12 Of The Most Unique Gifts People With MS Want

It’s the gift giving season and if you have a chronic illness like Multiple Sclerosis, you deserve presents most of all, because stuff can’t cure MS, but it sure can make it suck less. 

The unconventional gifts people with chronic illness actually want.

Gift-giving when MS is involved can be challenging. What to get the person who has everything a debilitating brain disease? One year, The Banker temporarily lost his mind and gave me an enormous, Barney-coloured heated blanket, and I cried all the way to Christmas dinner. My love language is jewel-toned, but on like actual jewels. I hated that blanket so bad, and not just because it looked like a deflated cartoon dinosaur – I hated it because it was a sick-person present.

Wow, you’re a spoiled sucky baby. A heated blanket is a pretty thoughtful gift for someone who’s cold all the time. 

You’re not wrong. But just because I have MS doesn’t mean I’m not vain and superficial, preferring romantic gifts over practical ones. If the Barney blanket had come from anyone other than The Banker, I would have hated it less. 

I mean, probably. I really can’t stress just how purple it was. 

I know The Banker’s intention was to warm me up, but his choice of present didn't feel like I was the sexy wife he wanted to drown in perfume and drape in diamonds; it felt like I was the shivering consumptive he wanted to cover with a polyester tarp.

Obviously I need therapy, and maybe you do too. But therapy is expensive, and this gift guide is free. You won’t find crossword puzzles, mugs filled with hard candies, festive epsom salts, or any other geriatric gifts here. Christmas is a time for reckless indulgence; a time for drinking too much champagne, and putting pickles in trees; it is not a time for gifts that remind me I’m aging in dog years. 

Here are my top picks of the best, Tripper-approved gifts you didn’t even know you needed Santa to bring you this year. 

1. Clean Hair

Showering is hard, and the last thing I ever wanna do after risking my life in that slippery, upright, future-coffin is lift a blow-dryer to my head. Whether you have heat sensitivity, balance problems, muscle weakness, fatigue, or any and all of the above, showering requires scheduling and recovery time. Having someone else wash and dry my hair is a weekly luxury that feels like an energy-freeing life-changer.

Gift: Blow-dry package from a local salon. 

2. Buy Me A Drink

Every basic bitch’s chronic illness gift guide is gonna have tea on it. But do not come at me with a tired old box from the Hasty Market. I want fancy tea that comes with a tin and stern instructions not to over-steep it. This green tea is a major splurge, which makes it the perfect gift, because it’s the kind of thing you might not buy for yourself. Also, it comes from the tears of real dragons, or your money back (I assume). 

Gift: Jasmine Dragon Tears Tea, Gourmet Hot Chocolate, seven dollar lattes.

Good enough to bust out the wedding china.

3. Decision-Free Days

Do you ever feel like you will literally die one hour before dinner because you have no idea what to make and making that decision will end you, so you just stare at your phone for 157 minutes hoping Siri can figure it out, but she’s actually a useless cow, so you end up eating two saltines and an unwrapped Lifesaver you found at the bottom of your purse, before going to bed in your clothes? 

There is science to back up the theory that we have a limited amount of decisions in us per day, and that number is, for sure, lower if you have MS. 

Subscription services are all the rage because they save time and energy. You only have to choose how you want to stock your fridge or freezer once a month instead of every damn day. 

Gift: Food Box. My local favourites are Plan B Organic Farm and Butcher Box.

Festive bells will distract your best frenemy from the fact that you just gave them cabbage and called it a present.

4. Take-Out

Last night, The Banker told me how much he loved the turkey stroganoff I’d made for dinner. And I said, do you like it more than you like having sex? He didn’t feel safe answering, but the point is, if I’m making dinner I’m not making anything else. Dinner comes at a hard time of day, and no matter how much I’ve paced myself, I’ve already drained my battery. 

Gift: Gift cards to delivery services like Skip The Dishes or Foodora will free up your evening for more interesting pursuits. 

I'm all toasty inside.

5. Can I Get A Ride Share?

Whether MS has messed with your ability to drive, you’re sick of being the DD, or your outfit is too fancy for the bus to handle, having access to transportation provides major liberation. In cities like Toronto you can even get a wheelchair accessible Uber (WAV), or Uber Assist which offers independently trained drivers to help seniors or persons with disabilities.  

Gift: Ride service gift card.

