A way to squeeze a little entertainment out of having MS is to pretend that you’re a drunk driver. Occasionally, I might walk a short distance without my stick. This usually means that by the time I approach my car, I’m staggering and swaying from side to side. Like a drunk.
If I’m in a car park or on the street, there’s always likely to be someone around who is watching this legless buffoon. I imagine their internal dialogue: ‘Oh my, he appears to be using his car for support now. How pissed is he? Please tell me he’s not about to attempt to drive it. Oh God, he’s getting in…’
Of course, by the time I’m seated, I’m fine with driving. No problem at all. There’s nothing wrong with my arms and the car is automatic so I don’t even have to depress a clutch. As I depart, however, I often can’t resist swerving from side to side a little as I leave the car park, just for the benefit of my audience.
Yes, I realise there’s nothing funny about drink driving but when you have a chronic condition that stops you being able to walk very far without your legs turning to barely-set jelly, you have to take your kicks where you can.
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