It is fashionable to say "Everything happens for a reason." So what is the reason that I have MS? One school of thought is that bad things happen to pay us back for sins we commit. If that is true, then I am sure I have MS because of some things I did in 2nd grade. It bugged me back then that Doug Boudinot would always punch me in the arm. So one day I punched him back as hard as I could and it made him cry (my friends said that was a "disproportionate response"). And once Bill Wolleck said Cathy Overman had cooties and I didn't step up to defend her. And finally I feel bad about those times Marc Morningstar wanted to play after school but I watched baseball on TV instead. Yes, I was a pretty bad kid and may deserve having MS.
I believe, however, that many bad things which happen to us are simply random events. I am not sure everything happens for a reason, but I do try to find Reason in everything that happens. I would prefer not to have MS, but as long as I have it, I might as well learn something from the experience. Two lessons come to mind.
My wife and I recently went shopping at the mall. We parked the car and headed toward the front doors. There were a couple of raunchy-looking kids riding their skateboards around the entrance. I found myself humming the tune from "Bye Bye Birdie" which asks "Kids! What's the matter with kids today? . . .Why can't they be like we were perfect in every way?"
We headed toward the handicapped entrance where there were two sets of doors. I planned on pushing the button which automatically opens both sets of doors . Just before I reached the doors, however, these two kids raced over and cut in front of us. "I can't believe how thoughtless these kids are" I muttered to my wife. One kid opened the first set of doors. The other kid went through and opened the second set of doors. They both smiled and held the doors for us to enter the mall. I clearly had misjudged these kids.
That happens all the time to me. People want to help. I am not naive enough to think that everyone is good, but I get to see the best side of most people. So the first thing I have learned from having MS is that most people are good.
The five-year-old son of one of our friends was watching me in my wheelchair and asked "Why can't you walk?" I never know how much to explain to people especially when they're only five years old. I started with the simple answer "I have a disease called Multiple Sclerosis." He kept looking at me like my answer wasn't complete enough for him, so I explained how MS interrupts the messages from the brain to various parts of the body. He still seemed interested so I told him about how the myelin sheath around my nerves was damaged and how some nerves in my spinal cord didn't work and that's why I couldn't walk. He nodded and smiled. I was proud of my explanation. I imagined he was going to say "Thank you Mr. LeSueur for that wonderful explanation. It was so clear that you have inspired me to become a doctor. I think I will do research and when I discover a cure for MS I will give you all of the credit."
I looked at him, waiting for him to speak. He looked at me, held up his hand, pointed to a band aid and said "I hurt my thumb."
So the second lesson having MS has taught me is that everyone has problems. Some struggle with physical ailments like me. Others battle depression, try to cope with the death of a loved one or experience financial issues. I am much more aware than I used to be of other people's problems. That may just be because people are more comfortable sharing their problems with me because I have MS. It may be that having MS has made me more sensitive. But life is not easy for anyone. Even people who seem to have it all -- professional athletes, movie stars and other celebrities -- often struggle with the sudden fame and fortune that is thrust upon them.
People are good. We all have problems. And there is a third lesson I have learned. If someone asks you whether you want to have MS or be cursed with sudden fame and fortune, choose the sudden fame and fortune option.
Showing posts with label Multiple Sclerosis Humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Multiple Sclerosis Humor. Show all posts
Monday, June 03, 2013
Sunday, July 08, 2012
Facebook Surprise
Those of us with MS sometimes feel isolated when our symptoms prevent us from doing things with our friends and family. To help remedy this, my neurologist encouraged me to use "Social Media" (like Facebook) to keep in touch. I never took his advice because Facebook seems more like "Anti-Social Media" than "Social Media." After all, you are communicating without having to actually use any spoken words But everything changed recently when I received an email from my friend Curtis inviting me to be his friend on Facebook. At first I was suspicious. You see, we are both closer to the Social Security retirement age than we are to the legal drinking age. And though we are both computer and internet savvy, you wouldn’t normally associate us with something like Facebook. I wondered if this email was really from him. I have watched enough television news to know that you have to be wary of sexual predators. What if the email was from a 12 year-old girl pretending to be Curtis? Or what if the email was from a guy in Nigeria who wanted to steal my identity? Maybe if I clicked on the link he would find out my credit card numbers and steal my entire 401(k) account. I decided to call Curtis, just to be safe. He confirmed to me that he had just joined Facebook and had invited me to be his friend, though he wasn’t sure yet what that meant. I opened his email and clicked on the link. A mere 2 ½ hours later I finished signing up as his friend. That was 3 weeks ago. We haven’t spoken since. I am not sure what is supposed to happen next. Will he send me a message to go look at his Facebook page? Or am I supposed to go there periodically to see if he has a message for me? I was going to call him about something but I was afraid he might be mad at me for not ever checking Facebook. Then I had a brilliant idea - I would send him a text message! That way I could communicate with him without risking actually talking to him. I could just pretend he wasn’t angry with me. I decided to tell him in my text that my internet wasn’t working in case he was wondering why I hadn’t been to his Facebook page. Now I just needed to learn how to send a text message. A few days ago I asked my niece Marissa to teach me. She can text 416 words per minute and has calluses on her thumbs. Yesterday I decided to send her a test text message, but I couldn’t find my cell phone. I don’t use it much. Last month my usage was 3 minutes. I only received two phone calls, both of them wrong numbers. I tried calling my cell phone, hoping I would hear it ring, but of course its battery was dead. Eventually I found it. It took me only 20 minutes to type the following message: HI MARISsa how are lol U unCle daVID I sent the text, then called Marissa to see if she had received it. She is 15, so naturally she had her cell phone with her and turned on. Yes, she said, she got my message. I quickly ended the phone call because it felt like cheating to actually talk out loud. I didn’t even find out how she was LOL. I started to compose my message to Curtis when I realized I didn’t have his cell phone number! Maybe I could write him a letter instead. Unfortunately we don’t have stationery and writing on computer paper seemed impersonal. I checked in our folder where we keep greeting cards for a variety of occasions. I found two birthday cards, three thank you notes and an invitation to a New Year’s Eve party. None of them seemed appropriate. We also had some blank cards but they all had girly flowers on the front. So I won’t be sending him anything in the mail. I am stumped as to my next step. Curtis, if you are reading this and aren’t too mad at me, instead of being friends on Facebook, can we be friends in real life? David LeSueur lives in Littleton, Colorado with his wife, Mary. He was diagnosed with MS in 2000.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Having Fun with a Mental Cognition Test
Men and MS Spring 2011
By David LeSueur
One of the potential problems caused by MS is impaired thinking; however, how do you know whether any diminished capacity is caused by MS rather than natural aging? When I was growing up, an uncle told me that when men got old, brain cells (which look like hair) start growing out of their ears!