6. Books You Don't Have To Read

Vision loss is a real thing for many with MS, and if you’re struggling to see, e-readers are great for letting you choose a font that most people could see from space. If holding a device and moving your eyes is still too much, Audible is a great way to get learned and kill all those hours in the infusion room without the risk of paper cuts. Isn’t it great to live in the future?

Gift: E-reader, Audible subscription.

Nobody needs to know you're reading about the sisterhood. Again.

7. Clean Base Boards

MS fatigue can interfere with your ability to stay on top of your laundry and your lunch prep, and even if you’re able to do some tidying and light housework, for many with MS, the deep clean is too daunting to ever truly get done. If you’ve only got energy for one thing a day, it shouldn’t have to be scrubbing the toilet.  

Gift: Gift certificate for housekeeping/cleaning service.

8. If You Can't Hide It, Decorate It

Chances are you need a briefcase to hold all your MS meds and supplements, but you also need a smaller vessel to shlep around whatever meds you might need to get you through the day. Opening your clutch or man-bag and pulling out an orange plastic bottle just feels so…medical. 

Gift: A pretty pill-case is a gift you can find at any price point. I’m currently coveting this one I found on Etsy. 

Hold up. I’m a dude. This is starting to feel like a chick’s list.

9. Regularity

If you’re a dude and you’re still reading this, and wondering what the heck Santa is supposed to bring you, remember that housework is also your responsibility. But if that’s not enough to get you excited, the Squatty Potty® will. I know what you’re thinking, this feels 100% like a sick person present. But that’s where you’re wrong, because according to my niece Abigail, Everybody Poops. It just might take a little more creativity when you’ve got MS. 

Gift: Squatty Potty.

It's a stool for your stool!

10. Hang Out

Technically, spending time with me doesn’t count as a gift, so make sure you bring lunch or a bottle of wine, maybe bake some cookies. Better still, take me Christmas shopping and offer to carry my shit, and rest at every bench. Or offer to push me in one of the wheelchairs you can borrow from the mall. 

Gift: You being cool, and me not having to ask for awkward things.

11. Walk The Dog

If you’re looking for creative ways to say Happy Festivus, a commitment to walking the dog on the snowiest of snow days, or to scooping the cat litter on any day – because gross – is an energy saving gift that has the added bonus of providing you and yours with an extra chance to see each other during the week.  

Gift: Pet Care.  

Who wouldn't want to hang with this bitch?

12. Cure It

The best gift anyone with MS could ever receive would be to not have MS, obvi. Despite the tremendous developments in MS treatments, we must not get the impression that MS is under control. It's not.  

Gift: Make a donation to an organization that supports persons with MS, or that funds MS research. I like what they’re doing at Tisch.

Having Multiple Sclerosis means managing a constant personal energy crisis. All the time, I hear from loved ones who wish they could help. While you can’t fix MS (and black market prednisone is not a sustainable option), there are ways you can help extend the battery life of someone with a chronic illness, freeing up precious resources to spend on the things that really matter, like watching cat videos on Youtube, Google Earthing your boss's house, or reading ridiculous blogs.  

Happy Holidays, Trippers. I hope Santa is good to you. 

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Winter Can Hurt When You Have MS: 8 Things To Do

A lot has been written about heat intolerance and Multiple Sclerosis; and yeah, put me in a hot bath and I’m al dente in 6 minutes or less. But somehow, even in that bath, my feet manage to maintain a corpse-like grey and still feel cold. If you have MS, the heat might mess you up, but feeling cold can be it’s own kind of torture.

It’s called Dysesthesia. Dys - meaning wrong and aesthesia meaning sensation. Like a twisted game of Telephone, it happens when damaged nerves send inappropriate messages to the brain. It can feel like pins and needles, an electric shock, cold, or burning pain. 

Just like everyone’s MS is different, so is everyone’s MS-related Dysesthesia. For me, it means that regardless of room temperature or time of year, whenever my nerves decide to drunk-dial my brain to talk about their feelings, my brain (who doesn’t speak Vodka), decides I’m cold. And not a cute, ooh, I’m a little chilly, let’s get cozy kind of cold. Screw you. It’s a bone-deep, painful, unholy Arctic chill, that ironically feels more like being on fire than anything a sweater could solve. 

