Some Thoughts

My first attack of MS, in 2004, affected, mainly, my cognitive abilities, my sense of awareness. The second relapse, in 2007, affected sensation in my feet and legs, my sense of balance, my cognition and my memory. This third attack has affected my hearing, my eyesight and (again) my cognition. Wonder where the third event will strike. Can't wait to see.

This is just something I posted on Facebook, looking back at how each relapse has manifested itself in my body. Even though the none of the effects are pleasant, the disease always seems somehow interesting to me - to think that something can be 'touched' somewhere inside ones nervous system and cause a specific result on the outside. It's kind of like that old kid's game, Operation. Remember that? On a game board, you operated on this poor two dimensional guy, seeking to remove various parts of him with tiny tongs. If you hit the edges of an operating site, a buzzer went off and, as I recall, his nose lit up.

In this case, some malicious, misguided cell, bit off an edge of whatever nerve center controls my hearing. My nose didn't light up, but my ears certainly are ringing. It nicked off a few bits of my eyesight, too. I had just recently gotten new glasses, and was feeling enthused about being able to see again -- well, sort of  able -- when these nasty little munchers chewed the myelin off some of the nerves that regulate my eyesight.

I have said before that these things -- things that are suddenly damaged, made imperfect -- continually remind me how amazingly made we have been. Every inner particle is working together to actuate, to realize, to animate the human being according a plan we ourselves did not make and cannot truly understand. And another amazing thing about this machine is that, when it is broken, it cannot be repaired. I'm not talking about a broken leg, of course, or a malfunctioning heart valve. I'm talking about the essential pathways that underlie every gross part, the electricity that runs through the wires, the 'lightning that comes from the east and is visible even in the west'. I am reminded again of psalm of David -- which I have quoted before, and may as well quote again.

I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
Marvelous are Your works,
And that my soul knows very well. 
 My frame was not hidden from You,
When I was made in secret,
And skillfully wrought in the lowest parts of the earth.
Your eyes saw my substance, being yet unformed.
And in Your book they all were written,
The days fashioned for me,
When as yet there were none of them.
(Ps 139: 14-16, NKJV)

Stormy Weather

Amazing, astounding, nauseating storm in my head last night - ringing, hissing, sighing, shrieking - the clamor of three dozen demons spilling from a wild party in hell. What is it within a brain that can hear these sounds, and not only hear, but suffer, as if from a physical assault?

Tonight's Appointment

So, I go to the Senior neurologist tonight. I take my MRI scans with me, along with the radiologist's report. We discuss my previous visits with his partner, the meds she prescribed, and so on, and he says, "Do you have MS?" Sigh.

Well, welcome to Indonesia, folks. Can't blame 'em, really. They've barely so much as heard of MS, much less treated it. Ya, we don't have that here, the doctor said. Ya, well you do now, I answered.

But he was an amiable sort - which actually goes a long ways where doctors are concerned. I once had a doctor in America who "fired me". Yes, fired me, because I refused to continue with interferon injections that were making me deathly sick on a weekly basis.

Once again, we had to communicate in Indonesian. At least he was honest enough to say straight out that he couldn't speak English. Another plus, there - honesty. But we did quite well. Which is either because my mind was clearer tonight than it had been in the morning, or because I just can't understand what female doctors are saying, whatever language they use.

So, he gave me some various potions for my fatigue (such a hopelessly inadequate term, that), and we shall see what happens.

Stay tuned.
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Absurdity

How can anyone, having any semblance of a stable mind, manage the unconscionable temerity to defend the beheading of an innocent journalist, the mass murder of captive soldiers and citizens, the kidnapping and rape of women, the burial of infants while still alive, with a complaint about 'drone attacks'? What in God's holy name can they possibly be thinking? Well ... they really can't be thinking at all, can they.

Reggie

Lost an old friend on Friday last. My step-daughter's father. A Prince among men. The kind of person who was everyone's friend; a spiritual man, a sensitive listener and one of the best joke-tellers I've ever known. Reginald Rutherford - God's speed, my friend. See you at the King's table before we know it

Worms

I used to type well over 100 words a minute. Now, my fingers have become noodles. They are worms, blindly roaming about the keypad. Not likely to be playing Chopin anytime soon, either.

Bread

So anyway - there's this new bread and pastry place nearby. Bread Time or Bread Place or something like that. Bread is a big deal here in Indonesia. It's considered a 'western' food, and so a great treat. It's a cozy place if one goes early enough in the morning - otherwise, it becomes way too crowded. But in any case, you can get yourself a little cake or whatever, a latte for Rp. 11000 (unheard of), and settle into a chair with a book, or just watch the people come and go. Lots of school kids show up in their identical uniforms, gabbing away in the usual gobbledygook, which is not, for any practical purpose, Indonesian, but their own shared invention - a mystery to the westerner, no matter how much he has read or studied. You pick up bits and pieces, each as mysterious as a newly spilled jigsaw puzzle. And of course everyone takes notice of the bule - quick glances, smiles, whispers.  Oh! That's it. It's called "Bread Life".