Choosing My Words

So. After eight months of dealing with leg sores self-inflicted by yours truly using a leg-lifter that caused blisters, I am here to report that I am still not completely healed. I was warned at the outset that lower-leg problems are tough to heal. The experts were right.

Compound this fact that unsatisfactory treatment at one wound center inevitably led me to seek out treatment months later at a better one, I am here to report that my disposition has changed – and not for the better. I used to have a sunny nature, but now I’m a cranky old soul.

Having MS definitely delayed the healing. Sitting all day doesn’t help the recovery process. Also, frustration with bandage changes etc., and ever constantly relying on help from other people, I’ve arrived at the point in dealing with the sores and this disease that has led to the unfortunate expansion of my vocabulary. Longshoremen have nothing on me.

Now, you have to understand. I used to be someone who frowned on swearing. The young, self-righteous prig that I was would have choked before using questionable words.  They tumble out of my mouth now with colorful fluency. I figure when you are cursing an invisible enemy, it doesn’t really count. The only word I still can’t say rhymes with duck. One of my girlfriends (who swears with authority) begs me to say that word – just once – claiming it will make me feel so much better.

Nope. Can’t do it. I’m holding on to this one last shred of proper behavior. MS has changed my life, it is true, but I won’t let it degrade me that far. However, if my legs don’t heal PDQ, all bets are off.




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