There's nothing cute about this look.
Or this one.
My attempts to cope with this constant confusion include fully-clothed visits to the sauna, regularly blow-drying my body, and buying coffee just to hold the cup. I use the car seat warmer in the summer, wear down-filled, outdoor camping booties in the house, and my most recent Make-A-Wish is to have all the hardwood ripped out and replaced with heated floors, because my feet, by far, bear the worst of it. My toes look so disturbingly undead that whenever I get a pedicure, the aesthetician tries to scrub off the remnants of what she assumes must have been blue polish. 

Someone at the MAC counter asked if my nose is red because I drink. Rude. My mom knit me this itchy AF beak blanket because my nose is THAT cold.

All of these strategies are bullshit, of course. I’m still Jack Nicholson at the end of The Shining cold. While there are medications that can help treat these sensory mind-fucks, I haven’t found any that work for me. But talk to your doctor, because everyone's MS is different, and as every fangirl knows, winter is coming.

Don't let anything come between you and your garbage fire.

The good news is, while it might feel like my flesh is dying, there’s no actual tissue damage occurring. The bad news is, this kind of pain is hard to understand and can make you feel like your own brain is trying to gaslight you. Don’t expect much validation from medical professionals either. Doctors know you have bigger things to worry about, like being able to walk, and see – I once had a neurologist tell me that eventually menopause would take care of this symptom – he thought he was hilarious, and sure, he did look like a muppet; but sometimes it’s the sensory that can have the biggest impact on day to day quality of life.  

Dysesthesia is no joke, Dr. F.

I was born in Montreal and live in Toronto. That’s Canada, bitches. The capital of winter. But just because winter is in my DNA doesn’t mean I have to love it. I don’t. I hate winter. Hate is a strong word, and Jack Frost can go to hell (but like, save me a seat, cause it’s warm there). It’s not just the cold. Negotiating a rollator on unploughed sidewalks sucks. Bladder urgency is not conducive to 30 layers of clothing. Chapped lips, insufficient sunlight, salt stains, and static cling all leave me asking myself Why the fuck do I live here?

diversity, healthcare, opportunity, freedom, food culture, regular culture, brunch culture, friends and family, maple syrup, tolerance, Tim Hortons...

Oh right.  #sorry

I can’t love winter, but I can try to hate it less. In my next life I’m coming back as the surface of the sun, or Fat Elvis, but until then, I want to learn how to embrace the season without freezing my actual tongue to a pole. I’m trying to adjust my attitude by focusing on appreciating the positive things you can only really do in winter. With that in mind,

8 Ways To Make Winter Suck Less:

Winter Food
Strawberry shortcake and sangria are over; let it go. And while no reasonable person looks forward to brussels sprouts, beets, cabbage, or any of the gross things that grow in tundra, it doesn’t mean you can’t eat your way through winter. Comfort food is the solution, and if you can get someone else to make it, even better. I’m talking shortbread cookies, beef stew, mashed potatoes, mac and cheese, grilled cheese, cheese fondue, basically anything with melted cheese. 

Drink Through It
Two words: Seasonal Lattes. Call me basic, but there’s something seriously soothing about a candy-cane cup of caffeinated warm milk. And only in winter can liquid chocolate be considered a legitimate breakfast food. Adding Irish cream, Kahlua, or Peppermint Schnapps to your afternoon coffee seems like substance abuse in the summer, but when it’s dark out at 4:30? Fair game. 

Let Yourself Go
Don’t even worry about what all this extra eating and drinking is doing to you. Nobody can tell what’s going on under that snow-suit, and did I mention it’s dark? Now’s the time to embrace winter weight, stop shaving your legs, or giving a fuck; that’s spring’s problem. You don’t have to wear pants with a waistband anymore. If you do have to leave the house, wrap yourself in a blanket scarf, and suddenly you don’t look derelict, you look European. See you in April, bra.

Make Like The Danes #hyggelife
Despite living in a damp, sunless country, the Danes have been shoving their happiness down our throats since happiness lists were invented. From the land of Lego, stylish mobility aids, and dogs that look like tiny horses, comes Hygge; the hug you can give yourself. If you don’t know about this culture of candles and coziness, I don’t even know who you’re following on Insta; but if you’re like me and you love a trend, a quick fix, and the North-American commercialization of a pure, simple tradition, Hygge is for you! 

Denmark: We're better than you.

