Funny, they never tell how how long this little formula for humor takes. How much distance you need before the sharp edges of a prickly reality dull somewhat.
When it becomes palatable, these painful treatments, the uncertain future, the broken body.
Multiple sclerosis is really no laughing matter.
But I can have a chuckle at my own expense. Starting with Day 1.
Still, back in the beginning, Nick and I had an ongoing philosophical disagreement over how to process my diagnosis. He was all positive, positive, positive to the point of naiveness. My approach was a bit more, uh, raw. Not exactly negative, but more realistic, I reasoned.
A grieving period, I said. What exactly I was grieving, I’m not sure now. My supposed lost future? No one’s good health is guaranteed. Preemptive pining is about as abstract as you can get.
So I adjusted my attitude. No, not to blithely positive (x3). But a little less tragic.
MS has offered me this: The ability to understand firsthand what extraordinary, fragile creatures we are, and the miracles and limitations of the human body.
I’ve also gained perspective and learned that, like my dog, I should live more in the moment. I try not to take myself too seriously, even though this disease is dead serious.
I make gimp jokes sometimes, mainly about myself. It’s been a coping mechanism, sure.
I compare my walk to Keyser Soze’s. I park in handicapped places, badly. And don’t care.
I talk about bull penis canes and how much Nick can be a pain in my ass.
I get embarrassed playing dueling carts with my mom.
Attempt cartwheels with mixed success.
Wish that panties were easier to put on. (Or pants, for that matter).
So maybe there’s a new formula?
Comedy is tragedy with perspective.
Comitragic (Hope + Loss) = Me with MS.