Good Grief

Some days it hurts as much to look forward as it does to look back. As Kiera and I waited in the reception area before the appointment with my new neurologist we discussed the grieving process a bit, and my take was that it's a very individual thing. Most people are familiar with the Kubler-Ross model for the different stages of grief, which includes denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. It's said the order isn't concrete, and while people don't necessarily go through all the stages, they often face two or more on the list.

I don't buy it. First of all, it omits "avoidance", which is the stage I find myself in on most days. Some might try to shoehorn avoidance into denial, but I'm not denying anything. Watching a dad do a cannonball into a pool to splash his kids pains me, as I can't help putting myself in his place. I can't move like that now, and my mind reaches out in both directions at once, remembering when I could and worrying about whether I ever will again. I don't pretend this isn't happening, but it just hurts too much to think about it, so I avoid it.

Putting Multiple Sclerosis out of my mind is tough (see post below), but the longer I deal with it the easier it gets to put it on the shelf. Feeling a bit better from day to day helps too, and I have been improving a bit as evidenced by my recent runs. When I'm not researching options for medications, diet, supplements and exercise/therapy to help me, I try not to think about it at all.

So why am I writing about it if I'm trying not to think about it? I think avoidance can only help (hurt?) me for so long, and writing keeps me genuinely work through my feelings. I want to write about what happened today.

My friend Lucas has been unlucky enough to be present for several of my running breakdowns. Back in December I was already feeling the effects of MS, though I didn't know it at the time. The legs felt weak, like they were going to come out from under me, and when I tried to put the pressure on with a workout I had disastrous results. We lined up to do a series of 1000's on the track, and I fell apart so badly by the fourth one that I stopped, dropped my hands on my knees and started crying. During the repeat a thought that was fermenting for weeks finally broke from the back of my mind to my lips. I said to the ground,"I've gone from trying to go where I haven't gone to trying to get back some of what I had." It was a low point, but soon enough things would get worse than I ever imagined.

I've gone through the MRI's, steroids and diagnosis since then, dragging along at 10 minute pace for 15 minutes has led to 5-8 milers at what used to be my easy paces. Lucas was with me again for an 8 miler today, and half-way up Dog Poop Trail my I.T. band finally gave way. It had been a bit sore for the past week, but alternating days and stretching had helped it along until today. It ground me to a halt, and Lucas was nice enough to wait three or four times as I stretched, then hobbled, then started jogging again while biting my lip. I broke down with about a half mile to go, muttering about how much it out and out sucked that I couldn't change my leg swing to avoid this. It's been very difficult getting back to this point, and getting injured on 20 miles per week isn't part of the deal.

Pain should be different now. It should be annoying, but that's where it should stop. Quite simply, there are bigger things to worry about and a jab in the side of the knee shouldn't rank very high. The truth is it feels like more than that. It feels like another December workout. It feels like slowly pulling yourself out of a deep pit, inch by inch, only to have someone step on your fingers when they finally grasp the lip.

"Can't I have this?" is unproductive as a mantra, but I find it springing to mind a bit too often, especially when it feels like more and more gets taken away. It's supposed to be a trade off; innocence for experience, youth for wisdom, that sort of thing. The game feels rigged. That leaves either watching as more and more of my pieces are pulled from the board or changing the game. I've chosen the latter. In my next post I'll tell you how I treat my Multiple Sclerosis.