I was always skeptical, but now I think he might have been right. I figure I have trimmed over a foot of brain cells from my ears during the past decade. That would explain a lot.
So when my neurologist offered to send a nurse to my house to give me a "Mental Cognition Test," I readily agreed. I was anxious to see what she thought. The nurse came by the next week. We talked about the weather, and then she got out her notebook and started the test.
"Let's start with an easy question." she said. "What day of the week is it today?"
That isn't such an easy question. I don't work anymore, so every day seems the same. I can't even rely on what television show I watched last night to tell me what day of the week it is because we record everything we want to watch on our DVR and watch it on a different day. But on that day, I did remember watching the Broncos play the day before, which means the day before must have been Sunday, so I answered confidently, "Today is Monday!"
The nurse looked at me and laughed. "It is Tuesday, not Monday!" she said.
"That's right," I replied. "The Broncos played yesterday, but it was on Monday Night Football." I was not off to a good start.
"Let's try another question. I am going to read you three unrelated words and have you repeat them back to me. That should be easy. But remember them, because I will ask you to name them again in a few minutes. Okay, here are the words: tree, ballpoint pen, bank. . . Now what are the three words?"
It will be easy to say them back now, I thought to myself, but remembering them later could be tricky. Fortunately, I have a book called "How You Too Can Develop a Razor-Sharp Mind and a Steel-Trap Memory." It says that to remember unrelated items you need to form a relationship in your mind between the items. The wackier the relationship is, the easier it is to remember the items. There is more to it – but I can't remember where I put the book to check on it.
What trick will I use to remember these words? First I will imagine looking out my window and seeing a grove of trees. Growing on the trees will be a bunch of ballpoint pens. Finally I'll remember that we are growing the pens to replace the ones in the bank that no longer work.
"Tree, ballpoint pen, bank." I said.
"That's right!" she replied. "Now for the next exercise, you will have 60 seconds to name all the animals you can think of. Are you ready? Go!"
She said "Go!" before I could think about my strategy for thinking of animals. I decided to pretend I was at the zoo. "Penguins, elephants, giraffes," I said to begin. "Can I just say ‘deer’ or do I have to be more specific about what kind of deer it is?"
"Deer is fine. Keep going!"
She was writing something down in her book. "Then deer," I said, continuing, "and lions, and tigers, and bears! Oh my!" I looked at her but she wasn't laughing. I wonder if I get extra credit for having a sense of humor. Or maybe I get points taken off for telling stupid jokes. I'd better watch myself.
"30 seconds!" she announced.
All of a sudden I couldn't think of any more animals at the zoo, so I shifted to my backyard. "Squirrels, dogs, cats, birds, coyotes, deer - oops, I think I already said ‘deer.’ Does it still count?"
"Yes, I don't keep track of what you have already said."
"You don't keep track?" I answered. "Then deer, deer, deer, deer…." I looked at her. She wasn't laughing.
"Actually, repeating yourself is a sign of senility." She looked at me, and now it was my turn to not laugh.
"Do insects count as animals?" I asked.
"It doesn't really matter. Don't over-analyze this. Ten seconds."
I just gave up at this point. "Time! Now, what are the three words I read to you earlier?"
“Tree, deer, ballpoint pen, deer, bank, deer.”
The nurse wouldn't tell me how I did on the test, but she didn't send me to a retirement home either, so that is good I guess.
David LeSueur lives in Littleton, Colo., a city with many banks, lots of deer and thousands of trees (none of which is growing ballpoint pens). You can read more of David's writing at http://lesueur926.blogspot.com/
By David LeSueur
One of the potential problems caused by MS is impaired thinking; however, how do you know whether any diminished capacity is caused by MS rather than natural aging? When I was growing up, an uncle told me that when men got old, brain cells (which look like hair) start growing out of their ears!
