medicine that can cure MS, but there are treatments which claim to help slow the progression. Multiple Sclerosis is what’s called an ‘orphan disease’. This means that not enough people have it for the research to be cheap and this causes the medicine to be very expensive. It costs about $1500 a month to manage M.S. on a good month. This makes insurance companies nervous and they created something called a ‘pre-existing condition clause’. This means that I will have to wait for one year before our new insurance company starts to pay for me to get treated for Multiple Sclerosis. To be honest, there is some speculation about whether or not these medicines actually help with quality of life any more than not using them. I don’t know if I want to go through the grief of painful daily injections, terrible side effects, etc. if I am going to wind up the same way either way. You know?”

That’s not really what I said. She’s asking the questions, but she’s only six. What I really told her is that there is medicine but I don’t take medicine right now. There is no easy way to explain the many reasons I am unable to, and yet also would choose not to, take medication.

“You should take the medicine,” her eyes burn through me in such a way as she says this that I make the immediate decision that I will begin the daily injections the instant my insurance kicks in. If she believes it will work, there is no way I am going to let her think I didn’t try.

Later on that same day I found Mackenzie in the kitchen with a broom. She had swept the floor and was inquiring as to where the dust pan was. I watched as she expertly did her task and then she began straightening up the living room. I did what any mother would do in a moment like that:

I gave her an apron.

And she beamed.

I know why my six year old daughter was sweeping my floor. I know because I swept my Mama’s floor. Mom has Lupus and when I was about Mackenzie’s age I started to notice the effort with which she took care of all of us. Meals were always prepared, laundry folded, floors cleaned, dishes washed. This woman took better care of her family than a lot of Moms I knew with no illness.

I found her dedication to us and her service of us to be admirable and inspiring. I began washing dishes and sweeping floors long before I was asked because I knew that my Mama was going to do the work if nobody else did and she needed the break. I adored her and I had deep empathy for her in her desire to serve us even as she was so ill.

That’s what I saw in Mackenzie. I saw the empathy. My eyes tear up as I write this now. There is a large part of me that is so over the moon with pride and joy that my little girl has such a beautiful servant’s heart. But it is heart wrenching to know that she is now worried and concerned about things that no little girl should have to even know of. She has some actual, real fears that I cannot deny. I can’t promise that everything will be fine.

In all the years that I have lived with this disease, I have never more than right now felt a desire to see it gone. I want to tell Mackenzie that it is gone.

But then I still want her to sweep my floors after I tell her. Is there any way to refine a servant’s heart without fire? Anyone?

I had just celebrated my 17th birthday a short four days before I was first admitted to the hospital on account of the Multiple Sclerosis. It was determined that I needed an MRI and at that time there was only one machine available in all of Austin. My parents decided to take me out of the hospital in their own car and to the hospital across town that had the MRI and then back to my original hospital after.

They purchased some lovely satin pajamas for me and buckled me into my wheelchair for the ride to the car. Wide awake, and exhausted all the same, I watched as in a dream while so much occurred around me. I was wheeled to the exit and felt a bit of shock at the wind on my cheeks and in my hair. Had it been only three days since I walked through these doors, somewhat of my own ability?

It may have been my Dad, I’m not certain, but I found that someone was behind me trying to lift me into the car. I felt the chair move and knew right away that the wheels on the wheelchair needed to be locked first. It was the oddest sensation: knowing all at once that something must be done quickly to prevent disaster and doing nothing and saying nothing all the same. Just watching it happen.

My feet became tangled at the door and forced my parents to lay me at an odd angle while they got my feet adjusted. I remember laying there, so still and somber, while my brain raced with a million animated questions: Where exactly are we going? Am I going to die? Did we win the football game? What happened to the play? Who’s getting my homework? Am I going to die?

As my Dad drove to the MRI center, so carefully- as though he carried the Queen, I found that I was slipping in the seat a bit on account of my satin pajamas. I slid further in the seat and I can honestly tell you exactly what went through my head, “Huh. It looks like I’m going to slide to the floor board. Sure wish I could say something. I’m sure they’ll notice before I hit the floor.”

“Amy? Would you like me to help you up? Why didn’t you say something?” I could hear my Mom talking to me and I could feel her helping me up, but I had no strong ability to respond.

A high dose of steroids and mercy caused that first spinal cord lesion to reduce in size enough that I could again walk and use my hands by the time it turned to a scar. The exhaustion though, that has only ebbed and flowed as in good days and bad days. It’s that exhaustion that sits on me like a ton of mud and I struggle as if in a bad dream to get from point A to point B.

I have spoken before about the sensation of having my personality paralyzed. By that I mean that I often feel stunted and unable to fully express myself in speech and facial expression to the extent someone with as loud a personality as I have would like. This is maddening.

