Special Occasions with MS
I used to enjoy planning and executing special events. When I taught pre-K/kindergarten that was always my job in addition to teaching.
After I got married and we had children, I used to take so much joy in doing the same thing. I made detailed lists in order to keep myself organized. I cleaned the house, mowed the lawns, baked and decorated cakes and decorated the house. By the time I was done everything was perfect. We were ready for our guests. I could relax and enjoy entertaining.
After I was diagnosed with MS, all of that eventually came to a screeching halt. My husband had to do everything. By the time his workday is done the last thing he wants to do is spend hours doing everything involved in planning and executing a party.
That's especially true now. I am bedridden and unable to help. I can make lists, or at least dictate them to someone, because I've lost the ability to write. Beyond that I'm useless. I no longer plan anything that would require major preparation.
I can't even begin to explain how depressed I get... especially during the holidays. I dread them. I guess my mind mentally skips over them. It's the only way I can make it to the beginning of the next year.
I am blessed with a loving family that tries to make things special when it comes to birthdays and other occasions. They go out of their way to prepare special meals. Because I am bedridden we eat as a family... in our bedroom.
One of them, usually my husband, gets the joy of feeding me while at the same time trying to eat his meal while it's still hot. None of them ever complains. They even assist me in opening cards and gifts. Due to spasticity I am unable to do that for myself. Disappointing and discouraging, but true.
A Night Visitor
After one such occasion, I found my dresser full of cards and gifts. Although I couldn't touch them because they were out of my reach, I could enjoy them visually. There was everything from cards to plants, and the ever-present helium balloon. They helped keep the memories fresh in my mind.
After the passing of time, helium balloons tend to lose their ability to float. This was one of those times. My beautiful helium balloon began to wrinkle a bit, and sink closer to my dresser. Because I didn't want one of our cats to eat the sagging string I had my husband cut the string, and the balloon slowly floated up to the ceiling.
During the night my husband woke me up. "Listen," he said. "I think we have a rat... shhh!"
