"Life with MS" is capricious. On a daily basis, the legions of lesions which infest my brain offer any painful variation of cognitive function distortion, dampened mobility, and/or skewed fine motor capacity.
I often miss the ability I once possessed to perform as a competitive-level figure skater and skilled pianist. Now I give three cheers if I make it through a 24-hour period without 1) slamming into the wall as I round a corner or 2) dropping everything I try to grasp.
Embracing this new version of me is not a simple task because most days my existence is seemingly refined to being an antiquated neurological scribble.