Make Your Friends Come To You
The best thing about condo life is never having to shovel snow or take out the garbage. The second best thing is having neighbours that become good friends. My building buddies and I can come and go between our apartments in our pyjamas. It’s like living in a dorm but without the academic consequences of weeknight wine-drinking, and nobody has a Che Guevera poster on the wall. Between board game night, movie night, and Ubereats, I literally never have to go outside. (Wait, don’t you have a dog? Yeah, that’s The Banker’s problem.)

But Actually, Exercise
Before cabin fever turns you into a murderous recluse, realize that exercise is not only essential for your physical health, it can also have a powerful effect on mood. If you’re one of those people who actually enjoys cold exercise winter sports, congratulations, you’re better than me. For everyone else, figure out a way to move. The MS Gym has free online tutorials with workouts every MS’er can do at home at every level of mobility.

Check Yourself 
Seasonal affective disorder (SAD) is a real thing that can exacerbate depression, making winter particularly difficult, and those of us with multiple sclerosis are at a higher risk. Meditation, those fancy light lamps, cognitive-behavioural therapy, and certain medications can help. If you’re more than a whiny, winter-hater like me, and feel legit depressed, don’t suffer; talk to your doctor. 

Not All Squash Is Gross
If you’re still reading this terrible advice, I feel compelled to provide you with a recipe that’s a little more in-line with a healthy MS lifestyle than the suggestion you stay in bed with an electric blanket, a bag of Miss Vickie’s chips, and all 7 seasons of Gilmore Girls. Seriously. Don’t stop your Wahls, your OMS, your Swank, or whatever MS wellness plan you're following just because some rando on the internet tries to rationalize day-drinking your way through winter. 

This butternut squash and Italian sausage soup is gluten-free, and dairy-free. And not on purpose either! Take out the sausage and voilà, it's vegan!

It doesn’t taste as good as summer feels, but it’s pretty darn close.

Roast a butternut squash.

In a soup pot, sauté some Italian sausage out of its casing, then add onions, carrots, celery, garlic, whatevs. Maybe a smidge of apple cider vinegar if you feel like deglazing, but does anyone actually do that?

Add roasted squash, a handful of fresh sage, several cups of stock, and a glug of maple syrup (obvi the real stuff, I hate winter, I don’t hate Canada). Bring to a boil, then simmer until you feel like it. 


It’s 102 days until spring. Stay warm, Trippers.

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How To Know Your Worth In The Face Of MS Intolerance

I could list the ways I’ve been left out, treated differently, or whatever gentle words you wanna use to describe being dissed and discriminated against for having MS. 

There was the New York City girls trip that happened in secret, because I might have ‘slowed them down’. There were professional opportunities for which it was assumed I was ‘not well enough’. There was even the chance to be in a docu-drama and reality series that I was forced to forgo once my diagnosis had been disclosed.

But none of these indignities comes close to impacting me like the gut-punch that came with the first time I felt othered for having MS. 

When I was first diagnosed I worried about what would happen to my body, natch, but I never considered people would treat me differently. My obnoxiously confident younger self had no idea I’d just become that girl with MS, and was thus protected from feeling reduced by my disease, at least for a little while. 

The first year AD (after diagnosis), as I struggled to come to terms with my new reality, I found comfort in a network of support. I had good friends who rallied around me (the epic NYC diss still a few years away), my employer was accommodating; and sure, I had a break-up or ten with my on-again, off-again bf, but I didn’t think that had anything to do with MS, break-ups and drama being part of the deal when dating a bartender with a soul patch.

Fast forward a couple of years AD. By now I was rocking the whole invisible illness look. The shock of my dx having worn off, my employer stopped feeling sorry for me and started giving me the side-eye of doubt for taking so many sick days. Things were getting trickier for me at work, but my relationships were better than ever. 

In fact, my Justin and Selena situation with The Bartender was in an on-again cycle, and I was starting to think things were actually getting serious. Except for one thing. I was never invited to his house, where he still lived with his parents. For a long time I didn’t notice this slight. I mean, I wasn’t exactly interested in seeing this guy’s childhood Lego collection, and it made sense for us to hang at my apartment where there was unlimited vodka and no chaperones. 

Then came Easter.

