My doctor asks, with his acupuncturist's hat on, "What do you want?"
I said, "I want my legs to work again."
He said, "You want them to improve."
I said, "No. I don't want them to 'improve.' I want them to work. Just like they used to." (I thought at the time that I should have added "and work better," but what the heck—start simple.)
Then he asks whether their condition upsets me.
And I said "Actually... no. All the things that don't work anymore... that doesn't bother me. I'd like it if they worked again, but... no. I don't even notice them, now."
And I'd have to say that I haven't "accepted" them—and that's very large air quotes around "accepted," because somehow, to have air-quote "accepted" them, I'd have had to go through some sort of "process," which given my track record, would be self-delusional dressing of what was really just denial.
But I haven't accepted, or pretend accepted, or anything, my malfunctions. If I had, I think I could point to something and say "That's when I 'accepted' everything." But I can't. All of my neurological nonsense is just ... there. And though, I certainly notice very keenly the state that my legs and lower body is in—remember, there's all that "sensitivity" stuff that comes free with your M.S.—I notice it, but I don't mind it, I'm not taking negative emotional effect from it. It's just ... there.
I just had to excuse myself from typing this to visit the restroom, because... as you've heard about if you've been following this blog, there are other systems that are "peevish" besides my legs; and I had to go find warm clothing because the desk thermometer says it's 70-something degrees, but I'm shivering. A new "low," as it were; measurements I've been taking recently indicate that my basal body temperature is lower than it should be.
And yet, all these "irritations" are somehow, not irritating. They just are.
Today's gift of M.S. Peace with your own condition, flawed though it may be.
A gentle and kind gift; I'll take it.