29 December 2009

Taking Inventory

They're taking inventory today in the "Bob's Books" department of Bob's Books and Adult Day Care Center. Everybody is busy in the warehouse. They brought in pizza for lunch, and got enough for the "Day Care Center" department too, which is nice because it's just me, and I'm not helping with inventory.

I guess with the end of the year and all it's a good time to take some sort of inventory, a summing-up of the year just past. That's what newspapers (remember them?) and magazines and TV and radio do this time of year; seems like there's no getting away from it. But me, I'd really rather not just now. I had a couple of really dark days right after solstice (yeah I know -- everybody did) and I feel like I'm still climbing back. For people with progressive disease, reflecting over the previous year and anticipating the coming year is something you want to be very careful about. A year ago I could do a lot of things I can no longer do. By the end of next year I'm unlikely to be able to do everything I can do now. I don't think I'm being negative or defeatist or giving up, or failing to be hopeful or positive or tough or determined or inspiring or any of that. It's a progressive disease. That's how it works. I'm just sayin'. At this point, for me, a good day is one that's not a whole lot worse than the day before. A good year would be one that's not a whole lot worse than the last. I'll plan for the future as best I can, but getting through today is about all I can manage. If I can do that, we're good. One day at a time.

So, as days go, yesterday was a pretty good one. And old friend from southern California was in town visiting her sister and brother-in-law, and they all came by for a visit. She brought Lucy the golden retriever, which Ernie and Bareit thought was a very fine thing. Tuffy kindly  baked us a batch of brownies. I think we managed to save her a couple.


  1. Hey Zoom,

    I hear ya. Great post.

    My life is like the mechanical ratchet. As MS keeps tightening around me I almost hear the clicks of the ratchet reminding me that this is a one way journey- no loosening allowed.

    But yet I suffer way more indignity now than I ever thought I could or would, while maintaining a level of contentment. I suspect that this trend will continue.


  2. Yes - exactly right. I'm thinking about the year ahead today, too, and trying to forget the awful year behind, filled with losses as it was.
    The one way ratchet is a good visual for this disease. I guess the fortunate thing is that somehow people with MS seem to be able to look up, most of the time.