I was always skeptical, but now I think he might have been right. I figure I have trimmed over a foot of brain cells from my ears during the past decade. That would explain a lot.
So when my neurologist offered to send a nurse to my house to give me a "Mental Cognition Test," I readily agreed. I was anxious to see what she thought. The nurse came by the next week. We talked about the weather, and then she got out her notebook and started the test.
"Let's start with an easy question." she said. "What day of the week is it today?"
That isn't such an easy question. I don't work anymore, so every day seems the same. I can't even rely on what television show I watched last night to tell me what day of the week it is because we record everything we want to watch on our DVR and watch it on a different day. But on that day, I did remember watching the Broncos play the day before, which means the day before must have been Sunday, so I answered confidently, "Today is Monday!"
The nurse looked at me and laughed. "It is Tuesday, not Monday!" she said.
"That's right," I replied. "The Broncos played yesterday, but it was on Monday Night Football." I was not off to a good start.
"Let's try another question. I am going to read you three unrelated words and have you repeat them back to me. That should be easy. But remember them, because I will ask you to name them again in a few minutes. Okay, here are the words: tree, ballpoint pen, bank. . . Now what are the three words?"
It will be easy to say them back now, I thought to myself, but remembering them later could be tricky. Fortunately, I have a book called "How You Too Can Develop a Razor-Sharp Mind and a Steel-Trap Memory." It says that to remember unrelated items you need to form a relationship in your mind between the items. The wackier the relationship is, the easier it is to remember the items. There is more to it – but I can't remember where I put the book to check on it.
What trick will I use to remember these words? First I will imagine looking out my window and seeing a grove of trees. Growing on the trees will be a bunch of ballpoint pens. Finally I'll remember that we are growing the pens to replace the ones in the bank that no longer work.
"Tree, ballpoint pen, bank." I said.
"That's right!" she replied. "Now for the next exercise, you will have 60 seconds to name all the animals you can think of. Are you ready? Go!"
She said "Go!" before I could think about my strategy for thinking of animals. I decided to pretend I was at the zoo. "Penguins, elephants, giraffes," I said to begin. "Can I just say ‘deer’ or do I have to be more specific about what kind of deer it is?"
"Deer is fine. Keep going!"
She was writing something down in her book. "Then deer," I said, continuing, "and lions, and tigers, and bears! Oh my!" I looked at her but she wasn't laughing. I wonder if I get extra credit for having a sense of humor. Or maybe I get points taken off for telling stupid jokes. I'd better watch myself.
"30 seconds!" she announced.
All of a sudden I couldn't think of any more animals at the zoo, so I shifted to my backyard. "Squirrels, dogs, cats, birds, coyotes, deer - oops, I think I already said ‘deer.’ Does it still count?"
"Yes, I don't keep track of what you have already said."
"You don't keep track?" I answered. "Then deer, deer, deer, deer…." I looked at her. She wasn't laughing.
"Actually, repeating yourself is a sign of senility." She looked at me, and now it was my turn to not laugh.
"Do insects count as animals?" I asked.
"It doesn't really matter. Don't over-analyze this. Ten seconds."
I just gave up at this point. "Time! Now, what are the three words I read to you earlier?"
“Tree, deer, ballpoint pen, deer, bank, deer.”
The nurse wouldn't tell me how I did on the test, but she didn't send me to a retirement home either, so that is good I guess.
David LeSueur lives in Littleton, Colo., a city with many banks, lots of deer and thousands of trees (none of which is growing ballpoint pens). You can read more of David's writing at http://lesueur926.blogspot.com/
Sunday, November 28, 2010
A BIG Wii PROBLEM
One of the problems sometimes caused by Multiple Sclerosis is impaired thinking, However, how do you know whether any diminished capacity is caused by MS rather than natural aging? When I was growing up, an uncle told me that when men got old, brain cells (which look like hair) start growing out of your ears. I was always skeptical, but now I think he might have been right. I figure I have trimmed over a foot of brain cells from my ears over the past decade and that would explain a lot.
At what age do we reach our mental peak? When does everything begin to head South? I can only speak for myself, but I know that at age 16 I pretty much knew everything. However, a more realistic self-assessment is that my IQ peaked around age 3 or 4.
I became worried recently because of an experience I had with our Wii. I consider myself technologically adept. I can program the DVR, play several kinds of Solitaire on my laptop, and figure out how to use our cell phones without even reading the instructions. I even sent four text messages this year. But I have had a big problem with our Wii. I wouldn't even have one except my neurologist suggested that playing bowling, tennis and baseball on a Wii would be a fun way to keep my arms strong and improve my coordination. I always follow my doctor's orders, so we ordered the Wii. I may even deduct it as a medical expense on my taxes.
We installed it using our upstairs television but soon decided that it would be better in the basement. So I unhooked it, took all the components downstairs and tried to install it just as I had upstairs. Unfortunately, after several hours of trying various fixes, I couldn't get it to work. I gave up, knowing I would have to consult an expert - my 13-year-old grandson, Matthew. The next time he was over, I asked him to look at what I had done. We went to the basement together. He walked over to the game console, reached for the cord in the back and plugged it into the outlet. Now everything worked! This was very embarrassing.
