I probably should have heeded the warning signs when I was out running last night. I usually run on Tuesday, inject and then rest on Wednesday when I'm often feeling at my most vulnerable physically. For one reason or another, I wasn't able to go out on Tuesday, so I was determined to go out running before the pub quiz last night, come hell or high water. It went quite well and I felt pretty good, but my left thigh - the one I'd injected into the night before - was pretty numb throughout, and I had little sensation in the ball of my right foot. I pushed on through, running at a pretty respectable pace of 8.35 minutes per mile -- almost as fast as I get, and likely powered by a timely play of "Africa" by Toto on my iPod to put a bounce in my step at about the halfway point.
I felt okay today and was looking forward to a run around at football tonight. It just didn't happen. I'll be the first to admit that I'm not the best player in the world, but today I had nothing at all. When I went to run, I had nothing in my legs, and as the game wore on, I gradually lost sensation in my arms from the shoulders down. Even an hour after the game and after a long, hot shower, I still haven't recovered full sensation in my arms or hands. It isn't even that cold. In fact, it's positively mild out, and I actually considered taking off one of my several thermal layers before playing. As it turns out, apparently I wasn't wearing enough. Or, more likely, the way that I'm feeling hasn't got much to do with the outside temperature.
I hate it. There's not a great deal I can do about it, but I hate it. I hate feeling this vulnerable and this useless.
Part of this will be down to the fact that I played football the day after running, and I took a lot of the oomph out of my legs, but I'm also forced to admit that it is also at least partly due to my MS.
The injections and their side-effects I can take; the numbness and pins and needles I can handle; the weakness in my upper body I can live with (and today I was brushed off like I wasn't there in every single 50:50 I challenged for).....well, I've never exactly been rippling with muscles.... The fatigue though; the feeling that my tank is empty and that my body can't respond to my brain's instructions, is something else. I hate reaching the end of a game and struggling to operate my fingers enough to reach into my wallet for the money to pay. Horrible. I'm 36 years old and I don't want to feel this vulnerable.
Tomorrow's another day, but more than anything else it is moments like these when I feel most depressed about my condition.
Read: The Case for Being Less Serious
2 days ago