MS SPECULAR
- Mar 14
- 1 min read
By Katy Cossham
Had my feet been dipped in cool paint
as I descended the stairs that Sunday morning?
I couldn’t explain it away
By the time I reached the hall, “It’s MS - I’ve got MS”
Like a stopped clock, a worrier is sometimes right
The strangeness spread; my fur rubbed backwards
Within days a firestorm blazed in my personal substation
My body waged war with itself
At night whole sections were wiped out
I revived, Lazarus-like, in the morning
With frayed live wires in my midriff and sparks flying
One booted foot slapped the road, out of time with its neighbour
Two doctors wordlessly decided I was anxious
“Reassurance given” “Non - dermatomal distribution” “Resolving symptoms”
Appealed for help, explained my plight – disbelieved
Appealed for help, explained my plight – disbelieved
“Reassurance given” “Non - dermatomal distribution” “Resolving symptoms”
Two doctors wordlessly decided I was anxious
One booted foot slapped the road, out of time with its neighbour
With frayed live wires in my midriff and sparks flying
I revived, Lazarus-like, in the morning
At night whole sections were wiped out
My body waged war with itself
Within days a firestorm blazed in my personal substation
The strangeness spread; my fur rubbed backwards
Like a stopped clock, a worrier is sometimes right
By the time I reached the hall, “It’s MS - I’ve got MS”
I couldn’t explain it away
as I descended the stairs that Sunday morning
Had my feet been dipped in cool paint?