"You mean I forgot to plug it in?" I asked. Matthew nodded. I explained to him the importance of keeping this between him and me. I didn't want my reputation ruined. He explained to me the importance of a $20 bill to him and we soon reached an agreement.
Six months later, I went to the basement to use the WI and discovered the game controllers weren't working. This is the first time that had happened but I assumed they just needed charging. I looked around but I couldn't see anything that looked like a Wii charger, so I called Matthew to get some help. He wasn't home from school yet, so I asked my daughter what she knew about charging the controllers. She said "I don't know. Don't they just use batteries?"
Batteries! I hadn't even thought of that. I looked at the bottom of the controllers and sure enough, there was a compartment with two AA batteries. I replaced them and to my embarrassment, the controllers worked. I was going to explain to my daughter the importance of keeping secrets between her and me so my reputation would not be ruined, when she said "You've had a bad experience getting this Wii to work, haven't you? Matthew told me about how you forgot to plug it in earlier this year." I decided that I would have to ask Matthew for my money back.
The next time I saw my neurologist, I asked him if there was anything I could do to maintain my cognitive abilities. He gave me some exercises and suggestions but emphasized that I needed to actually do them, rather than just thinking about it. He challenged me to do something right when I got home. I accepted his challenge, and when I got home I took my first steps to maintaining my brainpower. I walked into the bathroom, opened a drawer, picked up the nose and hair clipper and threw it in the trash.
You can never have too many brain cells.
One of the problems sometimes caused by Multiple Sclerosis is impaired thinking, However, how do you know whether any diminished capacity is caused by MS rather than natural aging? When I was growing up, an uncle told me that when men got old, brain cells (which look like hair) start growing out of your ears. I was always skeptical, but now I think he might have been right. I figure I have trimmed over a foot of brain cells from my ears over the past decade and that would explain a lot.
At what age do we reach our mental peak? When does everything begin to head South? I can only speak for myself, but I know that at age 16 I pretty much knew everything. However, a more realistic self-assessment is that my IQ peaked around age 3 or 4.
I became worried recently because of an experience I had with our Wii. I consider myself technologically adept. I can program the DVR, play several kinds of Solitaire on my laptop, and figure out how to use our cell phones without even reading the instructions. I even sent four text messages this year. But I have had a big problem with our Wii. I wouldn't even have one except my neurologist suggested that playing bowling, tennis and baseball on a Wii would be a fun way to keep my arms strong and improve my coordination. I always follow my doctor's orders, so we ordered the Wii. I may even deduct it as a medical expense on my taxes.
We installed it using our upstairs television but soon decided that it would be better in the basement. So I unhooked it, took all the components downstairs and tried to install it just as I had upstairs. Unfortunately, after several hours of trying various fixes, I couldn't get it to work. I gave up, knowing I would have to consult an expert - my 13-year-old grandson, Matthew. The next time he was over, I asked him to look at what I had done. We went to the basement together. He walked over to the game console, reached for the cord in the back and plugged it into the outlet. Now everything worked! This was very embarrassing.
"You mean I forgot to plug it in?" I asked. Matthew nodded. I explained to him the importance of keeping this between him and me. I didn't want my reputation ruined. He explained to me the importance of a $20 bill to him and we soon reached an agreement.
Six months later, I went to the basement to use the WI and discovered the game controllers weren't working. This is the first time that had happened but I assumed they just needed charging. I looked around but I couldn't see anything that looked like a Wii charger, so I called Matthew to get some help. He wasn't home from school yet, so I asked my daughter what she knew about charging the controllers. She said "I don't know. Don't they just use batteries?"
Batteries! I hadn't even thought of that. I looked at the bottom of the controllers and sure enough, there was a compartment with two AA batteries. I replaced them and to my embarrassment, the controllers worked. I was going to explain to my daughter the importance of keeping secrets between her and me so my reputation would not be ruined, when she said "You've had a bad experience getting this Wii to work, haven't you? Matthew told me about how you forgot to plug it in earlier this year." I decided that I would have to ask Matthew for my money back.
The next time I saw my neurologist, I asked him if there was anything I could do to maintain my cognitive abilities. He gave me some exercises and suggestions but emphasized that I needed to actually do them, rather than just thinking about it. He challenged me to do something right when I got home. I accepted his challenge, and when I got home I took my first steps to maintaining my brainpower. I walked into the bathroom, opened a drawer, picked up the nose and hair clipper and threw it in the trash.
You can never have too many brain cells.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Sometimes a Plastic Grocery Bag is Better Than an Easter Basket
Easter Services at my church were outstanding. The music was beautiful and inspiring. The sermons were uplifting. But the main lesson I learned had nothing to do with Easter. The religious leader Spencer W. Kimball once said, “God does notice us, and He watches over us. But, it is usually through another person that He meets our needs.” During church I witnessed a messy, yet simple example of that principle.
There were about 250 people at church on Easter. We sit in pews that are arranged in rows in front of the pulpit. About 5 rows from the front on the right hand side, a little boy suddenly got sick. I looked up when I heard the commotion and saw Amy, the boy’s mother, pick him up to carry him to the back of the church. He was throwing up pretty violently and Amy was trying to catch as much as she could in one hand.
