I can’t be sure if it was the spring storm that took the better part of the last week to blow itself up or the latest edition of meteorologist Janis Dean’s new book, mostly sunnyAnd the About life, love, broadcasting, and multiple sclerosis (MS), which brought her to mind, but MS can definitely be like living in a tropical cyclone.
Last week’s storm brought steady, harsh winds for days on end, and with it a torrential downpour of cold rain and pea-sized hail. Unlike the hurricane storms we get here in the winter months, this one felt like a boom in the atmosphere at a concert.
Related: My MS Looks Like a National Weather Forecast
Sometimes the “weather” in my body predicts that the weather will come
This is not how I usually suffer from multiple sclerosis. My life with MS is more tropical stormy weather.
Sometimes subtle changes in the ‘weather’ in my body indicate changes. I call one of them “popcorn legs” because of muscle spasms in my legs. Others include lightheadedness, just not feeling “right,” or even feeling completely disconnected from my body.
It’s the sensual equivalent of flocks of seabirds gathering indoors, turning in the wind, or smelling the ocean depths and changing temperature. When these things happen, we know a storm is forming. But as in the days before radar, satellite, and accurate forecasting, we don’t know how strong the storm will be or whether we’ll face a direct hit.
Sometimes it’s just the “weather” of my body
As with those vortex storms outside, as our disease progresses, the ranges of stormy weather indoors can increase. A few rains can turn into heavy rain. A gusty breeze can turn into a wind that can, literally, knock us off our pins.
During the relapse and migration phase of MS, these storm ranges can follow periods of relative calm before striking the next range, often with greater force than the previous one. Then, as before, the rain recedes and the winds diminish, but less than before and with the next blow before we fully recover from the past.
When we’re lucky, we avoid the worst of it
In 2017, the small corner of this island took a direct hit from the previous Extratropical Storm Ophelia (It still packs hurricane-force winds, but not technically a tropical cyclone.) When we went to bed, we were preparing for the biggest attacks of the storm.
However, the storm had started to oscillate about 50 miles from the sea, and as hot clusters of rain started falling at varying sharp angles to the surface (I’m sure that’s a scientific term for their occurrence).
It’s no different when we get respite from a relapse by medical intervention or by chance: MS can swing a bit too.
Fifteen miles to the east, we saw roofs torn from buildings, and seas 40 feet high were recorded heading toward the coast. Here on the Peninsula, we stood under a changing sky and watched the storm slid over us as Ophelia wiggled her zigzag pieces on each side of us.
But the uncertainty of it all makes me uncomfortable
It was a turbulent feeling—especially since the bright blue eye of the storm passed right above the head. It was no different from feeling like not knowing what MS would take us next.
Despite disease-modifying medications, lifestyle modifications, or Complementary therapies Some storms may block our beaches, people with MS know that we live in a storm-prone area and that the next breeze may be the “big breeze.” But we must not let that lock us up in storm shelters.
Life in storm zones goes on, rebuilding – often over and over – and we learn not only to survive the next onslaught, but rather to thrive despite what may or may not be on the horizon.
Here’s the trick I found for living with multiple sclerosis: focus on the “living” part.
I wish you and your family the best of health.
cheers,
trevis
my book, the chef cutavailable at Amazon. follow me on Life With MS Facebook page and on Twitterand read more Life with MS.
