So… this happened today. I was asked to be a guest on an
internet radio talk show called Life’s Journey with Tim Manson on
VoiceAmerica.com. It was a really fun experience. I talked about the way my MS
took me to Roller Derby. I don’t think I sounded too idiotic. But I will never
know because I can’t stand listening to recordings of my own voice.
It’s never nice to point out a flaw that cannot be fixed.
Only tell a woman that there is a run in her stockings if she is at home and
can change them. If she is nowhere that she can fix the problem, don’t mention
the problem. Remember that advice as I give you this:
You can only listen if you promise you won’t tell me if I sounded like a total
dork.
Something occurred to me as I was having this interview. I
wear a lot of labels. I’m not talking about fashion designer labels. My very
favorite shoes are a $30 pair of Chuck Taylors.
Listening to Tim introducing my segment, I thought about all
the different roles I have in my life. The most important are mother, daughter,
and sister. A very close second is friend. Coming in for a solid third place is
writer (a subset of which should probably be blogger). We should probably throw nerd into the label list.
But there are a couple new labels I am wearing as of the
last few months. The first being patient. I had an MRI yesterday that made me
feel like such a patient. This wasn’t my first time getting an MRI. It wasn’t
even my fifth time. I am coming up quickly on 10. Ten times I have been slid
into that tube armed with only earplugs and a meditation mantra. And in all
those times, no one thought to scan my brain stem and neck. So, once more unto
the breach, dear friends.
When I arrived at the hospital, I was told that the MRI room
was being renovated. Not to worry. They have a mobile MRI unit in the truck in
the parking lot. You read that right. I had to walk in my hospital gown and
non-slip socks through the halls of the hospital and out a side entrance, where
I then had to climb the painfully sharp metal stairs.
The actual MRI experience was pretty close to the ones on
terra firma. Maybe a tad more… bouncy? But afterwards, as I stood there while
my not-so-speedy tech was doing something that apparently needed to happen with
me standing there, the door opens. Nice view of the cars coming and going about
their health care business. I’m sure they had a nice view of me. The tech that
opened the door was waiting for his turn to scan some other patient. It was
cold, and a little bit mortifying.
So I tugged my hospital johnny and looked at Tech 2. “It’s
cold,” I said. He agreed. “Close the door,” I said.
The apology came quickly with the door closure soon after.
But it made me feel like a patient. Tech 2 had seen this scene hundreds of
times. I was just one of many patients to him. I am starting to hate that
particular label.
I’ve also been recently labeled as a skater. I love that
label. But sometimes, in moments of frustration, I feel like a poser. I feel
like I haven’t earned that label yet. Yes, I own skates. Yes, I can cross a room
with wheels on my feet. Does that make me a skater? I’ve got to be a skater
if I want to be a Derby Girl. And I so want to be a Derby Girl, but calling
myself a DG does not make me a DG.
Am I a DG? Maybe? One in her infancy? One with all the desire
to grow up and be a full-fledged Derby Queen? In fact, let’s go with this
label: Baby Derby Princess.
Uh... I'm gonna need that shirt...
Here is one more label that I am wearing since the
diagnosis. Ambassador. I am Ambassador Derby Princess and Ambassador MS Chick. I am
strangely comfortable in this label. As my friends are finding out, I will try
to convince you to try derby with religious zeal. I will talk your ear off
about how much fun it is. I will explain the subtle nuance of the game that I
am just starting to understand.
As Ambassador MS Chick, I will tell you to make sure that
you are getting your Vitamin D. I will encourage you to make sure your kids
take a daily multivitamin. I can tell you all about my symptoms and reassure
you that you are most likely OK.
I can show you that I am OK. Better than that, I’m great. Mostly.
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