I was sitting about 10 rows behind her and I am embarrassed to say that my first thought was about a nickname my brothers and I had for this kind of event when we were kids – “upchucking.” There is a restaurant chain in Utah and Idaho with the unfortunate name of Chuck-A-Rama Buffet. It uses the western chuck wagon as its logo. We thought it was hilarious to refer to it as “Upchuck-A-Rama.” While I amused myself, others sprung into action.
Amy had only walked two rows up the aisle when Dixie, who was seated on the end of her row, held out a plastic King Soopers bag and handed it to Amy. Amy took the bag gratefully and held it up to her son’s mouth. A couple of women followed her to the restroom to help, while two men left the chapel as well. One of them returned with paper towels to clean up the mess, while the other brought back the baking soda from the church kitchen. Another mother soon took the rest of Amy’s children to join their brother and mother. Meanwhile, church continued as most people were unaware of the small drama that had just taken place.
I wondered afterwards why Dixie had a plastic grocery bag with her. She didn’t have small children. It’s unlikely she had done her grocery shopping before church and had brought the groceries in with her. Maybe all women carry a plastic bag with them just in case and men just don’t know about it. I called her a few days later to find out the story. It turns out that she was going to baby sit in the Church nursery after the Easter service and had candy for the kids in the bag.
It was a pretty miserable morning for Amy and her son. It might console her to know that I learned something from her experience. My personal philosophy on adversity can be summed up in two sentences: First, adversity is an inevitable part of life, so I might as well learn something from it. And second, I always prefer learning from someone else’s adversity rather than my own! Sorry Amy.
Life is often just like Amy’s morning. We plan to do something wonderful but something bad happens and gets in the way. The problem is all-consuming to us, but most people are unaware of our problem. Some see the crisis but aren’t sure what to do. Some see the crisis and have juvenile thoughts about a restaurant’s name. But some people act. They comfort us. They help us physically. They clean up after us. And if we are lucky, there will be someone on the aisle who has a spare plastic grocery bag when we need it the most.
Easter Services at my church were outstanding. The music was beautiful and inspiring. The sermons were uplifting. But the main lesson I learned had nothing to do with Easter. The religious leader Spencer W. Kimball once said, “God does notice us, and He watches over us. But, it is usually through another person that He meets our needs.” During church I witnessed a messy, yet simple example of that principle.
There were about 250 people at church on Easter. We sit in pews that are arranged in rows in front of the pulpit. About 5 rows from the front on the right hand side, a little boy suddenly got sick. I looked up when I heard the commotion and saw Amy, the boy’s mother, pick him up to carry him to the back of the church. He was throwing up pretty violently and Amy was trying to catch as much as she could in one hand.
I was sitting about 10 rows behind her and I am embarrassed to say that my first thought was about a nickname my brothers and I had for this kind of event when we were kids – “upchucking.” There is a restaurant chain in Utah and Idaho with the unfortunate name of Chuck-A-Rama Buffet. It uses the western chuck wagon as its logo. We thought it was hilarious to refer to it as “Upchuck-A-Rama.” While I amused myself, others sprung into action.
Amy had only walked two rows up the aisle when Dixie, who was seated on the end of her row, held out a plastic King Soopers bag and handed it to Amy. Amy took the bag gratefully and held it up to her son’s mouth. A couple of women followed her to the restroom to help, while two men left the chapel as well. One of them returned with paper towels to clean up the mess, while the other brought back the baking soda from the church kitchen. Another mother soon took the rest of Amy’s children to join their brother and mother. Meanwhile, church continued as most people were unaware of the small drama that had just taken place.
I wondered afterwards why Dixie had a plastic grocery bag with her. She didn’t have small children. It’s unlikely she had done her grocery shopping before church and had brought the groceries in with her. Maybe all women carry a plastic bag with them just in case and men just don’t know about it. I called her a few days later to find out the story. It turns out that she was going to baby sit in the Church nursery after the Easter service and had candy for the kids in the bag.
It was a pretty miserable morning for Amy and her son. It might console her to know that I learned something from her experience. My personal philosophy on adversity can be summed up in two sentences: First, adversity is an inevitable part of life, so I might as well learn something from it. And second, I always prefer learning from someone else’s adversity rather than my own! Sorry Amy.
Life is often just like Amy’s morning. We plan to do something wonderful but something bad happens and gets in the way. The problem is all-consuming to us, but most people are unaware of our problem. Some see the crisis but aren’t sure what to do. Some see the crisis and have juvenile thoughts about a restaurant’s name. But some people act. They comfort us. They help us physically. They clean up after us. And if we are lucky, there will be someone on the aisle who has a spare plastic grocery bag when we need it the most.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
The first day in March that the temperature gets into the 70s is always special. We know that the winter is not over and that it will snow again, but it gives us hope that spring is near. This year I was so excited that I wanted to call someone and talk about it. I don’t remember who I called, but I know I didn’t call my parents. They live on the beach in Southern California and all of their days are beautiful. But they never get as excited as we do about the weather. It’s not like they would call and say, “Wow, what a beautiful day we are having today! It got up to 73.6 degrees after a whole winter of being only 73.1!” They are also very polite about not rubbing their good weather in our noses. They never call during our snowstorms to brag about their nice weather. If my dad calls, it is just to talk about the UCLA game or to ask what gasoline costs now in Denver.