I knew all about The Bartender’s complicated, symbol-heavy, Ukrainian Easter tradition. For weeks leading up to this particular year’s dinner, I’d been not so subtly gunning for an invitation to the main event, under the pretext that I’d wanted to see for myself just how strong you have to make homemade horseradish to invoke the passion of Christ. Of course, I was only pretending to care about Paska and whatever the hell Pysanka is. I needed to know Soul Patch was serious, and that meant meeting his damned parents. But every time I referenced the Resurrection, The Bartender found something else to talk about. 

By Good Friday my weekend was still wide open. I determined he just wasn’t into me, and we needed to break up. This time for good. I was pissed at his cowardly inability to just come out and say what seemed obvious. So, I confronted him. 

I fully expected to hear some excuse about how he wasn’t ready for a commitment and blah, blah, bullshit blah. But when I asked if my invitation had been lost in the mail, he was defensive and evasive. He didn’t want to break up, but I couldn’t come to dinner either. He refused to tell me why.

You already know what was happening here, but I didn’t. When I insisted he tell me what the eff was going on, he confessed that his father didn’t approve of our relationship. Uhm, what?

Growing up I was the kid other people’s parents wanted their kids to hang out with. A straight-A student, mature like a boss, I was a modern day, Catholic school, female Eddie Haskell.  

So, even when The Bartender said, “What’s the one thing you have that nobody else does?” I literally said, “RED HAIR?” 

I was that fucking clueless.

I made him say the words, not because I’d needed to hear them, but because I honestly didn’t know how someone who didn’t know me could possibly disapprove of me. It’s not you; it’s me your MS

(Not exactly a WWJD attitude if I'm remembering Sunday School correctly.)

The Bartender didn’t want to tell me, because he was trying to protect me. And when he spelled it out with those two vile letters – MS –  I was devastated. 

In the months that followed, whenever I would tell this story, I'd feel wounded all over again by the number of people who sympathized with The Bartender’s dad, telling me he was just trying to protect his son. My hurt feelings turned to alarm when I realized this wasn’t an isolated attitude. So many people were comfortable telling me how scary it would be to contemplate a future with me – like I was expected to roll over and accept that I’d become a poison to be avoided at all costs. How could I go through life thinking of myself in this way?

I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

I know I can’t convince someone else of my worth, but I sure as hell can convince myself. I dug in my heels and refused to believe I was any less of a prize than I’d always been. I refused to accept that because I had MS, I wasn’t just as entitled to my happily-ever-after as my mother had always lead me to believe.

In the end, we didn’t break up. The Bartender held his ground with his father, while his mother sent me secret notes, letting me know I had at least one silent ally. And then, the following year, like the Ukrainian kielbasa that symbolizes God’s favour for some reason (look it up), I was unexpectedly invited to the Easter table.


Eventually, The Bartender became The Banker and by the time we were married, his dad had come around. We never talked about the stand-off; they’re not that kind of family, but The Banker’s father danced with me at our wedding, and welcomed me to the family. 

Unexpectedly, one year later, my father-in-law died. I’ll never know what changed his mind about me, but I’ll always be grateful for his blessing on his son’s choice of bride, and for his willingness to open his heart to me.

I know there will always be people who believe it's acceptable for a father to try to prevent his son from being involved with someone with multiple sclerosis – even that it was the right thing to do. And that’s okay. I’m sure there are lots of people who don’t think they could handle having a partner with MS; a partner like me. That doesn’t make me less-than. 

It makes them not enough.  

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3 Things You Need To Be Happy (With Or Without MS)

Lately I’ve been waking up in a good mood, which is noteworthy because normally I wake up crusty, even a little bitchy. I can hardly be blamed for being unpleasant following a spastic, or painful night. Multiple Sclerosis doesn’t sleep and it doesn’t want me to either.   

But there’s something about October that gets me out of bed without shaking my fist at the sun. More than pumpkin everything, new boots, and autumn leaves, The Banker and I tend to travel in the fall when the weather is manageable and so are the crowds.

This October’s plan to celebrate our anniversary in Paris was paying dividends for weeks. When I couldn’t sleep, I was planning my travel outfits. In anticipation of a visit to Versailles, I was nerding out on the life of Louis XIV. When I was shoving kale into my smoothies I was promising myself out loud that I would soon be consuming my body weight in camembert. I had effectively turned 5 days in the future into a part-time hobby in the present. 

A past trip to Paris: happiness = a cheese trolley and unlimited barrels of wine.

