Hello, friends.
My leg is numb, and my brain is a mess. I tried to craft a more artistic intro, but, as I said, my brain is a mess. I had a burst of energy the other day and decided to plant some succulents. These guys were sitting in their nursery pots for a couple of months, and I wanted to get them in the ground. The weather wasn’t quite as suffocating as usual, so I went for it.
As time rolled on in the garden, I rolled my ankle more and more often. It wasn’t until I was in the shower that I realized the problem. I couldn’t actually feel my ankle. My entire left foot and about half of my calf were numb. It wasn’t the TV static snowstorm kind of numb, although it did tingle a bit when I dragged my finger across my foot. It was more of a faraway kind of numb. I could almost feel my foot, almost. It was just out of reach, like trying to talk to someone who doesn’t speak your language. My foot and I were trying to talk to each other, but we weren’t making much sense.
I think the heat and excessive activity triggered a mini MS relapse. The numbness has subsided somewhat. It’s mostly confined to the inner part of my arch. I’m sure I’ll be back to normal in a day or two. Only now does it strike me as strange that I didn’t even question my limb’s temporary disappearance. How many of you would be surprised or alarmed or afraid of the sensation of lack?
Then again, a part of me is still so angry. Sometimes I dream that I’ve forgotten my cane, and I worry that everyone will point to that and say I’m not actually ill. And then I wake up, and I can barely move because I’m so tired. I have to sit down on the closed toilet seat to brush my teeth because I don’t have the energy to stand. My ability, or inability, to do so many things these days is precarious. One day I might feel full of energy, almost normal again. And the next, my good leg becomes my worse leg. My ankles don’t work quite right, and I’m forced to hobble around like a toddler just learning to walk.
I’m currently reading God Emperor of Dune, the fourth book in Frank Herbert’s legendary saga. I feel a strange kinship with Leto, the God Emperor, even as I despise him. Thousands of years after merging with the sandtrout (the larval form of the great sandworms of Dune), Leto has become a sort of man-worm hybrid. His face remains, as do his arms, but the rest of his body is worm. His legs and feet have become useless flippers hanging off the worm body. I feel like that at times, like I’m walking around in a pair of dive flippers and trying not to fall flat on my face.
By all accounts, even his own, Let’s worm body is grotesque. And while I’m not disgusted by what my body has become, I’m often resentful. I miss things like riding my bike and being able to stand for the length of a concert. Hell, I miss being able to stand for a whole shower. Sometimes even that is too much for me, though. But the thing that really gets me is the uncertainty. Not just the unpredictability of what my body will be capable of on any given day, but of how I will feel about that. At times, I’m at peace with what’s happened to me. Other times, I can only cry.
Much like my life, I have no idea where this newsletter is going. (Again, I point to my broken brain.) But it’s my newsletter, so I can do whatever I want. In this venture, at least, I can do whatever I want. So I guess I’ll end things by telling you to appreciate whatever gifts you may have. But don’t be afraid to be angry because of the things you lack. It’s your life. Do what you want with it.
I’ll see you next week,
Yardena