Welcome to My Nightmare

Waking up in the morning, I first become conscious of an internal stress. As I lie there, making my mind aware that a new day has begun, I feel as still as an inanimate object. My thoughts go to that inevitable place, that seems to await those of us diagnosed with MS.

I used to have an afro comb. It was like a pitch fork, with 4 prongs about 3 inches long. It collapsed into a compact size for placing in my handbag. The handle, which was split down the middle, would fold back up around the prongs. Split down the middle is another of my MS sensations. The split between the legs divides to allow the nervous system to travel to both feet. Sometimes the sensation of that split, that division of the nerve pathway, extends right up to my neck. That is to say, I can feel the disconnection between the sides, all the way to my cervical spine. Like I was walking on stilts. I am happy to report that sensation is infrequent.

Back to my afro comb. It was sitting in it's folded position, on my bathroom counter. One of those stink bugs, that my area was overrun with a few years ago, was on its' last legs. They get to a lethargic stage where it seems to lack energy. No more flying into the nightlights like a blind June bug. I don't let the Terminex people into my apartment because I don't care for the idea of subjecting creatures to the fate that awaits me, but perhaps these stink bugs have succumbed to this pesticide elsewhere and have come to end their days with me. Anyway, this particular bug was in that lethargic stage, and I attempted to coerce it onto a piece of paper so I could take it outside. Well, it backed up into the gap that forms between the split of the folded handle. I believed it would exit on its own, if I left it alone. Not to happen, because every time I looked it was still there. If I attempted to poke at it, it only backed in further. It did go outside, but so did my afro comb.

Perhaps I empathize with that stink bug because one day I may also be unable to move. My mind will continue to create thoughts but I could be trapped in this shell of a body. This is where my thoughts go when I first awake, before I actually move. It is only a minute that passes before I say to myself that I need to get up and move before I can't.

I guess this could constitute a ghoulish story.