I’m back! I had my treatment in late July and have been hesitant to post anything for fear of jinxing the (so far) amazing results. I did post something on Facebook a few weeks back and sure enough, later that night I couldn’t walk. But let’s start at the beginning.

In June, I went with my siblings and sister-in-law up to Mt Shasta to scatter Mom and Dads ashes. It was poignant, and heart breaking and liberating all at the same time. As I’ve written here before, my expectation of the whole “circle of life” thing was completely shattered when I fell to my knees and wailed from a very deep place I didn’t even know existed within that I missed my Mom! Fortunately, my brother and sister were there and my sister kept me from completely melting apart.

While out of town I got a call from my neurologist informing me that my treatment was being moved out two weeks. Damn! I had myself totally psyched up for it, but as it turned out it was for the best. When I came home from my trip, my beloved, pain in the ass, long time companion Clark wasn’t feeling so great. Fast forward a week and I was saying goodbye to my old pal. I miss him tremendously, but he did me a solid by checking out when he did. That cat was in. And out. And in. And out. And in…you get the idea. During my infusion week it would have been a bit much I think.

So I’d lost my mother. I’d lost my cat. It was time to lose my immune system. I’m sure I’ve made it quite clear that my family ROCKS. No surprise then, that my sister came straight down to go through the procedure with me (and my nephew popped in from NY for a night to offer some support). She and I secured candy (to counteract the steroid taste), cell phone chargers, snacks (duh, it’s my family), blankets, and water bottles and headed downtown to the hospital.

Everything I’d read said to plan 6-8 hours per day for the five days of the infusion. Yikes ~ that’s a long day. Ha! The protocol at the hospital infusion center required 10 hours ~ each day. The nurses were fantastic and had been infusing Lemtrada for over a year, so they had it down. I partly attribute my comfortable response to this drug to their expertise in administering it and the tweaks they’ve figured out to make it as uneventful and successful as possible.

My sister stayed for a week, followed by my brother for a week, followed by my daughter for a week (not to mention cards, visits, shopping, food, flowers, phone calls and texts from many incredible friends).  My gang did laundry, chores, cleaned house, shopped, cooked…I basically had staff. It was fantastic.  I am so fortunate that I felt great, almost right out of the gate. My head felt clear for the first time in years (possibly due to not drinking wine for a change as one friend pointed out, but anyway…).

So on the Facebook posting night, my daughter Liza was here from Colorado, and her boyfriend was here too. We went over to Anna & Chris’s house for dinner and holy shit….my legs just stopped working.Completely. I wasn’t unduly alarmed; one is warned of all kinds of crazy stuff that can happen post infusion, but it wasn’t fun. Fortunately, with two paramedics on hand, I knew I was going to be safe. Liza had the wherewithal to put in a call to the on-call doctor who told her I needed electrolytes (it’s critical to stay hydrated, but all that water had had flushed everything out of my system apparently). I had a Gatorade, and within 20 minutes was back on my feet. Yay!

Since then, I’ve been feeling marvelous, albeit pretty low energy. The goal with Lemtrada is to stop progression, and any improvement beyond that is gravy. I visited my doctor last week and was told I’m right on track, which is super encouraging. I now continue to get labs done monthly for the next four years (monitoring against all kinds of dire and weird stuff) and then I’ll get an MRI in one year to see if progression as been halted, then do this all over again for a for three day second course of treatment.

I’m not allowed to expect anything beyond containment of this disease, although many people have regained various degrees of ability. Obviously I’m tempting fate by writing this blog post and possibly jinxing myself again, so I’m going to say this very quietly: last week I walked across a room, unaided, carrying a glass of water! ;-).



Is It A Little Warm In Here?

When I was in the audio business I went to a LOT of trade shows. At one company I worked at we had a slew of rep firms that sold our products across the nation into music and pro audio stores. These warriors obviously attended all the same trade shows as me, which were scattered throughout the year all over the country.

