Oh, baby. Here we go again. Here come the whirls, the spins,
the ups and downs, and the twists and turns. I don’t remember buying a ticket
for this ride.
It’s not exactly the
Ferris Wheel.
Multiple sclerosis warriors know exactly what I’m talking
about. We’re the ones who don’t even get in line for the rides at the county
fair. We’ve already had more than enough dizziness, sudden drops, and uphill
climbs. We don’t need an amusement park attraction to give us those.
Adapted by this user from public domain photo |
And I pay for it
later.
The cycle is sort of like a merry-go-round gone bad. The
floor wobbles. The horses bounce up and down without rhythm. And the whole
thing picks up speed and slows suddenly without warning.
Adapted by this user from public domain photo |
This is no kids’ stuff.
Today it hit. Again.
I stopped at the stables with highest ambitions of riding my
horse better and longer than ever. I pulled on muck boots and trudged out to
the paddock to fetch her and lead her back to the barn. I groomed and polished
her. I tossed the heavy Western saddle up on her back. I bridled her. And I
climbed aboard.
That’s where the MS amusement
park ride went off the tracks.
The horse recognized my vulnerability today and began
testing my aids. It’s as if she were saying things like:
“I don’t feel like working hard today,
and I’m pretty sure you don’t either.”
“What’s that noise
outside the arena door? Something out there’s gonna eat me.”
“Do you really mean to go faster today?”
“Do you really mean to go faster today?”
“You want me to trot
all the way into the arena corners? Ha. Make me.”
“'Whoa?' What does that word mean?”
MS vertigo is a crazy
thing.
I am amazed at the adaptability any of us can
have, walking around on two feet. If the vertigo doesn’t make me reel too much,
I can kind of compensate. Maybe I run one hand along a wall while I walk. I
might hang onto the railing on the stairs. Often, I can sort of get by, even if
I feel pretty woozy that day (which is often).
Climbing aboard a horse is another story. This means
adapting to unpredictable movements made by an independent creature. It’s not
like riding a bicycle – or even a carousel horse. The rider’s balance (or lack
of balance) influences the live animal underneath him or her. The MS dizziness
can increase exponentially. And a well-trained horse is likely to follow the
rider’s most subtle weight shifts.
Today, for example, I tried to sit as steadily and evenly as
possible in the saddle. I didn’t think I was leaning to one side at all. But my
horse veered to the right… then the left … then the … well, you get it.
Sometimes a straight
line is a whole lot more complex than it seems it ought to be.
Toss in a spell of optic neuritis in one or both eyes, and
the whole depth perception thing is gone like the proverbial wind. That takes
away the sense of speed. (How fast is this horse going, anyway?)
That’s when the MS warrior feels a lot like an amusement park customer, stepping off a wild ride. Except the MSer can’t just step off the ride at will – or even predict when it will come to a full and complete stop.
Let’s just say my time in the saddle was a whole lot shorter than usual today. But the whirling ride in my head is still going on and on and on.
That’s when the MS warrior feels a lot like an amusement park customer, stepping off a wild ride. Except the MSer can’t just step off the ride at will – or even predict when it will come to a full and complete stop.
Let’s just say my time in the saddle was a whole lot shorter than usual today. But the whirling ride in my head is still going on and on and on.
You are invited to join the Kicking
MS to the Curb page on Facebook and the Making the
Most of MS board on Pinterest.
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