Five minutes

Y'know, I've been doing the "Chinese herbal medicine" thing for... decades. It'd take a while to figure out how many. But decades. Many schools; Eight Principle, Three Treasure, and the unique but wonderful system of my current herbalist.

Herbalism isn't really designed to turn corners fast and hard, except when it's applied to acute and desperate conditions. It's more of a "slow banking turn" approach to changing your state from sickness to health. And I've always found it to be effective, trustworthy, and (aside from occasional "tummy music") side-effect free. Its effects have even amazed Western MDs, who were shocked that something with no side effects could work as well, and as fast (or faster), than their pharmacopoeia.

But with M.S., it's a different task. My current herbalist is trying to clear up all sorts of junk that's karking out my immune system, and try to get it to quit cross-reacting to a dishearteningly long list of things that are all-too-common in today's world. It's going to take a while to get to the "repair" phase. And, alas, we're not there yet.

He's been quite successful in slowing down the "getting worse," but getting better? Not yet.

Although last night, for about five minutes, I was walking around the house not clutching walls. Walking not briskly, but not tentatively... very nearly... normally.

Did it last? Nope. Did I need some help this afternoon, my wife very sweetly and kindly pushing me about in my transport chair. Oh yes. Is it going to happen again? Well, it's possible, but... who knows? Certainly not me.

But those five minutes... ah, those five minutes. They were... wonderful.

And in for we who travel the M.S. highway—even for all of our brothers and sisters in this world who aren't traveling on our neurological highway—wonderful is... wonderful.

And there's nothing wrong with wonderful. Even for five minutes.