Although it might be hard to fathom, I was a pretty irreverent little punk back then (as were all my co-workers ~ but damn we certainly were witty and clever). We had this one guy who had a firm based in Minnesota. No matter where we were, or what time of year, or what time of day, he would always come running into our booth sweating profusely and saying, “Is it a little warm in here?”. Mercy, we made a lot of fun at the expense of that poor guy. Apparently I took the communal comeuppance and was chosen to pay the group sins by getting MS, whose worst enemy is heat.

Back in the day (so I’ve heard), if you you were suspected of having MS, you’d be thrown into a tub of hot water. If all symptoms got worse, then there you’d go. MS. I’m not sure if that’s true or not, but suffice it to say I haven’t had a hot bath in years.

Now add an equation of MS, medications, menopause and living in Southern California and you’ve got one noodly challenge to standing or walking. On top of this, I can’t stand air conditioning. All that fake cold air blowing over my neck, head and body – yuck. Consequently, I tend to be one big Gumbyesque mess come summer. And of course this being Southern California, it always feels like summer.

This new treatment that I’m about to embark on (the goal of which is to stop progression), has offered some other Lemmies (evidently the Lemtrada “in crowd” gang moniker) relief from the heat as time has gone on. This would be a big bonus for me! Geez, I’ve become a gray haired, over weight, over heated grumpy old lady with a walker now. I’m so totally ready to be cool again! : -)


Hakuna Lemtrada!

Multiple Sclerosis is for the birds. No big news, that. What is big news are the many treatments that good ol’ Western medicine has been cooking up in the past decades since I was first diagnosed.

I’ve tried several of them ~ Copaxone, Tecfidera, Gilenya ~ and with the exception of Copaxone, I haven’t been too impressed. So it is with skeptical delight that I’ve decided to give another one a try. It’s called Lemtrada. This one basically annihilates the immune system then let’s your body regenerate it without the “memory” of MS. Sweet!

Downsides? Minor. Risk of cancer, thyroid problems, thrush, vomiting, rashes, death. You know, just about anything awful. But what the hell, death is the outcome regardless for us all, and despite that it seems extreme and in another decade it will probably seem as obsolete as using leeches to clean wounds, I’m giving it a go.

I know, I’m being glib (also no big news). Quite honestly I’m terrified. How can I not be? I’ve always thought going under the knife for any kind of elective procedure was risky, vain, unnecessary and actually stupid. Instead, I’m opting to voluntarily obliterate my immune system. Genious!

As expected, my incredibly wonderful and supportive family are lining up to take turns caring for me. My sister is coming from Seattle for the week of infusions (6-8 hours per day for 5 days), my brother is coming down from Northern California to take his stint and cook for me and keep me amused, then Liza comes from Colorado for a week to keep me company and shore me up. And of course, Anna is here the whole time being my rock.

As fucking freaked out as I truly am, when Liza was leaving from her visit last week I told her next time I see her, I won’t have MS! I don’t think that’s exactly true, but it certainly is a fantastic motivator!

I’m nervous and excited and expecting quite the journey. If this can stop MS in it’s tracks (and quite possibly allow my body to regain some ability back), I’m a thrilled and happy camper. Count on my brother to coin the phrase “Hakuna Lemtrada” which I”m hoping proves true…”it means no worries for the rest of your days…”!





And Floss, Too!

I’m not proud of what I’m about to share, but here goes. I like to relax before dinner with a glass of wine and a puzzle of some sort (jigsaw, crossword, scrabble) as a segue from the day into the evening. Oddly (and thankfully) enough, a glass of wine tends to make me more steady on my feet ~ maybe it’s the sugar, or maybe it just relaxes me? I don’t really know or care ~ I just like being able to drink one with a clear conscious.

