When I was first diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, I had no idea how it was going to turn out.
I still don’t.
I certainly didn’t anticipate wondering whether the person behind me thinks I’m drunk after a short walk to school to drop my daughter off.
But this morning I did. For a moment I considered stopping and letting them pass so that I could wobble home in peace, without judgement. But then I realised I that I don’t really care what my walking looks like. And neither does the person behind me probably!
What I care about is being able to walk my baby girl to school.
So I carried on. And it got worse. I was all over the bloody place on the way back (the gale force “sea breeze” didn’t help).
But my determination was and is so much stronger than my worries about looking drunk. I never used to care in my twenties when I actually was drunk (not usually at school run time by the way) so why should I care now?
So after weeks of sitting on my arse (cycling included) it’s about time I did some walking. I think I need the practice.
(Imagine having to practise walking in adulthood. That is definitely not anything I ever thought of having to do).
Tomorrow I may make my porridge with gin instead of milk. I can’t see it making anything worse…