Dear Diary

I really hate when people tell me what my disease is doing when I live in this rotten body and know how it feels -- I didn't get my information from a textbook to tell me how I feel. I listen to my body, I can feel the pain and new problems, I can even recognize that "feeling" I get when I am attack-y. It really irritates me when people tell me that what I am feeling could not possibly be an attack because ______. When my neurologist told me that because I'm on Tysabri I couldn't possibly be having an attack, I told her, in no uncertain terms, that my fellow MSer friends on the web, who are also on Tysabri, are going through attacks of their own. I didn't think her eyebrows could get much higher, but they did. They joined her hair line for a few seconds before she could back peddle and tell me that it is possible to have attacks on Tysabri. I gave her all the information I could about how my body is feeling, I even told her the most pertinent piece of information: I've had to switch from crunchy to smooth peanut butter. But that failed to impress her, not realizing that I am a die hard crunchy peanut butter girl. They drew my blood again (to see if I had developed antibodies to Tysabri), they made me pee in a little cup again, and they checked all my body parts (and some I didn't even know I had) to make sure I didn't have an infection somewhere unbeknownst to me. They have a new director of the MS clinic I go to, so she came in to give me some unwanted and unneeded information. She told me that they couldn't possibly give me Percocet or Vicodin for the pain. I never take that kind of stuff and thought she must be talking to someone behind me; I even turned around to see who she was talking to only to find out she knew nothing about me because I try to take the least amount of medicine and never want addiction-risking drugs. If she had even glanced at my file she would have known that. My neurologist knows that I won't take too many pills or take any thing that might make me more tired or risk getting dependent on. But not the new god of the MS clinic. She sailed in, made me repeat all the things my neurologist just had me do, then sat down to tell me what my MS is and is not. When she went on and on about what I am feeling, I closed my ears. I know what I am feeling. I don't need someone to try and talk me out of it or minimize the pain and new symptoms I'm having -- go back to your textbooks, Cat Box Breath Doctor Of Redundancy, and dig a little deeper. I may not be a doctor but I know my body. It made me miss my old neurologist that moved to Florida a year ago. He respected my knowledge of my own body and knew that we are the experts of our bodies and know what is wrong and what has changed. He never tried to tell me what I am feeling. I wanted to tell her majesty that she didn't need a push up bra because it only made her look like an overloaded ship plowing through the waters and when your cleavage starts half a millimeter below your neck, maybe you should use a little less padding in your brassiere. Or wear a shirt that isn't so low cut the lacy edges of your bra show over it. And you don't need 5 rings on every finger. It doesn't make you look classy or rich, just tacky. She had obviously never heard the "less is more" rule of thumb about cleavage or jewelry. Everybody was awed by her and bowed to her knowledge of MS, I even saw my neurologist nodding along with the things she was saying -- expect the pain meds part, she knows me better than that. I wanted to like her and find that she could give me new information that would help me, but when she tried to tell me what I'm feeling that all went away and I decided I couldn't possibly like her. But I may still give her some mouthwash and a toothbrush for Christmas. I'm nice like that.
Love,
BB

Diary Entry

Dear Diary,
Trying to change something about yourself is a lot harder than I was led to believe. I have been working on having a better attitude but karma is testing me. Yesterday I ran some errands with my little sister. We went into a store that didn't have shopping carts and I can't walk very far without some kind of support, be it a cart, cane, walking stick or some one's arm. I was using my little sister's arm for support when a woman (she doesn't deserve to be called a lady) who was walking by, stopped and said, "Are you all gays?" At first I tried to be polite and just said that I have MS, but the blank look on her face irritated me so much I snapped, "I'm a cripple, you f*ckin ass hat!" My little sister was mortified and thought I could have handled it better. I think she got what she deserved. After I said that she ran off in shocked horror, whether it was because she encountered gays, or because I retorted so rudely, I do not know and I do not care. We have all seen people from every walk of life and every sexual orientation, but to stop and ask! Are you kidding me?! I don't regret my response, but my little sister says I have a tendency to kill the messenger, and she may be right. I hope that woman learned a good lesson yesterday. I hope if something like that happens to me again I will have the clarity of mind to say something a little less profane. Maybe something along the lines of "are you all a stupid tw*t?" Not sure what I could have said to not embarrass my little sister, but it seems that try as hard as I can, I am forever embarrassing her. When I was sick and she took me to the doctor, she was embarrassed that my socks didn't match -- she thought I would at least wear matching socks for the doctor. When we went to the DMV to switch her plates and the lady behind the counter was so rude that when we were leaving I told her thanks for being such a bitch about it, my little sister was horrified and ran out the door. I could go on, but why bore you, dear diary? I thought changing my attitude would be easier than this. Maybe I need to work on my outspokenness when irritated. I do have a tendency to kill the messenger. But when they are so rude about giving the message, can't I respond in kind? I have my work cut out for me.
Love,
BB

Diary Entry

Dear Diary,
Today I am putting the "new me" plan into action. I decided I wanted some things to be different so I am starting with the (wo)man in the mirror -- I used that reference because I know you, dearest diary, are a secret Michael Jackson fan. But don't worry, I won't tell a soul. I am going to be pleasant if it kills me today! I am going to meet others' eyes and smile when making eye contact. Do I have to wear makeup to do this? Is it enough to be pleasant without being attractive? Doesn't what's inside count more, or is that really only what ugly people say? *Sigh* I don't think we will ever know, diary, because we are part of the beautiful people. Oh, this burden of being one of the beautiful ones. But everyone knows MSers are the most stunning creatures on this planet.

Diary, why didn't I buy you at Target or Walmart instead of Hot Topic? Your goth-emo cover is, well, scary and disturbing. I pulled you out from under my bed last night to write to you but I had forgotten how scary you are; you scared me so bad I crapped my bed. After I changed my sheets I was too tired to write to you. We may need to think of revamping your cover.

I have to tell you the truth, diary, I'm a little scared of letting down my defenses, but don't tell anyone. It is so much easier to skulk through life than to risk letting someone get close to me again. I was mentally going through my list of exes and I realized that they are a bunch of ass hats. My little sister, who has her fair share of ass hats in her past, thinks I need to try something new when it comes to men. I'm going to ponder that, but I don't know if I really want a man in my life right now. I am so ambivalent about it. Titter and sweat under covers together, yes. Tell my life story to, no. "Gee, when I got thrown into the loony bin..." is not exactly a great pick up line. But on the other hand, I don't care what others think -- ambivalence at its best.

Okay, diary, I have troubled you long enough. I am off to terrorize the denizens of this city. I am going to put my new attitude to work today. And maybe get you a new cover!