An Argument

I am having an argument with my body, and this morning my body has the upper hand (which is a polite way of saying that it's kicking my ass . . . which, of course, is it's own ass).

The reader may already be aware of my "bad box of Avonex" issue, the ensuing extremis of the flu-like symptoms I suffered from said bad box, and my growing feeling in the wake of all this that continuing to inject Avonex might be a downright stupid thing to do.

Two weeks without Avonex, and I have felt great. I haven't felt better in years. Two years and seven months, to be precise.

Until this morning.

This is the argument that my body makes, a rather pointed argument, an argument of stiff limbs and phantom pains. It is an argument forcefully made. Like a headlock. Like a fist in the face. My body does not pussy foot around. It goes straight for the solar plexus. Yes, my body has got me by the balls.

After slapping me around for awhile, all the way from the bedroom to the kitchen and back again, it pauses to state its point a bit more gently (i.e., I laid back down on the bed).

This, my friend, is why you are taking the Avonex. Remember? It could be worse, you know? Do you want me to make it worse?

Well, then again, maybe I just slept wrong, I say. It's just a matter of shaking the kinks out.

You think?

It could be.

Are you willing to take that chance? Could be, you say? What would you guess the percentage on that is? What are the odds on that horse, Dude? And what about that demyelination on your brain and spine. Just a once in a lifetime accident, you think?

Could be, yeah, I answer, unable to come up with a better response. After all, my legs are hurting, my hips are hurting, my neck is hurting, and I feel dizzy and disoriented.

Dude, you're pathetic, by body says.

Well, there's no need to get snippy.

Oh really! No need to get snippy? So here's what you're saying, right--you're saying that just because you're too much of a wimp to take a few flu-like symptoms, I'm left with running the risk of ending up crippled, rolling around in a wheelchair, depending on people to do every damn thing for me.

No, that's not what I'm saying.

Maybe it's not what you want to be saying, but it is what you're saying, it's exactly what you're saying.

But that's not what I want. All I want is for us to be in agreement on this thing.

SO SHUT THE HELL UP AND TAKE THE DAMN SHOT!

And so it goes.

Yesterday I received my two replacement doses of Avonex. Are they good ones? Are they bad ones? I don't know yet. I am supposed to take a shot this evening, yet I still just do not know. I guess I'll wobble around and think about it for awhile, stumble over to Starbucks for a coffee.

Did you hear something? A whisper just then . . .

**stumbling beats paralysis, Dude, seven days a week**