Guest post. 

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Hey man. Let’s try something different. 

I thought it might be interesting to get some of the people that are caught up in the tsunami that is (my) MS to offer their perspectives. So get ready, ladies and gentleman, and put your hands together (and please check your phones are either off or on silent, forgod’ssake) for the first in an occasional series, it’s a… 

 

*polite applause*

This one’s been penned by my lovely mother about the ‘devastating relapse’ I went through a couple of years ago. 

Take it away, Mum!

Hmmm. How do you recall the car crash of the big relapse … Well actually for me in vivid detail like some documentary that was a bit too close for comfort. It started ok. A little tlc, some hugs and a rest and then off she would go. Oh. Well that went well. NOT.

Em and I love each other to bits but I annoy her and she annoys me. We love each other in short doses (sorry Ema). The best thing about a relapse for me was the major amount of bonding time we had together. I could never love her more but I GET HER now. I lived through this with her every step, fall, crawl. Every tear. Lots of highs and a great many lows. 
We lay in bed together, her sobbing, me stroking her hair. Trying to get food down her then giving up and doing fluids. Our beautifully kind MS nurse became my line manager encouraging me, saying I was doing things right, but to be honest I had no idea. 

Showing D what to do when he came back from work. 

Complan, yucky green stuff, milkshake food replacements, straws to drink through. yogurts go down easy, routine. 

D leaves, Em carried or helped to my room, often tears, wash, insert contact lenses (I’m brilliant), hair, rest while I work, A son pops home to carry her downstairs, conservatory, sofa and 6music, mini meals, tears, wheelchair in the sun, anger tears, 5pm into living room – change of scene, podcasts. We talked about everything and nothing.  
Dropping her, sitting on the floor waiting for help. No asking for help now and the swat team of our hospital appeared with perching stools, walking frames, aids for everything and a Spanish physio. She helped me a lot: I was not moving Ema correctly and A brother got told off for carrying her upstairs. He continued and I forgot the instructions and dropped her in the shower.   
Oh and Frankie. Frankie our scruffy little dog .. always with her, herding her to the bathroom then sitting patiently outside in case she fell. Walking in front of the wheelchair and watching her sleep. D came home and we all went off duty and later A and D carried her to bed.  

Ema was my focus everything else revolved around us.  
I lived her nightmare with her and when she was well and she left I broke my heart. But I get her now. We are good together. 
 
Erm. What’s that about ‘short doses’, Mother? S’okay. Forget about it. Jeez. Jokes!

Normal service will be resumed, you know, later. 

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