It seems as thought the house is getting colder by the hour, it feels as thought the wind has been bustling past the windows and through the trees now for several days. It makes itself known when ever there is a lull in the volume from the TV and it’s wonderful accompaniment to the warmth found lying in bed waiting for sleep to take over. Winter has so many pleasures that being housebound generally means I miss terribly, I seem to be an odd one in that respect as I love all the weather conditions that most people hate. Cold isn’t a problem as long as you are wrapped up and ready to deal with it, although I have to admit that the wrapped up bit was a later addition, I remember clearly walking around Aberdeen in the depth of winter in Jesus sandals, which of course means you can’t wear socks, but worse than that I would wear muslin shirts, jeans and nothing more. Mind you teenagers don’t normally have enough brain power to see past the mirror which tells them how great they look, two feet of know and the cold is just a tiny problem, one that has to be ignored or the whole image is destroyed. Almost every bright memory that I have seems to centre around days where there is more snow than makes any sense to go out in, snow fills me with an energy inside that is only equalled by thunder and lightning. It’s strange the way life turns round in circles to steal everything that made it wonderful, growing up is such a pain, as life back then seemed so simple and so easy to enjoy, regardless the horrors it also held, there was always those sparks of magic that made it shine brightly with joy. Now I find myself turning up the heating and crawling into blankets to fight of what used to fill me with joy.
I guess that all of us as we grow older find the cold less and less appealing, I for one knows that as long as I have my feet and legs are covered and warm, the rest of me seems to manage OK, but even the slightest cold causes me to feel more pain. I have always found it odd how in all description and symptom list it clearly says that being too warm heightens all other symptoms, yet I hear again and again from others with MS that it is equally devastating to be too cold. I have joked often that I am like a precious orchid, that for me the temperature has to be just right or I start to wilt with the pain, joking aside I know that temperature is a huge factor in my well being, the Doctors can say what they want. I don’t know why I keep hoping that someone out there will actually take the time to talk to all of us who actually have to live with this illness and then write the truth.
The start of December for all of my adult life always brought with it two thing, both Christmas cards and both with the same inside, a cheque for £10. One was from my Mother and the other from my brother. This year I was determined that my cards would be with them before theirs arrived, so both were written and posted all in good time, but still neither appeared until yesterday, when only a card arrived from my brother. Christmas has always been that point in the year where we made contact, as small as it was it was our nod at being family, yet this year they have changed it. I know there is still plenty of time for a card to arrive from my mother but I find myself thinking more and more that that card will never come. There are just two possibilities, either she has become to frail to live in her sheltered flat any longer and is now in a home, or she is dead, either way I can’t believe that my brother hasn’t called to let me know what is happening. Adam said to me to just call them and find out, but I want to wait a little longer as there is still time for her card to arrive. I know it would be the most obvious thing just to pick up the phone and call first her number and if no reply to call his, but I don’t want to call and hear something that I should have been included in. So I am waiting and I will wait until Christmas day when I shall phone to wish him a happy Christmas and to speak to my Mother who should be there with him as always. Other than when my Father died a year ago now, the contact between me and the rest of the family since I became housebound had slipped away to just the odd call, from or to my Mother. It’s hard to talk to anyone once you have nothing to say, when nothing happens and you neither see or speak to anyone, all you can do is say hello, how are you, good dye. I know I can pour out daily everything that is in my head but conversations in my family never allowed for feelings, just facts, my facts are simple and there is only so many times you can say the same thing, “sorry nothing has happened”. So I wait to know which situation has occurred and why not a word was said to me.