On this particular evening, for whatever reason, I was honestly just a tad tipsy (at least I hope I was based on what happened). I glanced up and saw out the window two people walking up to my front door. I recognized three things: 1) they were strangers, 2) they were teenagers, and 3) they were black.

I don’t like answering my door period, and I was startled for all three reasons stated above. Everything in the media says don’t open your door to people you don’t know, ever. The town I live in is very ethnically diverse with Armenians and Koreans, but not too many African Americans. Teenagers are, well, teenagers. Once I realized my 3 prejudices I was embarrassed at best, horrified at worst. Everyone is a stranger until you say hello, teenagers are inherently just frightened children, and what do I care what color they were?

Consequently, I opened the door laden with guilt and a loopy smile and asked what I could do for them. They were selling some sort of coupons for their football program. I asked them what high school, and it was not an area school, nor one I recognized. I then asked, “What are you doing all the way up here, then?”.  “Our coach brought us up here,” said the girl. I reply with, “Oh, that’s because he knows there’s money up here.” I did. I said that. Outloud.

Now that my foot was buried up to my shin in my mouth, I started to get even more frazzled. The kids asked me if I wanted to buy a coupon book (fair enough I guess since we’re all so stinking rich up in here) . It’s for things like Long John Silvers and Caesars Pizza and other places I never go to so I said no thanks, plus I told them I have no cash. “That’s ok,” says the young man, “we can take a check”. Who has checks? I don’t anymore. Why can’t they give these kids card readers?

I’m dripping in even more guilt, because I’m sure these teens think I’m lying about not having checks.Then,  I remember that I actually DID have some emergency cash on hand (yes, I dipped into emergency reserves. I was beginning to feel that this was an emergency. What if they think I’m a stranger/black/teen hater?). So  I ask them to hang on a second and go into my cash reserves ~ all I have is a $50 bill.

I give them the $50 bill. Their eyes get really wide and they are gushing with thanks.  I did not take a coupon book, but I told them to study hard and stay in school. Then as if I wasn’t already acting enough like a crazy old bat, I told them to brush their teeth. I did. I said that too. Outloud.

Their eyes got even bigger and I mumbled that I had braces like them once upon a time and they needed to keep them brushed. Needless to say, they couldn’t get off my front stoop fast enough. I need to get this brain/mouth connection sorted out. Fast!




The protocol to start my new drug Gilenya is to go to a medical facility (in my case, an urgent care center in the Valley), pop the pill, and sit around for 6 hours while your heart rate and pulse are monitored to make sure you don’t keel over or die or anything.

Simple, no? First off my appointment is at 10 a.m. Being a prompt sort, my good friend Bella gets me there at 9:45. I fill out paperwork, we chat for a 1/2 hour, then she leaves me there. Then it’s 10:45, then it’s 11:00. Um, hello? My appointment is at 10, what’s up? The monitoring doctor isn’t here yet. Ok….

Now, even though I’m unemployed and honestly have nothing but time on my hands, I still feel that my time is as important as anyone else’s. So I’m starting to get a little grumbly under my breath. “I guess this doctor thinks his time is more valuable than mine….sure! just make me wait!….goddam doctors thing they’re so important…” Somehow I’m drifting into a self righteous ‘get off my lawn’ space and feeling more and more like I’m being singled out and wronged by ‘The Man’ and every other human on the planet. Very pretty and helpful in this situation.

Not surprisingly, I take this attitude right with me when I’m finally called into an exam room. A nice nurse takes my vitals, then says another nurse will be right in to give me an EKG. Just put this ridiculous piece of hard stiff fabric that covers nothing of your body on and sit here in the freezing air conditioner for a minute, he says.  10 more minutes go by and I start frothing at the mouth. I am getting pissed! I’ve thrown off the stupid paper shorty gown top, I’m half naked in a sweater and getting madder than a wet hen by the minute.