As maddening as it is, I have found great relief in writing. It feels as though I am able to properly convey the extent of my thought with the same tempo and order as I would if I had the energy to actually have a visit.

Writing has become an extension of my personality. It is through this little key board that I am able to put down the thoughts that run around and around in my brain while my body looks as though I am near comatose.

There are days when Eric gets home from work and I am exhausted. Exhausted and pleased at a day’s good hard work. I am worn out to the point that I am unable to actually chat with him about the day’s events, but I can point him to my ol’ blog and there he has it, “The Life and Times of Eric’s Wife”.

I understand now why my Grandma was always writing. Sometimes it’s all I can do not to sit down and write, even in crayon on the back of a cereal box if I’m desperate.

I just wanted to say thank you. This blog has become a bigger deal to me than I imagined it could when I started some three years ago. Thank you all for reading and commenting and e-mailing. For interacting with me in this fabulous little place called Blogger and giving my tired self a voice. It’s a hoot, ain’t it?

*Also, a big thank you to Jennifer for stepping up with the bike. You may have heard the excited shrieks from a certain eight year old across town. Thank you.

My whole take on having MS can be wrapped up in my dear Grandmother’s first and last statements regarding it. I’ll tell you a bit about her first so you can understand just how profound her statements were and why they capture so well my thoughts.

When she was 12 years old she was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis. She grew to get married and raise three children, my mother being her youngest. No person who ever met her left not knowing the greatness of God’s grace. She embodied for me the scripture, “My grace is sufficient for you, My power is made perfect in weakness.”

My Grandmother was my very own personal Rock Star. I adored her and I never felt anything less than adored when I was with her.

She happened to be in town when I was first placed in the hospital. She had watched my decline and had suggested to my parents, four months before the professionals, that I might have MS. Mom and Dad got me settled in my hospital room and then Grandma (I always called her Grandma, but I think she preferred Grandmother) stayed with me while they went to take care of my brothers, who had no clue I wasn’t at school.

Grandma sat and joked with me and helped make light of things. I didn’t know then what she knew about the road ahead of me. A nurse came in to give me an IV, my first in a lifetime. I was terrified of needles and certain that there was some mistake. I was told I was only there for an overnight visit and told the nurse as much.

Grandma gave me her hand – her gnarled, crooked – hand and told me I could squeeze as hard as I needed to, but that, “Things are likely to get a lot worse from here on, no sense throwing a fit.”

I don’t think I will ever in my life forget what it felt like to sit there and hold her hand while I got that first of hundreds of IVs. It was an instant where her lifetime of living in a handicapped, warped body was met by my youthful form just beginning to start my own journey. She knew well what was in store, and though it frightened her, she gave me strength.

I have often thought that God gave me that moment. That starting of the race with my Rock Star at my side. She lived hours away and was just there for a random visit. My parents could have stayed for the IV. Instead, the stage was set for just her and I to sit there and quietly share what was to be her legacy and my charge.

It was less than one year later that she lay dying. Her mind was riddled with Morphine to ease the depth of her body’s pain and she was in and out of conscious thought. My mother was at her side and listened to every breath as she slipped further away. A few days before she was finally freed from her body, she opened her eyes and said to my mother with great clarity and certainty, “Amy’s going to be just fine.”

She taught me many things. She taught me to always match my underwear to my outfit. She showed me how to close Tupperware with my elbow. She impressed on me that it is never too late to learn something new.

More than anything in the world my Grandma taught me, she taught me that this body, this life, this everything, is nothing without the grace of my Savior.

Her words to me at the start told me that there is no sense shrinking back. I must always be prepared to stand against whatever falls in my path.

Her final words about me confirmed the end game God has planned for me all along, “Amy’s going to be just fine.”

If you have known me for long, you have likely heard me say that I am not certain I would like myself too much without MS. This disease has taught me humility, it has forced on me endurance, it has robbed me of any thought but that of Heaven and my Savior risen.

Having children and a husband to look after has changed my tune a bit. As much as I appreciate the many benefits to bearing this daily cross, it saddens me to see that my children must bear it as well.

To be honest, I have declared to the LORD that I am just about lessoned out and am ready to be all that my family needs me to be. As much as I think I am fed up with my circumstance, I remember what my Grandma told me in the very beginning and pick my chin up. No sense throwing a fit with so much to be done.

In the end, I know beyond any doubt that I will be just fine. And know that I have a Rock Star saving my seat.

I spent one last night with Grandma in the hospital before she passed. She gave me her last bits of advice, and I told Mom the next day that everything Grandma told me could be repeated in this song. Mom reminded me of this last night and I couldn’t post this without including the song. Even if you’ve heard this song before, and especially if you knew Grandma, give it a listen and hear what she told me.

