Why Should I Love The Sound Of My MS?

I love my Mountain Equipment Co-op down-filled booties. Made for campers and people who like, go outside, these booties are built to travel from tent to fire in the middle of the night. And, I guess that’s practical for some people, but let’s be real. Even without multiple sclerosis, I’m never sleeping on the ground, and my fireplace turns on with a remote, the way God intended. I have no business even shopping at a place like MEC. I mean, I’m not exactly sure what “outdoor recreation gear” is, and until recently, didn’t know that Co-op means you have to become a paying member if you wanna buy anything. Is MEC a cult or something? 

I don’t speak hippie. 

Fortunately, the membership was only five bucks, and I didn’t have to pledge allegiance to Gaia, or trail mix, or my favourite rock (it’s diamonds). Shopping on-line meant I didn’t have to reveal my city-girl attitude and complete lack of belonging either, which was great, because, I NEEDED these booties. 

MEC’s whole mountain climber marketing strategy is way too narrow anyway. I wear these extreme slippers in my loft apartment all day and all night, 12 months a year. Because, even in summer, my particular brand of MS means that the blood only kinda flows to my feet, and this is the best, and cutest, solution I’ve found for keeping my toes from certain amputation.

Recently though, I’ve begun to question my devotion to these beautiful booties. More and more, I’m dragging my right leg along behind me. I struggle to get it off the ground at all, and it’s fine if I’m wearing socks, but when I’m wearing the beloved booties, there’s a heavy whooshing sound that happens as I drag my foot across the floor. Like the sound of a slow-moving villain in a classic horror movie, it has become the soundtrack to my demise. 

You can put down the megaphone, MS. I hear you loud and clear.

My formerly invisible illness is not only visible, now. It’s audible too. 

Balls.

And, here’s the kicker (if only I could kick). I fucking have to learn to love this sound, to be grateful for it, even. Because who knows how much longer I’ll be able to make it?

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