In comes the doctor and the first words out of my mouth are, “My appointment was at 10. I’m usually a very chill person (obviously) and I’m sorry to be such a bitch but I’m tired of sitting around waiting on you people..blah, blah, blah”. The doctor is unfazed. I’m assuming since this is an urgent care facility she’s used to dealing with people who are a) hungry and b) scared ~ which I finally realize are both true regarding me.

I calm down, get dressed, and pop the pill at 11:20. I’m escorted into a quasi storage room with a big chair in it and then monitored every 1/2 hour for blood pressure and pulse. I finish watching Behind the Candelabra; the movie Birdman (did it really win an Academy Award?); and 8 or so episodes of Seinfeld.

The plan is for Anna to pick me up on her way home from a relaxing weekend in Monterey. The timing was perfect! She got there right at 4:30, but since I’d started late, we had an hour to kill which we did visiting and eating potato chips. At 5:30 I get another EKG and the news from the doctor that she wants to ‘hold me over’ because all my pressures are low.

Drat. I’m kind to the doctor now and being all cooperative and trite because I’ve been such a bitch at the beginning and feeling guilty. She seems to be just going along with her day and harboring no resentment towards me and the time passes and finally at 7:30 I’m released.

On the way out, we stop at the desk to ask her some questions about this super heavy duty, heart beat lowering, ‘we’re not sure how it works’ medication. It goes like this:

Me: “Since I took my first dose today at 11:30, can I take it tomorrow at 10?” Dr. C: “Meh” with a shrug.

Me: “Should I stay home tomorrow and rest, or should I go into the store so Anna can keep an eye on me?” Dr C: “Yes”. Me: “Yes, I should stay home? Or yes I should go to the store?” Dr. C: “Yes”.

Anna: “If she starts to feel dizzy or strange, is that normal? Or should she go to urgent care?” Dr C: “Meh”, again with the shrug. Then she says, “You might feel faint, have chest pains or be dizzy.” Anna and me: “and…?” Dr C : “Meh”.

It was just bizarre. At this point, we can’t wait to leave so we just high tail it out of there and figure we’ll sort everything out as it comes along. Poor Anna, this is how she ends a holiday weekend? I take her out for some dinner, since all we’ve had since 4:30 is a small bag of potato chips, which we split. We go to one of our usual places and when I ask her how her dinner is? She just shrugs and said, “Meh.”


Seriously. 2 Cookies?

Like the majority of people, middle age has definitely settled a few lbs around the old middle section. In addition to the age thing, I just can’t exercise like I used to (what I wouldn’t give now to be able to participate in my least favorite activity: jogging). A few stark selfies in the mirror was more than enough motivation to decide it was time to drop a few pieces of stored wine and chocolate, and since diet is also huge in managing MS, I put together a plan.

It’s no secret I have the most amazing two daughters and I am endlessly proud of them. Sometimes mistaken for twins, they could not have chosen more divergent careers.

While Elizabeth, as a licensed paramedic, runs around with lights and sirens leading her way (literally and figuratively), Anna chooses to make jewelry and run a business. They are both incredible, and very inspiring to me.

Because on any given day Elizabeth can be found helping skate boarders with broken collar bones, monitoring old ladies with irregular heartbeats, DELIVERING A BABY, or in some cases, just calling it (once it was a guy who met his maker while wearing a cock ring and ‘looking over’ a Farrah Fawcett Playboy spread); she is our go to person when we stub a toe, get a bug bite or give birth to an eye hematoma with a name (Ito). I don’t use the word awesome unless something is truly awe inspiring ~ Liza is awesome.

Anna is equally dazzling. Though she squirms at the sight of the tiniest spider (while her sister can pick up a severed limb), she is no wimp. This girl has gone through a harsh and unexpected divorce and during that time still managed to create, maintain and grow 5 businesses. She creates two of her own lines of jewelry, has a small floral design boutique, owns and runs a gift shop Boulevard 34 (shameless plug here, it’s my blog after all ~ please like it on Facebook! www.facebook.com/blvd34), and has now started coaching a fitness group.