When the temperature is in the 60s at my parent’s house, they get out their winter coats. In Colorado, when it gets up into the 50s in March, all of the school kids wear shorts to school. A lot of it is what you are used to. Sometimes I wonder if we appreciate our good weather more precisely because it is not beautiful all of the time. Maybe my parents can appreciate their good weather just by seeing bad weather elsewhere and don’t need to experience it themselves.
Where would you choose to live if weather were the only factor? Colorado is very nice – you get a change in seasons, it is sunny most of the year, and it usually doesn’t get too hot or too cold. On the other hand, the weather by the beach is really nice and if you want some snow and cold weather, you can always drive into the mountains.
I definitely would not choose to live in Greenland. I have never been there, but I imagine it is almost always too cold there. Does anyone live in Greenland on purpose? Or are people just born there and are too cold to leave? Do they have a professional football team and the theater there? How about cable TV? I would hate to miss any episodes of Lost.
To be fair to Greenland, I went to the most optimistic source of what it is really like – the tourist site on the internet. It told me that the three most popular tourist attractions are the Aurora Borealis (the Northern Lights), dog sledding and the ice formations. I have always wanted to see the Northern Lights, but it is a long way to go just to pet some dogs or watch ice melt.
I also looked to see what they said about their weather. The website had this uninspiring comment about the weather in Greenland. “There is no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong clothes.” They probably paid millions of dollars to some PR firm to come up with that. In my mind, it is only slightly better than “Come to Greenland, where fingers lost due to frostbite were down 17% in 2006!” or “Visit Greenland – our crime rate is so low you are more likely to freeze to death than to have someone steal your money!” or “Come to Greenland and you will never complain about your weather again!” I know some of you were probably thinking of going to Greenland for Spring Break next year, and this information is not very encouraging. After all of the bad things I have said about it, if I ever go there, they will probably give me the cold shoulder.
Seven years ago, at the age of 50, I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. Today I am confined to a wheelchair. Metaphorically speaking, my body has moved to Greenland. It was much nicer living by the beach or in Colorado. Heck, even Nova Scotia sounds pretty nice. But I have always wanted to see the Northern Lights, my friends come to visit often and Greenland is still very pretty.
David LeSueur lives in Littleton and admits we sometimes have bad weather even with the right clothes.
When the temperature is in the 60s at my parent’s house, they get out their winter coats. In Colorado, when it gets up into the 50s in March, all of the school kids wear shorts to school. A lot of it is what you are used to. Sometimes I wonder if we appreciate our good weather more precisely because it is not beautiful all of the time. Maybe my parents can appreciate their good weather just by seeing bad weather elsewhere and don’t need to experience it themselves.
Where would you choose to live if weather were the only factor? Colorado is very nice – you get a change in seasons, it is sunny most of the year, and it usually doesn’t get too hot or too cold. On the other hand, the weather by the beach is really nice and if you want some snow and cold weather, you can always drive into the mountains.
I definitely would not choose to live in Greenland. I have never been there, but I imagine it is almost always too cold there. Does anyone live in Greenland on purpose? Or are people just born there and are too cold to leave? Do they have a professional football team and the theater there? How about cable TV? I would hate to miss any episodes of Lost.
To be fair to Greenland, I went to the most optimistic source of what it is really like – the tourist site on the internet. It told me that the three most popular tourist attractions are the Aurora Borealis (the Northern Lights), dog sledding and the ice formations. I have always wanted to see the Northern Lights, but it is a long way to go just to pet some dogs or watch ice melt.
I also looked to see what they said about their weather. The website had this uninspiring comment about the weather in Greenland. “There is no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong clothes.” They probably paid millions of dollars to some PR firm to come up with that. In my mind, it is only slightly better than “Come to Greenland, where fingers lost due to frostbite were down 17% in 2006!” or “Visit Greenland – our crime rate is so low you are more likely to freeze to death than to have someone steal your money!” or “Come to Greenland and you will never complain about your weather again!” I know some of you were probably thinking of going to Greenland for Spring Break next year, and this information is not very encouraging. After all of the bad things I have said about it, if I ever go there, they will probably give me the cold shoulder.
Seven years ago, at the age of 50, I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. Today I am confined to a wheelchair. Metaphorically speaking, my body has moved to Greenland. It was much nicer living by the beach or in Colorado. Heck, even Nova Scotia sounds pretty nice. But I have always wanted to see the Northern Lights, my friends come to visit often and Greenland is still very pretty.
David LeSueur lives in Littleton and admits we sometimes have bad weather even with the right clothes.
Recently I flew from Denver to New York. It was the longest flight I had attempted since my MS had progressed to the point that I could no longer take any steps at all. I figured I might have to sit on the plane for 5 hours but I wasn’t worried because in my mind I had already worked out how it would go.