Thank you for all your e-mails. I was quite surprised at how many of you had questions, and at the volume of questions some had. I have decided to only address some directly and to try to answer the rest in a more broad manner with detailed accounts. Feel free to ask any other questions that come up.
What is one question you hate being asked, and what is one question you wish people would ask?
I really like this one. There is one question that I feel uncomfortable being asked above all other questions and this usually comes after someone has seen me looking pretty poorly: “Do you feel better?”.

The answer is almost always no. The truth is that M.S. is a chronic condition, chronic meaning that it never goes away and that it is usually either not actively getting worse, or it is getting worse. It is rare that it gets better.

That’s just the nature of the disease and I don’t like the question because I feel like a real negative person when I say, “No, I don’t feel better”, so I usually just say that I am feeling better because it takes less time than explaining why I don’t.

Second only to that is when people suggest that I take a nap. I know that it seems obvious that a nap will rejuvenate someone who is tired, but again, it doesn’t get better.

A better question to ask, if you honestly want to gauge the current state of someone with a chronic illness is, “Is this a good day or a bad day?” That is a question I can answer because while it doesn’t get better, some days are better than others.

Before this question, I couldn’t have told you if there is a question I want people to ask, but I think the first part of this question is one of the best ones I have ever heard. There are some things I would rather people not ask and it is nice to be asked if certain questions bug me. Thank you, Susan, for the question.

Do you get tired of people asking you to do things that you don’t have energy for?
Another good question repeated by Ruth Ann and that Sarah asked me some time ago and has adapted beautifully to. The answer to this one is that I would like the opportunity to say, “Yes, I’d love to”, even if it’s only once in a great while. Please ask often and don’t be surprised or offended if the answer is usually no because I just may be up to it one day, and boy, I am a HOOT to hang out with.

I also have a very hard time making plans to do something in the future. I can’t commit to going to a movie tonight until it is tonight. I don’t know how my body is going to feel and I can’t guess because it is always different. Sometimes I say no to plans only because I feel bad having to back out at the last minute.

When I do choose to go out and do some activity, it is always at the expense of some other chore or parenting duty. I only have so much energy and something must always be left undone in order to spend energy doing something else.

Sarah wants to know how I keep my house so clean when I feel so worn out.
The answer to this is simple: I clean it.

My reality is one with very limited energy, so I prioritize what needs to be done in any given day. Number one is usually the kids and whatever they need. Number two is my home and keeping it tidy because I just can’t feel clear headed in a messy house. Eric is rarely home and requires very little attention as long as I am keeping up with the house and cooking, but I try to make sure he doesn’t get too far off my list. If he wants extra time from me, he usually tries to help with some of my other tasks to “buy” the time.

This means that anything else is extra. It is rare that I am able to do extra things like Ladies Bible Class, or play groups, or just fun outings, but this is my reality and it is one that I have adjusted to.

I can’t take complete credit for it always. My Mom popped in last week and detailed my kitchen for me. It is really hard for me to accept, and almost impossible for me to ask for, assistance. That is my own fault and it works to my benefit that the lady who bred that into me knew better and came to clean my kitchen.

(Thank you, Sarah, for the public clean house props.)

I think I can safely answer all other questions by simply telling you my M.S. story. When I was 17 years old I noticed that my left hand felt tingly and numb. This continued for a week until my right hand also became numb. After my right hand, things began progressing by the day instead of week. Two weeks after my Mom took me to the first doctor for a numb left hand (“she’s just stressed”, he said), I was in a state of functional quadriplegia. This meant that I could move my arms and legs to some degree, but they were useless to me for any function.

This became the body that I lived in for about a year as I went to physical therapy and took copious amounts of intravenous steroids. Anyone who has taken – or knows someone who has taken – steroids, knows that it wreaks havoc on one’s psyche. I had your regular teenaged angst made all the more volatile with the addition of mood altering drugs. I have decided in the last few years to never again use steroids.

My senior year began and I was able to return to school. I remember much of those first two years as more of an observer. I often felt like I was a tiny one inch version of myself rambling around in this giant, stupid body which refused to do my will. I was frustrated and eager to be taken seriously as something more than, “that girl who got so sick”.

My body recovered to some degree, but carried with it a residue from that first attack. I will discuss in a moment the exact nature of my current and, so far, lasting condition.

I was asked how I have gotten used to being in this body now. The answer is simply that I can’t. That has to be the most frustrating part. It is a maddening thing to feel like my personality is paralyzed by a body that won’t work properly. It is not something that I can get accustomed to, though I do feel like it is something I have developed a bit of a sense of humor about.

