I'm a junkie

Starting last Friday, I began having sympathy for Karen Page, who sold former boyfriend Daredevil’s secret identity for a fix of heroin.

I ran out of gabapentin, the medicine I take for restless legs, and the next batch wasn’t coming until Monday.

I figured my legs would jump — they did. I was not ready for the other withdrawal symptoms, some of which I am still feeling.

• I didn’t sleep. Some of that was due to my unmedicated legs having a party, but mostly I wasn’t tired. 
• My stomach has rebelled against me. It was improving, but it  decided that was too easy. My meals this weekend have mostly been toast and applesauce.

I sympathize, but I would like it known that I’ll never sell out any superheroines.

Changes

 When I went to college, I vainly hoped I would change my stripes and have more  fun than I did in high school.

I did eventually have fun despite not changing.

One can almost divide my life into BC —before Claren, my first service dog and AD — after dogs.  They helped me start changing, though I am still not where I want to be.

Fame is helping me get there.

I was thinking of this  as I watched my niece accept awards at her prep school graduation.

She apparently wanted to change after high school, too, except she did.

Everything.

Except she remains one of the smartest and kindest people I know. And she still loves dogs and hockey.

I am jealous, well, not of hockey.

It’s not funny

I don’t know whether it’s age, increasing annoyance at my Friedreich’s ataxia, a combination or something else, but I find myself less amused by my little “adventures,” as Mom calls them.

Like today, when I found myself stuck on a driveway curb cut in the neighborhood.      

A mom was leaving the driveway and pulled me free.

I was glad, of course, but it left me wanting to cry..

Family

 In response to one of my recent blogs, my sister said, “We signed up for this.”

They did, more or less, but the 30-something they signed up with no longer exists. He has been replaced by a 50-something who can feel himself degrading.

We knew even then that Friedreich’s ataxia was progressive, so maybe I should just shut up. And it’s not like there’s another choice really. Hopefully.

But how is it fair to ask my family to deal with something I deal with only because I must? It isn’t. But I didn’t ask. They signed up for it.

I guess that is why I love my family.

'Comfort and convenience'

I do not think it will come as a surprise when I say I am not a big fan of insurance companies. The latest denial, for a power chair that was supposed to be more palatable to them explains why.

First, it says that because of my diagnosis, Friedreich's ataxia, several options I need are really just for “comfort and convenience.” They lost me right there. Absolutely nothing in my life involving Friedreich's ataxia or wheelchairs is about “comfort and convenience.” Sure, if doing my job is “comfort and convenience” or maybe sitting properly in my chair is.

It gets worse.

“We were told,” presumably by my doctor and physical therapist, “that you met the criteria” for these options. Apparently, the professionals who deal with me don’t know anything. The knowledgeable ones can make qualified decisions based only on paper. Wow.