The Brain Buzz

One of the most unpleasant of the myriad unpleasantries associated with multiple sclerosis, for me anyway, is what I will call the brain buzz, if only for the sake of alliteration, and at the expense moreover of descriptive accuracy--for you see the phenomenon experienced is really more of a hiss than a buzz, though yet again not so much of a hiss as a hiccough tucked somewhere within the electrical pulsations at work within the gray blob otherwise known as my brain (itself more blob-like I think than most).


This, happily enough, is not a common nor an ongoing symptom, but one which arises at its own pleasure, whenever it will; and is, I believe, something that accompanies an active state of MS--a warning whisper, a rumor of war. It has become according to past experience my own diagnostic tool for identifying a relapse, just as reliable as the MRI, though much cheaper.

This buzz/hiss/pulse--this heavy breathing in my brain--comes along also with a sense of light-headedness and disorientation above the norm, and also vague nausea. Whenever this hits, I wonder first off what I can do about it, then remember that there is nothing to be done but to wait. It does finally go away on its own. So far, anyway.

I wonder if anyone else has this. It does seem that MS makes its attempt in each person to present an original character--so as to make each of us feel special, I think; and also to confuse doctors and frustrate timely diagnosis--and yet there are some common threads to be agreed upon--numbness and tingling in the extremities, for instance; fatigue; imbalance.

But how about the brain buzz in particular? Anyone out there feel me?

Fixin' A Hole

I'm fixin' a hole where the rain gets in and keeps my mind from wandering.

Catchy words, those (courtesy of Paul McCartney). But of course I never knew how closely they would eventually apply.

Of course I'm thinking of the word wandering in this case according to its implication of a freedom to roam and range far and wide, and to do so in a smooth, well oiled manner, as opposed to the jerky, stop and start manner of the MS brain I've ended up with. Which, admittedly, may not have been what McCartney was thinking of.

My mind now achieves one thing at a time, usually through a series of errors and corrections, which often enough includes a certain ingredient of comedy. Thankfully. A prime example can be found in the daily routine of simply getting out the front door with everything I intend to take with me. The challenge is new every day, despite the fact that the routine itself is most often exactly the same as the day before.

The needful things include my car keys, my laptop, my cell phone, my cigarettes, my coffee cup, and of course my person. Oh, and my clothing, my shoes, and such-like. My brain cleaves to this task during the performance of the same like a dog about to be dropped into the bathtub. After anywhere from one to five or six return trips to the door, I finally reach the car and I'm on my way. Often enough having forgotten something despite my efforts.

Fixin' a hole where the rain gets in. Yes, my brain finds ways. The thought runs into a snag, teeters on the chasm where a bridge used to be, and then straightaway seeks an alternate route, the long and winding road, over hill and dale. It takes whatever way it can, and it gets where it's going, no matter how many times it has to restart the maze.

And it really doesn't matter if I'm wrong or right, it sings. Where I belong I'm right . . . where I belong.

The Curse is Spreading

Another confusing day. Is it Tuesday? No, it's Thursday. OMG the curse is spreading!

One key to the problem seems to be interruption of routine. Summer, therefore, is a problem, for the first familiar routine of the day hinges on the task of taking my son to school, dropping him off (at the right school, one hopes, though this is certainly not guaranteed), and then driving over to the nearby Starbucks for the morning stint at blogging.

The removal of school from the daily schedule proves highly perplexing. It is a destabilizing element.

There are of course other unpredictable interruptions that also destabilize. Say, for instance, my wife has an errand for me to do--go to the bank, buy something at the store, or what have you. Or perhaps I myself have an appointment--doctor, dentist, a meeting for work. Peripheral demands such as these require the application of attention to detail, to time, to location, to the specific nature of the tasks to be accomplished.

The effort of attention instantly taxes the MS brain. It calls upon reserves that do not exist. Confusion sets in, and things begin to go wrong. You show up at the bank without the money. You show up at the store with a pocket full of deposit slips. You forget the dentist.

You stop at Starbucks and sit with your cappuccino, trying to gather yourself together, trying to remember what you're supposed to be doing. You remember an errand, and yet now you cannot find the car.

It used to be that my dog, Norman (God rest his soul) would follow me wherever I went, even if it was just from one room to another. I guess he was confident that I knew what I was doing, and so he followed.

Now it is Smoky who leads me. When I get up in the morning he goes before me down the hallway to the bathroom. He stops by the door and pokes his nose in. After that he leads me to the kitchen, where I will put on water for coffee.

It seems that my cognitive problems are obvious even to a dog.

Coco the Chihuahua, on the other hand, would just as soon lick me as bite me, and does not care a fig about my well being. Coco follows my wife, his mother--apparently perceptive enough to know a fully functioning person when he sees one.

I don't blame him. Nothing wrong with good reasoning.