And then it hits you - literally!

One minute you are ok, the next you're staring at the kitchen floor wondering if you will need a new set of teeth.

Sat in my pyjamas at 10.02 am on a Wednesday, realising life isn’t quite the same anymore.  Will I need to change?  Who will help me?   Why me?  Really – WHY ME?

I can barely make out the words on the screen.   But I need to say this.

We are not invincible.

99, ok, maybe, 93% of the time, I am a happy-go-lucky, determined, middle-aged woman. (When did that happen?)

Life is not rosy.  I have Multiple Sclerosis (MS) and it’s taken a toll on my mobility, vision and more.  Fatigue dominates and pain lingers, but with 40 tablets a day, I function – just not in the way most people would recognise.  And that’s OK.  It’s my version of okay.

Why the pity party today?

I fall all the time.  It is part of MS’s charming way of reminding me it’s still around. (Like I can forget!)

Every so often, a big one comes along.   Completely unexpected. BAM.

In slow motion, my foot, ankle – whatever gives way, I tumble, smacking my head straight onto the worktop.  I am sure I bounce and hit it again then slide and hit the drawer handle whilst my arm scrapes down the door handle below.  The Pain, fear and shock all rush to my brain.  What have I done?  Have I broken my glasses?  What about my teeth?  Do I still have an eye?  OMG is it bleeding?

I am crying out in pain.  My husband, Peter rushed in.  All I can do is make strange noises and hold my head.  Seeing your wife flat out on the floor, hearing that noise and wondering how the hell he is going to deal with the groaning woman spatchcocked out on the floor must have been a moment for him too.   No Blood – WOW but ouch. My focus became the cold wet tea towel on my head.

At the hospital, Peter steered my powerchair whilst I sat clutching the wet tea towel and now supporting a sick bowl for good measure.  Closing my eyes and practising mindfulness to cope with the pain – somewhat challenging for an ADHD brain but still helped tremendously.   As I was still not communicating properly, he efficiently dealt with the whole situation with great resilience.  Hours pass and eventually, X-rays show no breaks and I leave with a swollen knee, wrist and ankle plus a glorious black eye that would make a boxer jealous.

Today, I am sporting the most majestic purple and pink shiner.  I wonder if I could match the other side with make-up. Maybe not!

The real blow is the vulnerability that crashes in.  My shield is shattered and each new symptom, each fall, chips away at my defences.  Every stumble I take sends tremors through our world.

But I know I’ll rebuild.  The bruises will fade and the shield will piece back together, albeit with a few more weak points.  It’s okay to be vulnerable – to let the demons visit before showing them the door again.

I’m still here, still fighting and that’s what matters.