As I have aged with this diseased body, I think I have gained a certain perspective about how to at least live in it gracefully. I no longer feel compelled to feel guilty when backing out of prior arrangements. I always feel bad about putting people out when they must change their plans because I can’t keep up, but I do not feel guilt. I did not manifest this illness, therefore I cannot be held responsible for its limitations.

State of the Body Address
My current symptoms on a “good” day are the same as a “bad” day, with the exception that a bad day just seems like the symptoms get revved up. The last year has seen a bit more progression than I was prepared for, so I am still getting my bearings.

For the last twelve years I have had a sensation as though I am wearing a corset that is about two sizes too small. Some patients call this the “MS Hug”. Hug sounds more cheerful than it feels. In addition to the corset, it feels as though someone has placed quarter sized marbles along my lower ribcage that are embedded into my flesh by the pressure of the corset. On a bad day, this sensation makes me want to cry. Sometimes I do, but then I laugh at myself for being such a baby.

The pain along my lower ribs sometimes travels to my legs and causes a crushing sensation like one might expect from a wood press. My Dad has such devices in his workshop and it sometimes makes my legs hurt just to look at them. I really only experience this pain in an unbearable way if I have a fever, am over heated, am tired, or if I have walked too much.

I have a “restless leg” sensation that is also in my right arm. While I have heard people say they experience this only when resting, I find that I have it just about all the time. It makes walking frustrating and is worsened greatly when I am tired. I find that the physical frustration of this often make me feel mentally frustrated and impatient.

I have also felt all these years as though I were wearing socks laced with Icy Hot solution. My brothers know what that stuff is. My feet and legs up to my knees lack proper heat/cold sensation recognition and have a constant tingly, chemical burn like feel.

If you can imagine wearing a pair of rubber exam gloves under a pair of leather gardening gloves while trying to thread a needle, then I think you can imagine what my hands feel like. My fingers often twitch and appear to play an invisible piano if I am not watching them closely. This makes talking on the phone difficult some days because my fingers will disconnect the call if I am not ever mindful of their position. Concentrating on them complicates my efforts to stay focused on simple tasks and makes more intricate tasks daunting.

My eyes often hurt to move and my vision becomes darkened as though the sun has gone behind a cloud. I have several moments throughout the day when I see shadows, or movements out of my peripheral vision that are non existent, except in my damaged eyes.

I have often heard that one of the more frustrating parts of having a chronic illness like MS is that it remains virtually undetectable to the casual observer. I would have to agree that that is one of mine. While I am happy to be able to walk and function somewhat normally, I am likely to need a wheelchair for lengthy activities and it is tiring and a bit embarrassing to to feel as though I have to explain why when I look just fine. If I was missing a leg or deformed in some fashion, nobody would think a thing of me having the limits of a disabled person

I have gotten dirty looks for using store offered scooters when I have no obvious disability and I was even yelled at years ago by an elderly woman for taking the last handicap parking spot with what she was certain was my Grandma’s permit.

Sometimes I even have trouble convincing myself that there are certain things that I just can’t do. In fact, I think I just might be my hardest sell.

My Prognosis
Some of you wanted to know what the future holds for me physically. The easiest way to answer is to say, “I don’t know”. The more complicated answer is that, based on my current condition and the laws of averages, I will likely remain as I am with a slow degrade marked by periods of no change. I figure that in the next ten years or so I will stop wearing heels all together and I will eventually start wearing only shoes that aid proper walking. My personal unease with Velcro will likely be put aside in about 25-30 years and by the time I am 60, I’m okay to be perfectly content with elastic waist bands and tennis ball bling on my walker.

Perhaps by “prognosis”, you were asking if the disease is fatal. The truth is that it is quite rare for someone to actually die from MS, though it is not uncommon to die from MS related causes. In the less ambulatory, blot clots that lead to stroke or heart attack are common. In the bed bound, pneumonia that won’t heal is not unheard of.

My Grandmother, for example, did not die from Rheumatoid Arthritis. However, she died because she had R.A. Her hip replacements got infected which wouldn’t heal and led to her ultimate death.

They say that M.S. takes ten to twenty years off a person’s life expectancy. I think this number is just an average based on the fact that every case is very unique and different.

No doctor can tell me if I will suddenly get worse, if I will continue my slow progression
(and it is quite slow) or if I will stay in the same condition I am in right now forever. Personally, I like it better not knowing. I can accept the unknown easier than the known.

Tomorrow I’ll tell you why, given the chance to never have this illness, I wouldn’t change a thing. (And why that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t mind kicking it to the curb.)

Happy MS Awareness Week.