So you can imagine my heartbreak last week when I opened an email informing me that the too-good-to-be-true discount airline with whom we’d booked was in fact, too good to be true. Bankrupt mother-fuckers. With our trip just 16 sleeps away, my new hobby became cancelling reservations, dealing with insurance claims and trying to get at least some of our money back. 

Why are you telling me this terrible tragedy? I clicked this bait to figure out how to be happy with MS and this is literally the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. #thoughtsandprayers

I know. If you’re looking for me I’ll be in all black and a lace veil until my birthday, 94 days from now. The point is, all this sadness got me thinking about how fast I went from happy with anticipation to covering the mirrors in mourning; and I realized, that yes, my would-be trip to Paris is a big fat bummer, but I’ve been consoling myself with the other things I have to look forward to, like the bottle of wine I’m gonna drink tonight, the Halloween party we can now attend, and the sweater I’m gonna buy, because my trip to Paris just got scrapped and I deserve it.  

But wait, if you have MS how can you be happy? I’d rather be dead than have a disability, and you didn’t even get your Make-A-Wish.

Many assume that people with disabilities couldn’t possibly live full lives, that they must be sad all the time. That’s messed up. When I was first diagnosed, I too assumed this life would suck. I mean, that’s what we're lead to believe. And it's true that MS sucks. MS makes my life hella difficult. 

But a difficult life doesn’t have to be a miserable one. 

Just as disability and disease don’t determine a sad and sorry existence, perfect health doesn’t guarantee happiness. According to some unreferenced internet psychology, when it comes to happiness the same strategies apply to everyone, regardless of ability, and have nothing to do with career success, wealth, fame, power or even that thing we’re all told you’re nothing without…your health.

The happiness recipe:

Someone to love 

Society has been known to send the message that people with disabilities are less deserving of love, and even that people with disabilities don’t have the same need or want for love. Maybe you’ve said this to yourself. This is some ableist bullshit. 

You can love your kids, your partner, your parents, the friends that are your family. Pets aren’t people, but if you’re struggling to find love amongst humans, even your cat is a good place to start (but like, maybe get a dog). 

Having someone to Netflix with, someone who’s on your team, who hates the same people you hate, reminds us that we’re not alone, and caring about someone besides our selfish selves can take us out of our own suffering. Love isn’t just a nice to have; it’s a fundamental need to have. 

Something to do 

When I stopped working full-time, the first thing I did was start a list I called Things I Did When I Wasn’t Watching Oprah. I knew I was facing an identity crisis and needed to reinvent myself. What we choose to do with our time reinforces and affirms who we are.

My list might look cool now sassy blogger, world traveler, rollator super-model – but when I was first figuring it out, my list literally had things like, tried a recipe, read a book, used a fire extinguisher. It doesn’t matter what you do, only that whatever you choose to do is just that – your choice; something that matters to you. 

Finding your raison d’être can be extra challenging when you have a chronic illness like Multiple Sclerosis. MS can steal your purpose. MS can rob you of the physical resources needed to do some of the things you love most. It’s not always easy, but the more we can figure out how to make empowered choices, even little ones, the less we feel controlled by external forces. 

Something to look forward to

I don’t know about you, but I spend a lot of time in Anxietyville, contemplating worst case scenarios. And while I still suck at meditation, you don’t have to convince me of how thoughts about the future can influence the present. Fortunately the power of anticipation can also be harnessed for good.

The standard remedy for anxiety is to live in the present, but sometimes the present straight-up sucks, and that’s when mindfulness needs to STFU. Having a stash of future rewards you can call to mind can get you through rough moments and bad days. It doesn’t have to be big stuff like trips to Paris, either. If I’m being real, most of my future-reward daydreams are about clean sheet day, or Miss Vickie's chips. 

MS is tough. I will never tell you to count your blessings, keep a gratitude journal, or smile through your bad days. FTS. I already told you I stopped listening to Oprah. You are entitled to every negative emotion that comes with this shit-show. Grieving the losses that a progressive debilitating disease brings is healthy and necessary for well-being. 

So, I will continue to worry about the future, rage about the present, and lament what this disease has taken from me. But I can't live there. It's exhausting. Most of the time, I'm setting realistic goals, making plans, and chillin’ with my homies; doing the things that keep me going, that remind me – an MS life can be a good life. 

So, who do you love? What are you doing? What are you looking forward to?

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