The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

This is how I would describe my weekend: Spaghetti Western.

The Good

The Good started out on Friday afternoon. I met with my Neurologist, who told me that my latest MRI results showed positive signs. While the little divots dissolved out of my myelin will never be repaired (at least not with current knowledge of medicine), the progression seems to have slowed and the inflammation has calmed. That was the word she used: calmed. The Avonex appears to be doing its job with little impact on my liver.

On Sunday night, it was my turn to host Sunday dinner. Every year, around Halloween, I usually go all-out on a spooky party. And the older my son, nephew, and nieces get, the more fun we have. This year, the kiddos ate brains with blood sauce, devils eyes, vampire fingers, and miniature pumpkins with a side of ghost.

The adults had spaghetti with meat sauce, deviled eggs, garlic breadsticks, and mandarin oranges with bananas. We also decorated sugar skulls, which was a ton of fun.

The Bad

Apparently, in all these times I have been shoved down an MRI tube, no one has thought to look at my neck. Or more specifically, my brain stem and spinal cord. So guess who has to participate in another MRI next week. If you guessed Salma Hayek , I can understand why. I am often confused for her. But, no, it is me that gets that little party. (Salma may actually be having an MRI next week. But if she is, she didn’t mention it to me.) Really, is there anything that brings quite the feeling of humiliation of sitting in a waiting area—in a hospital gown—with ten other people who are waiting for their procedures?

Another Bad of the weekend happened Saturday morning when I attempted to make a jump while on skates. Let me be very clear here. I got nowhere near anything most literate people would label as a jump. Maybe, if someone were being exceptionally generous, it could be called a cowardly, one-footed hop. I lost my courage as I approached the cones I was trying to jump.  Wasn't pretty. Probably pretty funny, though.

The Ugly

So, here is the Ugly. On Saturday, coming back from downtown where I had picked up the sugar skulls, I stopped for gas. I put my credit card in the machine at the pump, lifted the nozzle, and looked at the cover to my car’s gas tank. And I could not remember how to open it.

I tugged at it for a moment with no results. I got into the car, where I looked for a button that released the cover. Nope. I got out again and stared at it blankly. I sat in the passenger’s seat and rifled through the glove box for the owners manual, which read : To fuel your automobile, open the fuel tank cover…” No help there.

A total and complete blank. I’ve opened that fuel tank a hundred times. And I forgot how to do it.

I stood there for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only a couple of minutes. I was fighting tears of frustration and mild panic. I finally pried open the little rectangular flap and gassed up. Then, of course, the cover wouldn’t close because I had broken it. Instead of lightly pushing on the side of the cover, releasing the mechanism that was holding it shut, I destroyed the latch by forcing it open.

It’s called Cognitive Dysfunction. And it is not like “where did I leave my keys.” It’s more like “I see what needs to be done, but I have no idea how to accomplish it.” For me, having this happen for the first time, it is scary, and frustrating, and strange.  It is, in a word, Ugly.

My car gets repaired on Friday. Unfortunately, my brain does not.

The Marvels

I've experienced a lot of marvel in the last couple days.

I had an appointment with my Neurologist. My most recent MRI showed that the Avonex is doing its job. The films showed that my brain lesions are in a calm state, meaning that they are not actively progressing. So that's something!

Halloween was fun this year. Kidlet dressed up as Captain America, and I was Wonder Woman. I was informed by The Cap that we cannot be seen together, since he was Marvel and I was DC Comics.

My skating mojo has been off. Ever since I came back from vacation, I've been having some trouble. I think it's a combination of a week without being on my skates, my feet being quite shredded, and a bit of scheduling bad luck. But, in the last couple days, my skating is on the upswing. I'm seeing myself improve. And that is marvelously encouraging.

Pursuit and Happiness

Kidlet is making out his December gift list. He has the unfortunate luck of having a birthday smack dab in the middle of the Holiday Season. One of the things he asked for was the new Skylanders video game. (Let’s not tell him he won’t be getting it. We are trying to cut down on screen time. He’s getting books.)

But, knowing me well, he sweetened his sales pitch for this game with the following bit of information:

“Mom, they have a character named Roller Brawl!”

Yeah, I’m going to need to paint my helmet like that.

Kidlet has also pointed out other places he has found Derby Girls. One place was in my favorite kid’s show Phineas and Ferb. If you haven’t had the great pleasure of watching this Disney animation, you should make some time to do so. I won’t even tell anyone if you don’t have kids. It’s a great show.

In an episode called “Crack That Whip,” (See, right out of the gate. Great title.) Betty Jo Flynn and Hildegard Johnson rekindle their roller derby rivalry. Betty Jo, grandmother of the titular characters, and Hildegard draft their grandkids to skate with them, pitting the smitten Candace against the boy she is crushing on. Skating ensues.

I am a little surprised—but tickled pink—that Kidlet is enjoying my Derby journey. But he sincerely is loving it. He writes about it in school. He talks about it to his friend. He throws around terms like “derby tough” and “hip check.” And I smile every time.

I like that he is seeing his mom as determined, strong, and daring. When he watches me give myself my shot, he is thinking that I am tough, not that I am sick. He loves to see bruises on my legs because I let him believe that they are from derby, not from Avonex.

I’ve said it before, but Kidlet is the reason I can never, never quit. He has too much faith in me, and I cannot disappoint him. I cannot let him see me stop something because it got hard. He knows that I am strong and fierce. And he knows that I will always stand by him, behind him, and, if necessary, in front of him.

But, more importantly, he will see that the coolest things are often the hardest things. The most amazing experiences are often the scariest. Being brave does not mean never being scared. It means doing it anyway.

When our family was in Mexico, one of the activities that Kidlet tried out was the trapeze. He got into the harness, climbed the ladder, and swung on a bar that was 30 feet in the air. I asked him about it later. He said, “I’m really glad I tried it. Now I never have to do it again.” He tried it. He is so brave.

I dig that kid. So, in the immortal words of Candace, see you on the track, chump!