At the airport they would assign me a seat in the first row and Evangeline Lilly would sit next to me. (If you are one of the 25 people in America who haven’t ever watched the TV show “Lost”, she plays the character Kate on the program.) About halfway through the flight I would need to use the restroom so the pilot would land in Chicago to make it easier for me. Everyone on the plane would be understanding. No one would complain. While waiting for me my wife would meet George Steinbrenner who had a middle seat in the back of the plane. He would say that his grandmother’s cousin had a friend with MS so he knew exactly what I was going through. He volunteered that he used to always pledge $10 to those Jerry Lewis telethons. He would invite us to join him in his private box for a Yankees-Red Sox game. Then Evangeline and I would hit it off so well that she would ask me to visit her in her hotel suite while I was in New York. My wife would think it was a great idea and would suggest I stay with Evangeline for the whole trip.
That is how it went in my mind. And that is pretty much how it went in real life too – except for the Evangeline Lilly, George Steinbrenner and landing-in-Chicago parts.
On the plane I read the magazine “Inside MS” and it described the lives of some real people with MS. One man climbed Mount Everest and a woman won the Boston Marathon. Another was a scientist who found a flaw in Einstein’s Theory of Relativity and one was a politician who brought peace to the Middle East.
It is unlikely the magazine would do a feature article about me since my biggest accomplishment to date has been sitting on an airplane for five hours between Denver and New York.
I saw Spiderman 3 last week and could relate to Peter Parker because I too have a secret identity. At home I am sometimes grouchy and complain to my wife. In public I am cheerful and act like there is nothing wrong. As a result I have friends who say I inspire them with the way I deal with MS. A 10 year-old boy even chose me as his hero for a report in his elementary school class. Which is the real me - the grouch or the optimist?
I used to actually resent being told that I was inspiring or heroic. But Spiderman improved my perspective. In one of the first Spiderman movies Peter Parker is feeling cursed for having these unusual powers, and resents that people want him to use those powers to help them. He just wants to have a normal life. One day his uncle tells him “With great power comes great responsibility.” Peter Parker decides to accept the responsibility that has been thrust upon him and vows to use his superpowers to help others. His choice was heroic and inspiring.
And so it is with me. I would rather be normal. But I have MS and there is only so much I can do about it. If I can inspire people simply by going to events in my wheelchair and being cheerful, then I choose to do it. That is really not that much work. Being Spiderman and having to save people all of the time would be a lot more tiring.
With this new perspective I have changed my attitude. People can call me inspiring or heroic and it doesn’t bug me anymore. Still, all things considered, I would rather be Spiderman.
David LeSueur lives with his wife in Littleton, Colorado. He was diagnosed with MS seven years ago.
At the airport they would assign me a seat in the first row and Evangeline Lilly would sit next to me. (If you are one of the 25 people in America who haven’t ever watched the TV show “Lost”, she plays the character Kate on the program.) About halfway through the flight I would need to use the restroom so the pilot would land in Chicago to make it easier for me. Everyone on the plane would be understanding. No one would complain. While waiting for me my wife would meet George Steinbrenner who had a middle seat in the back of the plane. He would say that his grandmother’s cousin had a friend with MS so he knew exactly what I was going through. He volunteered that he used to always pledge $10 to those Jerry Lewis telethons. He would invite us to join him in his private box for a Yankees-Red Sox game. Then Evangeline and I would hit it off so well that she would ask me to visit her in her hotel suite while I was in New York. My wife would think it was a great idea and would suggest I stay with Evangeline for the whole trip.
That is how it went in my mind. And that is pretty much how it went in real life too – except for the Evangeline Lilly, George Steinbrenner and landing-in-Chicago parts.
On the plane I read the magazine “Inside MS” and it described the lives of some real people with MS. One man climbed Mount Everest and a woman won the Boston Marathon. Another was a scientist who found a flaw in Einstein’s Theory of Relativity and one was a politician who brought peace to the Middle East.
It is unlikely the magazine would do a feature article about me since my biggest accomplishment to date has been sitting on an airplane for five hours between Denver and New York.
I saw Spiderman 3 last week and could relate to Peter Parker because I too have a secret identity. At home I am sometimes grouchy and complain to my wife. In public I am cheerful and act like there is nothing wrong. As a result I have friends who say I inspire them with the way I deal with MS. A 10 year-old boy even chose me as his hero for a report in his elementary school class. Which is the real me - the grouch or the optimist?
I used to actually resent being told that I was inspiring or heroic. But Spiderman improved my perspective. In one of the first Spiderman movies Peter Parker is feeling cursed for having these unusual powers, and resents that people want him to use those powers to help them. He just wants to have a normal life. One day his uncle tells him “With great power comes great responsibility.” Peter Parker decides to accept the responsibility that has been thrust upon him and vows to use his superpowers to help others. His choice was heroic and inspiring.
And so it is with me. I would rather be normal. But I have MS and there is only so much I can do about it. If I can inspire people simply by going to events in my wheelchair and being cheerful, then I choose to do it. That is really not that much work. Being Spiderman and having to save people all of the time would be a lot more tiring.
With this new perspective I have changed my attitude. People can call me inspiring or heroic and it doesn’t bug me anymore. Still, all things considered, I would rather be Spiderman.
David LeSueur lives with his wife in Littleton, Colorado. He was diagnosed with MS seven years ago.
I used to take my good health for granted and would sometimes be concerned with things that really were not that important. Having MS has helped improve my perspective on life. Now I know what is really important. My mind is focused. My thoughts are clear. I am single minded. Whether I am in the Sistine Chapel or a Taco Bell, I always have the same thought: Where is the bathroom?
