I arrived at her door on time and as she opened the door her radiance beamed through. She looked great. After I finally regained my composure, I asked her, "Before we go out tonight, do you think we should have a nap to beat the fatigue?"
She agreed. I napped on her couch and she in her bedroom.
Upon awakening and checking the time, we agreed that we had napped too long and wouldn't catch the beginning of the movie.
A hastily made plan B had to go into effect.
We decided to go for a stroll on this cool fall night. We had met in the summer but concluded it was too hot to date.
As we stepped out onto the sidewalk, I put my hand out to hold hers. She did the same and we strolled down the street. Occassionally, I would glance down at our hands to see whether they were still entangled.
Fortunately, she had a left dragging foot and I had a right dragging foot. This way we were able to walk the straight and narrow. At least the straight. But by the end of the trek, our shoulders were rather sore from the constant bumping of each other. I'm glad she was a strong woman.
After a while, we ended back on her doorstep where she invited me in for a drink. I accepted. The water was very cold. I think.
We sat on the couch, thigh to thigh, bypassing all the preliminaries. I could feel the heat of her body passing through to mine. I looked at her and she looked at me. We moved our heads closer and our lips touched. We were in heaven. I put my arm around her as to prevent her from escaping even though she didn't want to.
My hand reached for the top button on her blouse. I fumbled. And fumbled some more. I couldn't undo that confounded button with these stupid numb hands.
Our lips parted and I whispered in her ear, "Now I know how Chuck Berry felt, when he couldn't undo that safety belt."
After we finished watching the Tonight Show, we kissed good night hoping to have success on our next date.
"Miss Roberst, right this way," says the nurse in her white pristine uniform. She is led down a short hall of white walls and blue doors. One is open. They enter as the nurse stands to one side to allow her to enter first. She is offered a chair and the nurse leaves.
After a few eager moments, the doctor enters. 'Miss Roberst, I'm Dr. Wittel," he says as he sits down behind his desk. "Could you please tell me something about your problem which brings you here?"
Finally getting her chance to speak to someone experienced about her condition, she tells her story as she has done so often before. "Listen, Doc, I have these numb sensations in my arms and hands; I can't seem to grasp things properly; when I walk, my balance is off; and sometimes my right foot drags and I get exhausted. All this seemed to have started a few weeks ago. What is it, Doc? lt is driving me crazy!" She is now crying.
After his patient had regained her composure, Dr. Wittel asks her to sit on his examination table for a few tests. After a few pin pricks in affected and unaffected areas of her body, he notes the differences. To check her balance, he has her walk around the room and then stand on one foot. He sits and asks her to sit. The doctor pulls out a prescription pad from his desk drawer and writes as a doctor does. He rips the page from the pad and hands it to his patient. She takes it and he says, "I've seen this before but the medical profession just can't put a name to it. Just follow the prescription and things should get better."
"But this is for valium?" she declares.
"Yes, they will take care of your nerves. Good day, Miss Roberst."
The doctor rises from his desk and leaves.
The Next Day
Dr. Wittel walked up the concrete stairs to the entrance of the Academy of Medicine. He was on his way to a meeting of fellow neurologists. They had selected the soundproof conference room for privacy and secrecy. After they had settled down and were comfortable around the conference table, Dr. Wittel started the meeting.
"Well gentlemen, I had another one yesterday; complaining about numbness, lack of energy, balance problems, and dragging feet. What are we going to do with these people? I can never find anything physically wrong with them. They must be nuts, er, excuse the non-medical terminology but..."
Just then Dr. Wittel was interrupted by the doctor who sits at the head of the table; the revered Dr. Lindgriss, the head of neurology at the Metropolis General Hospital. "Gentlemen, I have a solution to your problem. These people are not a threat to the well-being of our society as their behaviour isn't violent and they don't need to be institutionalised, unless their psyche makes them believe they are paralysed or are suffering great pain. Therefore, I suggest to you we create a disease for these people. One which has no cure because we can't find the cause of it. We could make it more dramatic by telling them we have a clue it might be viral, so they shouldn't donate blood. And to prevent them from any more worry, it should be mentioned that this disease doesn't kill. This way we can leave them in society being content they have a name for their imaginary problems."
Some of the doctors chuckled, while others laughed knowing this nuisance has been solved by a facade. As the laughter and chatter died down, a doctor asked what this disease is to be called.
Again Dr. Lindgriss addressed the doctors. "Since these people have complaints about multiple problems with their bodies, I feel," and now the doctor snickers himself, "they must have multiple scarring in the brain." His snicker is now developing into a laughter which is spreading among his colleages. "This is caused...," more laughter, "from the hardening of the brain matter," lots more laughter, "which is similar to the hardening of an artery which is called sclerosis..." Finally, taking one deep breath to finish his ruse, Dr. Lindgriss continues, "...I decided to name this disease Multiple Sclerosis. Does everyone agree with this?"
They all agreed and had a hearty laugh.
"And remember gentlemen, this is our little secret!"
If you have said that, then let me take you on a trip I have taken on many occasions. It's a special place that presents a meaningful perspective. You see, I have a reserved seat on the moon. An advantageous view of our blue-green planet, a view that at times is the most beautiful sight with swirling cloud patterns covering our sleeping planet and other times, with closer scrutiny, some of those swirling blankets are polluted with the ravages of war; the ashes of spewing factories; or the deadly rages of violent storms. But from a distance, they look harmless.
I've had this seat for a long time, way before I had multiple sclerosis. I went there to escape society, to escape the rat race I got caught in, to escape the crowdedness of our planet - to escape to solitude. I still go there quite often; as I'm writing this, I am there. But now I see things that I didn't notice before or at least look at them differently now that I have MS. The one thing I have noticed is that there are a lot of people down there, and every decade, the jump in numbers is incredible. I would then look down and search for my existence. Where am I down there? Am I significant enough to be seen? Of course, we all are. Every one of us has an importance to what happens around us or maybe we have had or will have a global influence.
But when I examine all the individuals, all the problems, diseases, poverty, pestilence - I'm glad all that I have is MS. I figure that when God handed out diseases, He gave MS to people that aren't really that bad. To all the really bad ones, He gave the deadly diseases, unless He had an important job for the good people and needed them a little sooner.
And what has this got to do with "Why me?" Well, when I look at all the people on this earth, and all the things that are happening to all these people, why should I be so lucky to go through life perfectly healthy and carefree? Why should so many people suffer and not me? Now I say, "Why not me!"
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