Another interesting journey with that amazing whatever-it-is that we call "attachment."
I invited the son of a long-time friend of mine to raid my costume closet. I have (and as you might guess, now "had") a lot of great and marvelously interesting things to wear... Indian kurtas, tails in both black and grey, lots of Renaissance-Faire gear, some really obscure ties. And that's only the beginning... I wasn't a hoarder, but I was definitely a collector and user of fine costumes.
I told this young fellow that although us MSers are encouraged to "never say never," I had to be honest, that there was a mathematical truth to the non-zero probability that I would be wearing all these things again when I got out of the wheelchair, but it would take someone like Astrophysicist Tyson to calculate them.
I guess it's the ultimate attachment, to want to keep something and have it displayed at your own funeral... My wife offered to bury me in it, but I said that just toss me off the side of the ship or some such will be far cheaper and easier to deal with, but yes, please display my cape and my beloved K-Zildian cymbals at my service. Which at least I don't think about taking with me to the next world, Egyptian-Pharaoh style. At least for them, you paint stuff on the walls for them to get in the next life. Well, that's the vast majority of afterlife goodies.
But yes, I am still quite attached to glories of my past adventurous life.
Thus it also goes on the MS Journey. But often more subtly, maybe sneakily. I used to type 100 words a minute, which meant that when I wrote stuff, I didn't just write it, I "firehosed" the text. Lots and lots of text! Huzzah! Well, given how I [monstrous air-quotes] "type" nowadays, that ain't happening. And that bothers me. Oooh, write a book on my experience with MS, as some have suggested. Not gonna happen. "Just talk it in, edit it later, don't worry about typing," They say... It's not the way I think, having done massive writing on the computer for decades, and every author will concur that the key is not writing but rewriting, which takes typing. And here we are again.
Am I painting myself into a corner? Perhaps, but the typing problem is indeed the way of things, right now. The wheelchair is the way of things right now... things change. Not always in fun ways.
At the end, what am I left with? What is there to DO?
Tell the truth. Cop to your own issues... no need to justify anything, just tell the truth. It's horrible, it pisses you off, it's a hammer-blow to your heart, but speak the truth. At worst, you let the steam out of your head. And who needs to drag a grudge around? Life in a wheelchair is interesting enough as it is.
Yes, indeed... truth. Tell the truth, and tell it with love.
Good place to start, indeed.