I'm Not Drunk...

I have MS.

That was my line for yeeaaaaars. Run into a wall, "I'm not drunk, I have MS." Stagger into a stranger, "I'm not drunk, I have MS." Fall and end up splayed on the sidewalk after leaving a bar where you've had a drink, one drink, with friends. Well this is awkward, "I'm not drunk, I have MS."

For the better part of a decade I've smiled sweetly and apologized profusely for making an ass out of myself, but I'm all done bending over backwards, sometimes literally, to prove I'm anything other than what I am - someone who has been hobbled by MS.

My myelin's been scarred, my muscles have been weakened and my waist has thickened. Not that I was ever Miss Athletic, but it's now official - I am disabled and I look it. I am a fairly young looking thirty-something, but I have the stamina and strength of a nonagenarian. I mostly get around with my scooter - I call it Jaro, which is also the name for my wheelchair. I have a cane and a walker too.

'Tis a far cry from the twenty-something me who traveled around Europe carrying more than half my body weight in a backpack or who traversed the hills of Berkeley with 50 pounds of books crammed into a book bag.

Yup, things are different, and I'm trying to get to the point where I can say, truthfully, that that's okay.