In the spirit of support, wanting to thin down a bit, and the fact that Anna and I are together all the time (and love to eat), I chose to adopt her coaching meal plan. It couldn’t be simpler. It’s all about portion control. Lean protein 3 time per day, veges 4 times per day, fruit, fats, carbs a limited number per day. You get it. And here’s the kicker: since experiencing vertigo starting in early July, I haven’t been drinking wine.

Now those of you who know me (my Tubac friends are no doubt getting up off the floor after being knocked down by this revelation), I love my wine. Over the years I’ve drifted away from beer, martinis, margaritas, and so on, but man I love a glass of wine to wind down at the end of the day.

One would think that by giving up wine alone I’d be shedding weight like a Malamute in summer sheds fur. I’ve (mostly) given up chocolate, wine, popcorn and all crackers and cheese. It’s just all heathy and organic protein and fruits and veges. So I was pretty happy to find out I’d lost 2 pounds in 17 days. Yay! Ok, in actuality I was expecting to “lose up to 10 lbs in 3 weeks!”, but hey, 2 is safe and certain and better than nothing.

But alas. Next door to the store is the most amazing bakery called Berolina’s. It’s run by my friends Youna and Anders (a Belgian and a Swede), and I found that they make peanut butter smash cookies just like my mom used to make from Aunt Iris’ recipe.They are delicious.

In celebration of losing 2 pounds I decided to have 2 cookies (yes, I re-read that sentence and realized how totally ass backwards that is). What’s the big deal? 2 pounds, that’s the big deal. They’re both back. I’m hoping another gallon of water and some lettuce will kick them back out; that it’s just fake weight caused by bloating, heat, an alien force field…something.

I plan on staying with the eating plan. I feel energized, my skin is good, I rarely miss sugar. But I gotta tell ya, once this vertigo thing is behind me, I’m having a glass of wine. To hell with the cookies!




It Does What, Now..?

Just over a year ago I posted about how excited I was to be trying a new dry cleaning fluid based pill, hoping it’d be a panacea, etc., etc. Well now, 13 months later I can report ~ yeah, not so much.

An $18,995 MRI came back all clean and rosy ~ no new lesions and others even reduced in size ~ this is all good. What’s not good however, is my new inability to do things, like, oh….. WALK. That particular skill has gone directly and solidly downhill.

Consequently, I scheduled a pow-wow with my doctor….wait, I haven’t told you about my new doctor yet, have I? Oh my goodness! Dr B. She is amazing! Very, very, very smart. She looks like Emma Peel as a Russian spy. She’s very stylish and gorgeous and super well dressed. Under her white doctor coat she wears super chic black A-line dresses or slacks and pointy shoes. She has teased hair, black eyeliner, gold jewelry and a PhD. In a nut shell, she is bad ass.

Dr B. and I discussed my options and together (with patient advocate daughter Liza by my side (it was her turn, Anna went last time)), we opted for another newish drug called Gilenya.

This will be drug therapy #3. Two main things seem to be consistent with MS drugs. 1) they are massively expensive and, 2) scientists seem to have now idea how they work. Witness the fancy brochure I had sent overnight to me from Novartis, (the makers of Gilenya). Tucked in amongst the glossy pictures of people laughing and splashing paint all over the place (why? I have no idea), and warnings of side effects you don’t want to know about, is this gem of a phrase on page 10: “While it’s not exactly clear how Gilenya works….”

Whoa, wait a second. WTF? I’m going to take some pill that is unknown as to how it works? The short answer is hell yeah. If it can slow this thing down, then you betcha. Honestly I don’t care how it works, only that it does.

So I get an EKG to see if my heart is ok. I get blood drawn to see if my liver is ok. I see a nuero ophthalmologist (this guy is also gorgeous ~ if you get MS, go to USC Keck Medical Center) to assess if my eyes are ok (I told you you didn’t want to know about the side effects…).  I contact my insurance. I contact my co-pay assistance fund. I get green lighted all the way around and now I am good to go.

