It’s a bit ironic to me, then, that an MS symptom ripe for the picking as a metaphor is the exact experience I’m having, with no need for simile, allegory, or parable: I’ve found myself drifting in the very real sense of the word.
‘MS Drifting’ Is No Metaphor
I first noticed my new tendency to fall off course — ever so slightly, ever so gently, ever so constantly — while on the surgical recovery ward this past summer. I was prescribed as much walking as my MS would allow to build back my strength and wake up my operated-upon insides. While the first couple of post-op days allowed for only a few paces (thank you, Dr. Frederic Foley for the invention of your namesake catheter!), I was soon striding the hallways with various apparatuses attached to my hospital-issued Zimmer frame (walker). As first the IV bag, then the PCA (patient controlled analgesia) pump were detached, I was able to graduate to just my normal walking stick (cane) to assist me in my monotony-breaking constitutionals up and down the corridors. This is when I first noted my tendency to drift to the starboard side.
I’m Like a Front-Wheel Drive Car With a Badly Worn Front Tire …
My left side is my most affected by MS — foot, leg, and arm — so I suspect that the slow but steady veering to the right side is a natural consequence of this imbalance. Like a front-wheel drive automobile with one badly worn tire up front, my body tends to pull to one side if my hands aren’t firmly on the wheel. Opposite to the car, however, it is to the strong side that my path seems to bend. I suspect it is that the stronger foot and leg, assisted by the walking stick on that side, naturally out-pull the weak side, and the inertia of my swinging left pin goes farther than required. It’s an overcompensation that became obvious as I gravitated beyond the centerline of the corridors and well into oncoming traffic.
Or a Racer Edging Out of His Lane
Now that months have passed since my discharge, I am trying to increase my exercise time every day to regain some of what was lost in the long run-up to my surgery and the slow recovery afterward. Though I attempt to walk for an hour most days, I’ll be breaking no distance records anytime soon. Today, it’s no longer the highly polished hospital passageways that evidence my right-side gravitations but rather the narrow and sloping pavements and footpaths of my village. As Maggie and I head out on our predawn excursions, I must be ever keen that I’m not sliding toward the curb or stone walls, both with obvious hazards. But though the borders of hallway walls or pavement edges can be unnerving reminders of this new tendency, I suppose it’s better to know of a new challenge than to be oblivious to the potential dangers and embarrassments of my inadvertent track-line slice.
But I’m Correcting Course as I Go
Forewarned is forearmed. Though I wouldn’t call observing something that is happening as “forewarned,” I’ll take it as positive that I was able to observe this drift in a safe environment and begin to make constant corrections to my course as I put one — slightly weaker, slightly off-kilter, perhaps — foot ahead of the other. Wishing you and your family the best of health. Cheers, Trevis