Unfortunately, that question is always on my mind. It depends on where those nasty little lesions form, but most of us with MS struggle at least a little bit with this issue. I realize that this is a little uncomfortable to talk about, so I will try to be circumspect and avoid obvious jokes.
Public restrooms cause the most difficult problems. I know that when I decide to head for the bathroom, takeoff to touchdown will be 5 minutes and 24 seconds. So I always ask where the restroom is when I enter someplace, knowing that it may save crucial seconds later on. It’s a little like the times you go for a walk and have to decide the precise moment when you are half-tired, so that you can turn around and get home exactly when you are 100 percent tired and before you are too pooped. I always need to be 5 minutes and 24 seconds ahead of any bathroom emergency. I need to get there before I am pooped. So to speak.
There are problems a person in a wheelchair has to deal with using public restrooms that we don’t often talk about. For example, what if the only accessible stall is being used? What if the stall is not large enough to for your wheelchair? What if there is a United States Senator in the stall next to you?
Sheryl Crow tried to start a campaign to save the environment by having us all use less toilet paper. Fortunately, the idea never caught on because I never would have cooperated. I think Al Gore’s book has an explanation of how to use carbon offsets to wipe out your over usage of toilet paper.
I envy our dog. He goes to the bathroom anywhere he wants. He knows there are places he is not supposed to take care of business, but if he makes a mistake, someone else will clean up the mess. For our dog, the world is his bathroom. On some days, the bathroom is my world.
From what I understand, I am unable to walk because lesions on my spinal cord are blocking the message my brain is trying to send to my legs. Sometime I try to get around the lesions by sending the message in a different direction to my legs. I mentally guide the message across my shoulders and down my arm where the nerves are OK. Then I touch my hand to my leg and the impulse jumps across my skin into my leg, making it move. It will be a revolutionary medical breakthrough if it ever works. I sometimes have dreams where I am playing basketball or walking with friends, and that is the explanation I give them.
When awake, I have a more realistic dream. I imagine that I died and am presenting myself to Saint Peter. I am in a wheelchair. Saint Peter greets me and says, “You can go through door No. 1 and you will be with the devil and all of the evil people who have lived upon the earth. You will still have MS and be unable to walk. In fact, because of the heat, your symptoms will be worse. But you have lived a good life, so you are eligible to take door No. 2 and go to heaven. Your MS will be gone, you will look like you are 25 and you will be able to hit a baseball 500 feet without steroids. But you have free will, so it is your choice. Do you choose heaven or hell?”
Then I reply, “That depends. Which one has the closest bathroom?” Unfortunately, I know what is important.
Unfortunately, that question is always on my mind. It depends on where those nasty little lesions form, but most of us with MS struggle at least a little bit with this issue. I realize that this is a little uncomfortable to talk about, so I will try to be circumspect and avoid obvious jokes.
Public restrooms cause the most difficult problems. I know that when I decide to head for the bathroom, takeoff to touchdown will be 5 minutes and 24 seconds. So I always ask where the restroom is when I enter someplace, knowing that it may save crucial seconds later on. It’s a little like the times you go for a walk and have to decide the precise moment when you are half-tired, so that you can turn around and get home exactly when you are 100 percent tired and before you are too pooped. I always need to be 5 minutes and 24 seconds ahead of any bathroom emergency. I need to get there before I am pooped. So to speak.
There are problems a person in a wheelchair has to deal with using public restrooms that we don’t often talk about. For example, what if the only accessible stall is being used? What if the stall is not large enough to for your wheelchair? What if there is a United States Senator in the stall next to you?
Sheryl Crow tried to start a campaign to save the environment by having us all use less toilet paper. Fortunately, the idea never caught on because I never would have cooperated. I think Al Gore’s book has an explanation of how to use carbon offsets to wipe out your over usage of toilet paper.
I envy our dog. He goes to the bathroom anywhere he wants. He knows there are places he is not supposed to take care of business, but if he makes a mistake, someone else will clean up the mess. For our dog, the world is his bathroom. On some days, the bathroom is my world.
From what I understand, I am unable to walk because lesions on my spinal cord are blocking the message my brain is trying to send to my legs. Sometime I try to get around the lesions by sending the message in a different direction to my legs. I mentally guide the message across my shoulders and down my arm where the nerves are OK. Then I touch my hand to my leg and the impulse jumps across my skin into my leg, making it move. It will be a revolutionary medical breakthrough if it ever works. I sometimes have dreams where I am playing basketball or walking with friends, and that is the explanation I give them.
When awake, I have a more realistic dream. I imagine that I died and am presenting myself to Saint Peter. I am in a wheelchair. Saint Peter greets me and says, “You can go through door No. 1 and you will be with the devil and all of the evil people who have lived upon the earth. You will still have MS and be unable to walk. In fact, because of the heat, your symptoms will be worse. But you have lived a good life, so you are eligible to take door No. 2 and go to heaven. Your MS will be gone, you will look like you are 25 and you will be able to hit a baseball 500 feet without steroids. But you have free will, so it is your choice. Do you choose heaven or hell?”
Then I reply, “That depends. Which one has the closest bathroom?” Unfortunately, I know what is important.
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