The next step is to go to an out patient center someplace in the Valley so that I can take my first pill and then be monitored for six hours to make sure my heart doesn’t stop beating or some damn thing. Chances are one in a zillion, but I guess they want to be sure.

I trust my new Avenger doctor and her recommendations. But let us please, collectively keep our fingers crossed that this works.The next options are even crazier ~ but you can bet I’ll try them if this one doesn’t pan out!emmapeel


Why Not Me?

Anybody who follows this blog knows that I do my best to stay positive. I have an amazing life ~ great family, supportive friends, financial security, a lovely home…and the motto I stay true to is “why not me?

I’ll explain. It’s no secret that I find wallowing in self pity unacceptable. Shit happens to all of us (it’s called the gift of life!) which is where my stance on “why me?” comes from. “Why not me?” I say. Would you wish your cancer diagnosis on your best friend? Of course not. Would you be happier if your sister had MS? Of course not. Buck up and own it, I say.

We all are familiar with waking in the night and worrying about the pipes bursting, the kids falling into a ravine, the Visa police showing up at work to shame you for your credit limit excess, your dentist calling you out for only flossing every other day. Of course these things don’t happen. But if they did, you might be thinking, “why me?”. Well duh. Floss your teeth, check your pipes, pay your Visa bill, teach your kids the dangers of ravines. We all must take responsibility for our own actions.

But when the universe throws you something out of your control (i.e. MS) it’s easy to fall into a state of self pity. I get it! And I am totally accepting that for whatever reason, I pulled an MS lottery card. It stinks, but as trite as it sounds, it is what it is.

Ok, so obviously I’m a super evolved, rational and gentle saint. Tonight however, I am fucking mad at MS. I want my “old” life back. I want to get out of the car and run inside for a second. I want to walk around the block. I want to bend down and pick something up without falling over. Hell, I want to just walk to the kitchen without holding on to anything. I want to not be hot, tired, dizzy, addled. I want to not have everything be such a big deal. It’s exhausting on top of being exhausting.

I find though that as much as I rail against it, curse at it, try to stomp my feet (no can do without falling over) at it, scream and cry at it, it remains the same. Yes I’m mad, and yes I’m frustrated…but would I wish on you? Not in a million years. You have your own burdens to bear. This one is all mine.



Through the Looking Glass

I’m trying a new trick. My goal is to not touch anything. Fellow MSers will know what I mean, but for the rest of you firmly planted sorts, it works like this. The game is to stand up from the couch without using your arms, walk through the house without touching the walls, or put your pants on without helping to lift your leg. Sound simple? It’s not!

Today as I was contemplating arising from the toilet without pushing off using the counter (sorry if TMI), I was thinking about things I wanted to do today, and fondly remembered those days of leaping up and just getting crackin’ ~ from the couch, out of the car, out of bed and on with the day!

I’m not going to sugar it up. I miss those days. I mourn my ever changing and challenging inability to just do shit when I want! This thought eventually meandered into a recording studio analogy (no surprise for those who know me) and I realized all that has really happened is that I’ve switched sides of the glass.

For the first 50 years of my life I was in the main tracking room in front of the mic, belting it out for all to hear. Dancing, swaying, singing, performing, entertaining.  Now, I’m on the other side ~ in front of the console and living, finessing and capturing life from the chair. And, as much as I’ve always admired the performers, I know how much magic happens on the other side of the glass in the control room.

This is where the sparkle, the nuance, the punch, the subtlety and the humor is added. It’s the finishing touches on a masterful performance. It’s a caress and a slap. It’s a laugh and a cry. It’s the icing and the cherry. It’s the pièce de résistance.

