In Search of Slogans

So when I took part in the breast cancer walk a few weekends ago in honor of my awesome sister-in-law, I noticed quite a few catchy slogans concerning breast cancer. I'm sure you've seen some of them:
"Save the Ta Tas."
"Hell, yes, they're fake. The real ones tried to kill me."
"Squeeze a boob. Save a life."
"I'm here for the boobs."
"Walkers for Knockers."
"Saving Second Base."
 And the list goes on and on.

So, I thought, why not make up some of my own catchy slogans for MS. I can develop them now and present them at the next MS walk. It can't be that difficult, right? So, here we go:

"Save the Myelin!" What? Not the same punch as Ta Tas?

O.K., well how about, "Hell, yes, I'm on immunosuppressants. The lesions are affecting my body's ability to transmit nerve signals." Won't fit on a shirt? All righty, then. Hope 'bout this?

"Get an MRI. Maybe diagnose MS." Hmm, not real catchy.

"I'm here for the brains." And I wonder why we can't get as much attention.

"Walkers for nerve endings" No? "Walkers for brains?" That's kind of creepy, isn't it?

OK, OK, OK, I got it. How about "Saving home plate." See, cause home plate is kinda like the brain of the baseball field. It's where all the action takes place and everything. Get it? Oh, nevermind.

Wait, I have an idea!!!! Orange is the color of MS awareness, right? Well, how about "Orange you glad you don't have MS?" Perfect, right?

Fine.  If you don't like any of my ideas, I dare you to come up with your own. Those breast cancer people have a lot of money and probably someone whose job it is to sit and make up their catchy slogans. I don't.

Watch Your Words

The other morning I stopped at the local gas station to get myself a fountain Pepsi. The workers there and I are familiar, but nothing deeper than a gas station/customer kind of relationship. As I was filling up my cup, one of the workers looked at me and asked if I was having another?

Another what? I thought. Another drink? Is my caffeine addiction that well known?

And then I saw her look at my stomach and it clicked. This is the same gas station at which I sometimes stopped during my last pregnancy.--Yes for Pepsi. Don't judge. But back to the story at hand.--Oh, O.K. She thinks I'm pregnant again. Awkward.

No, I answered as politely as I could, expecting a profuse apology in reply. Nope. Crickets. All righty then. I grabbed my drink and beelined for the register.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised. It's not the first time I've had someone say something inappropriate to me. And I'm quite certain it won't be the last. It happens all the time concerning my MS. Usually I can roll with it. But there are sometimes I wish people would stop and take a moment to think before they speak.

Here are just some of the things I've had said to me:

* "At least it's not cancer." No. No, it's not. And for that I'm grateful. But it still sucks.

* "Must be nice to be able to take a nap during the day." I wish I didn't have to. But, having said that, maybe you should try it. Doctors recommend it.

* "You don't look sick." Why thank you. I feel like shit.

* "There is a reason for this." Really? If you find out what that is, could you please share it with me? Because so far I've gotten no message from God.

There are many more, but I won't bore you. So instead, I leave you with this: Please don't start any rumors. I'm not pregnant, apparently just fat. Thanks for noticing, Mrs. Gas Station Store worker. It certainly made my day. Not.

So Much for Swimsuit Modeling

The other day I ran my hand over my arm and noticed something I hadn't paid attention to before. On the backside of both of my arms, where I used to do my injections before they became too painful, were tiny little dents. They didn't hurt, but I certainly could feel them.

Then I checked my stomach, thighs, and hips. Yep, yep and yep. I remember the nurse who came to teach he how to administer my shots mentioning something about lipoatrophy. Because it's such a weird word, I didn't bother listening or looking it up at the time. I was kinda more concerned/interested in the whole injecting myself with a needle thing. Silly me.

Well, since then I've learned exactly what lipoatrophy means. It means the destruction of fat cells in localized areas where the medicine has been injected. Destruction of fat cells? Woohoo! Oh, wait. What? When the fat cells are destroyed they leave a crater behind in the skin and underlying tissues. And it's permanent? Crap.

So, O.K., let me see if I understand this correctly. I have lesions on my brain. I have seizures. I never know when or where this disease is going to pop up. I take this medicine to try to counter all those things and now it's going to leave craters all over my body? What the hell?

And no matter what I do they will never go away? So I will never have a swimsuit modeling career? Or wear sleeveless tops? Or rock belly-baring midriffs? Oh. Wonderful. Good to know.

But that's O.K. Maybe swimsuits are out, but certainly there's gotta be a niche market for turtleneck and high rise jeans models, right? If so, me and my lipoatrophy are all over it.