Well, I sort of understand:  MS is most often diagnosed when people are in the prime of life and, had I been diagnosed with it, back then, I *might* have been devastated by the nuze, as well.

I *might* have been, but I honestly don’t think that I would have reacted to it in that manner.

In a couple of respects, I consider myself to be "lucky" (if one believes in the "crossing of fingers skool of life") because:

    1    I had been getting to the age where I was expecting my body to start failing me.

    2    I am not the type that simply rolls over because someone associates some label with me and
          even if they call it a "diagnosis".

See, I consider MS to be something between an inconvenience and an adventure.

Yes, when the uglier symptoms hit, it was an inconvenience.  Losing all feeling in my left hand (my dominant hand) was a noticeable inconvenience.  Fortunately, I could still type by using my right hand and I simply learned to write with my right hand [1].

The adventure, in this scenario, comes about when I decided to force myself to use my left hand, again.

My first attempt was something like either a recipe or a shopping list.  I slowly, carefully and (emotionally) painfully forced myself to write each character, each work, so that:

    1    I retained the pen in my hand [2].

    2    The pen stayed in contact with the paper as it should have.

    3    I moved the pen on the paper so as to somewhat approximate the characters that I was trying
          to write.

My success at this was dubious, but I *was* able to write [3].

I discovered that I simply had to begin really focusing on and giving thought to many of those things that I used to be able to do without thinking.

As time went on, this did encompass progressively more things.  Some of these things included:

    1    Writing
    2    Walking [4]
    3    Standing
    4    Recognizing the difference between breathing and swallowing [5]
    5    (If I might be forgiven for mentioning this) Being able to take a dump on demand [6].

The intense focusing on all of these things that I was used to doing without thought is responsible, I believe, for the most amazing fatigue [7].

In any case, as the symptoms appear, I simply find ways to deal with them so that they hamper my life as little as possible.  Heck, some of the symptoms are actually *beneficial* to me [8].

Would I like for there to be a cure for MS?

Well, yeah, sort of; but not in the way that we so often see "cures" handed down in recent years.  (The cures are literally as bad as or worse than the illnesses )  Additionally, you will not hear me sniveling about having MS.

And, should anybody hear me sniveling about it or asking for donations to find some magic cure, I would ask them to please put me out of their misery with a little lead poisoning (it’s quick and virtually painless).  We have more than enough misery to go around and I am not inclined to add to that.

[1]    I realized that I had to be able to write.  I learned to use my right hand, for this.  After all,
        that is how "normal" people right.

[2]    Oh, it worked well enough (for lower values of "well enough").  It looked very much like
        the writings of a kindergartner just learning how to write.  Backwards "Z", "2" and "E", but it
        was (mostly) readable.

        Shortly after these major symptoms hit, I went out to dinner with my parents.  I ordered lobster.

        My left hand *sorta* worked by that time.

        I picked up the knife to cut a bite and I was not concentrating as much as I should have been.
        The knife went flying off to my right, as if I’d thrown it.

        Fortunately, there was nobody sitting to my right, or I might have had to spend some time in jail
        and I might have been brought up on charges for assault.

[3]    This is the "adventure" part.

        I had, long ago, read a book written by a German doctor (Goldstein) who worked, during  WWII,
        as a brain surgeon.  He worked with brain injured patients.

        He found that the patients who had injuries to their brain had lost the function of those areas
        taken out by the injury (DUH?), and they had organized their lives so that they wouldn’t have to
        use those functions.

        In time, though, because those lost functions were important to people (I assume), they managed
        to work at regaining those functions.

        The assumption was (and, as far as I know, this theory still holds) that their brains rewired so
        that other areas of the brain would take on the control of these functions that were lost by the
        injury.

[4]    A part of this is due, I believe, to the numbness in my feet.  I no longer have the feedback in
        the position and locations of my feet, that I had before the numbness.

        This effects my ability to simply stand, as well.

        It also effects my ability to stand or walk in the dark.  I now need a light so that I can use my
        eyes more, to determine my position and the locations of things around me.

[5]    This can cause me to have quite a bought of coughing when I am eating or drinking.  I’m *pretty*
        good at being able to differentiate breathing and swallowing, but occasionally, I’ll have to be
        reminded by a coughing fit.

[6]    When this first began to show up, taking a dump was much like an aerobic exercise.

        In time, I recognized what was happening.

        The nerves that controlled to relaxation of the spincter muscles were not getting the message out
        (or, more correctly, were not shutting the message off to constrict those muscles).

        The result was something that I liken to opening the clam shell hanger doors on the big hanger at
        Moffet field only enough to allow the gondola on a blimp, through, but then trying to push the
        inflated blimp through the opening.

        Once I recognized this, I found that all that I had to do was simply relax.  When the need was
        there, it would work, eventually.

        The only real drawback to this is that, now, taking a dump is no longer an Olympic speed event.

        It turns out to simply not be a problem, anymore … unless the cat decides that he just *has* to
        get into the bathroom *right then* (eh, I remember that from the good auld daze) or the phone
        rings.

[7]    This fatigue is something that I find to be rather amazing.  I used to have quite a bit of energy.
        I was always going at pretty much full speed, especially at work.

        More recently, though, the slightest of physical effort is enough to cause me to feel the need to take
        a nap.  In fact, sometimes I’ll nod off without even recognizing the need.

        I have been thinking, lately, of adding "napping" to my resume.

        The term "fatigue" is something that I came across in the medical literature on MS.  It is a term
        I use, but it is not one with which I am completely comfortable.

        To paraphrase Sammy Clemens, "This is to "fatigue" as a lightening bug is to a lightening bolt.

[8]    For example, I have never really liked walking.

        Oh, I did it when I had to.  It’s just that you would never have found me being one of those
        folks who waxed on about "taking long walks".  If I had somewhere to go, the car is more suitable
        as a means of getting me from point A to point B in the minimum time.

        When I was forced to walk (I’m still bothered that most places of business don’t have
        drive-through windows or automobile access on the inside), I would do it with alacrity.

        This had a positive effect on my legs.  Since I always used my legs with a lot of energy, my leg
        muscles were always in amazingly good shape.

        More recently, though, my leg muscles seem to be atrophying.  Eh, so you won’t find me
        competing in any "Mr. Best Legs" contests.  I’ll just have to learn to live with that.

        But, on the good side, I seem not to have to do much walking, any more.

        In fact, I now qualify for and have a disabled parking plaque.  This means that I can wile
        away many hours racing auld folks to the handicapped parking spots at supermarkets.

        OK, not nice.

        On the other hand, it does seem to keep me off of the streets and, for little girls and
        domestic animals, this is usually a Good Thing ™.

[9]    When the neurologist first diagnosed me (actually, misdiagnosed the type of  MS because
        he listened to my wife instead of to me.  This cost me all sorts of time when dealing with the
        Social Security Administration), my regular dok read the neurologist’s report (where he had
        recommended the "A, B C" drugs, which are only of prophylactic use) and asked me if I wanted
        to try them.

        I responded "Oh, good!  Free side effects!"

        The drugs wouldn’t do me much good, so all that I would get from them (if anything) would be
        the side effects.

        Oh, yeah!  I so look forward to having the flu about once a week.

        "Yes, Bob.  I’d like the side effect behind door number 2."