TIME

If I could put time in a bottle. Those words from a famous song are especially haunting for those of us with MSA. For us, time is of critical importance. Not only concerning how much time is left, but also, if we could go back in time before this horrible disease trapped our brains. Could we possibly do something differently so it would not occur?

If I could go back in time, it would be twenty years ago when I was able to walk two large dogs at 4:30 in the morning and still get to work around 6 AM to start my busy day in my library. I could lift heavy boxes of books all day, run to the back of the 20,000 square foot building to grab a book for someone, pick up a stack of books 16? high and carry them in one arm to the front of the building, unload 3 three foot deep carts containing books being delivered to our library from other libraries. I was a true type A individual, only happy when I was going full steam ahead. In between these activities, I completed all my administrative tasks: preparing and keeping track of the budget, writing reports for the Library Board and the City Manager and reading reviews to order new books. The City Manager finally had to tell me I would have to retire and take disability as he was afraid he was going to find me dead on the floor someday and he was afraid for my life. By then, I could not walk more than five feet without gasping for breath, my legs wooden as I tried to hold on for only a little bit more.

Now, I feel lucky if I can walk 30 feet or if I can pick up the cat, or tuck in the sheet on my side of the bed. One book is about all I can hold (unless they are paperbacks), and I use the motorized carts in the grocery (thank God they have them!). I used to breeze through the grocery in a flash, loading the cart and getting in and out with a full cart. I could take the cart out, unload it into my van, and return the cart to the store. Now, I have someone accompany me to load my van and return the scooter. I don?t remember the grocery even having scooters before I lost my ability to really function.

I frequently wonder what is going to fail on me next. I started having difficulty swallowing food last month and I have to take a swallowing test on Tuesday. I dread it. Food gets ?stuck? between my windpipe and my esophagus and I can neither swallow nor breathe until I can force it away from my windpipe with leftover breath in my lungs. Today, I started coughing and choking and gasping for breath while just sitting still. Fortunately, I was with my therapist the first time and he got me some water to soothe my throat. I have had four episodes of that just today.

I started with the night terrors last April and they are truly terrible and terrifying. I start screaming and thrashing and my husband rushes in and holds me and reassures me that it was all a bad dream.

I lost my sense of balance in 2005 when I fell out of chairs, fell while walking, fell while standing, fell while kneeling; you get the picture. I would fall as often as 20 times per day.

None of these things are new to those with MSA. In fact, I am lucky. I can, with the help of medications, walk that 30 feet (sometimes) and, if I am careful, I can swallow (sometimes) without choking. Many of us with MSA cannot do these simple things. Many have feeding tubes in order to absorb nutrition to keep their bodies going. Not to ever be able to savor the taste of food again is a very frightening thought.

People talk about time standing still or time going by so fast. For someone with MSA, unless we are asleep, time creeps by as we wonder if the pain will ease up or what may go wrong with us next. Many times we are left alone with our thoughts and time seems to drag, then a friend comes to visit and time speeds back up. Time has its behavior and we have no control over it. It moves at its own pace, regardless of how we perceive it.

I think of time and of the control it holds over me. And I also think of the control my body has taken away from me. I cannot control time any more than I can control this disease. This disease just is and time just is. And they are what they are. All I can do is observe and try to adjust my focal point away from fear and toward a more positive attitude. I told my therapist I felt like I was on a runaway train that I had no control over and it was heading for a crash. He quietly reassured me it was not going to crash; it was going to gradually slow down until it finally came to a slow stop. Time, for this body, will be over.