Now don’t get the idea that I’m giving up on living here or anything. I’m just learning to hone the craft of living from another perspective. The mental change over is helping to ease the sometimes foot stamping, hair pulling, tantrum inducing effects of this goofy MS. Plus this way, I still get to hang out with the band.



So Far, So…Good……zzzzzzzzz

After 13 -1/2 years, close to 5,000 injections and nearly $700,000 I have finally moved off of my trusty “bruise juice” Copaxone and moved on to a new pill for treatment of MS. Hooray! This is big news by anyone’s standards (especially for the diabetics in my life) but I have been suffering big time from what is called “needle fatigue”. This is a condition according to MSers whereby the daily injection of….oh for Pete’s sake, it’s when you are bloody sick and tired of shooting up, plain and simple. The initial plan is to rotate and keep track on this nifty little body part chart the drug company gives you: Monday left arm, Tuesday right arm, Wednesday left leg, and so on. This results in a series of nasty little dents in your biceps, thighs, hips and belly. In my case, I don’t carry enough meat on my arm or leg parts, so I resorted to injecting in my rather ample belly and hips only for the last 5 years or so. The Copaxone made sure to increase the dented, blobby mass of those areas for me as well. Yay!

But – pshaw! That’s all behind me now. This new drug, called Tecfidera, is made out of dry cleaning fluid or some such disagreeable thing and like all MS drugs they have zero idea how it works. I swear I was a Guinea pig in a former life because I get these RX’s and go, OK! let’s pop some formaldehyde! Does it contain resin, plastic and particle board bits? Bring it on!

Not surprisingly, there is a long list of not so pretty side effects that goes along with the prescription. The main ones are flushing, itching, projectile body fluids of all types, weight gain, hair loss and so on. Not one to go marching into this new pill popping venture unprepared (I was a girl scout leader after all), I loaded up on baby aspirin (for flushing), Benedryl (for itching), Gas-X and probiotics (for the intestinal distress). Good to go.

I took my first pill and waited at home. Nothing…nothing…nothing….uh oh! My skin is starting to get prickly. No worries ~ I’ve eaten, taken an aspirin and now take a Benedryl to nip this in the bud. And it works! After about an hour, I head over to the store to exalt over my success with my first pill to Anna. I am happy, she is happy ~ we’ve read some horror stories and this is turning out to be a cake walk.

About an hour or so later, I start to feel really droopy.  I can’t keep my head up or my eye lids open and so excuse myself to go home and take a 3 hour nap. Anna suggests that if I can avoid the other nasty effects and the pill only makes me tired, that’s not such a bad thing. I agree, but am thinking I can’t go through the day feeling this fucking tired all the time ~ I’ll become bed ridden! Forget the needle fatigue, this is just plain old fatigue.

After a little bit of research and some advice from  a few seasoned veterans, I realize much to my chagrin, that the Tec doesn’t cause fatigue, but boy Benydryl sure does. Doh! of course.

So now I’m on my second week, taking the full strength dose and thinking I’m feeling pretty good. This is a cinch! It seems I have a cast iron constitution and no little systemic methanol is going to slow me down. I woke up this morning perky, raring to go, and planned my day. First some yoga, then some errands, then a nice dinner, then my drum class.

It started in yoga. We were working on balance, always a particular challenge for me. This time though, I found that in addition to falling over I had big tears running down my face. Huge crocodile tears. Non-stop emotional release tears. Not being much of the crying sort, I brushed them aside and soldiered through class (kind of weeping the whole time) and then came home and just sat down. For about four hours. The errands went out the window and I canceled my drum class. I had to hit the store though for some groceries so I ran into Trader Joe’s. The nice clerk asked me how I was doing in a standard chit chatty sort of way as I was paying and I started to cry. Wow, really!? Choked up over bananas and quinoa?

Despite the fact that I’m bloated, sobbing and half asleep most of the time, I’m hopeful that this truly is my panacea for MS. Considering I can’t face another needle, it damn well better be!