Life Comes at You Fast

It's a catchy slogan for an insurance company, and a line from a movie. It also happens to be the truth.

The journey that started with a case of vertigo has ending with a most unexpected result - a clinical diagnosis of multiple sclerosis. As there is no history of neurological disease in my family, at least that I am aware of, this was more than a bit of a shock. A diagnosis of breast cancer I would have expected. This, well, not exactly.

The journey from August to October was difficult - emotionally, physically, and spiritually. Physically there were a lot of annoying tests, some of which resulted in some pretty severe residual pain (a week-long migraine on steroids - I recommend avoiding it). Emotionally it was a roller coaster. There was the initial shock that this was even a possibility. Just when I thought I had accepted that, there was another curve/adjustment/curve cycle that left me wrung out and exhausted. I mean we are talking about the nervous system here. The thought that it was slowly unraveling was more than a little unnerving. And spiritually, well, I blogged about that in the past (Mother Teresa and I) so enough said.

This diagnosis has caused me to redefine who I am on all those levels as well. Physically, my definition of "healthy" has changed. Before, I would have called "healthy" as being disease-free. But now "healthy" includes how long it's been since my last flare-up and the amount of damage in my nervous system. Emotionally, I've had to adjust to the changes. No longer am I just mother, wife, sister, daughter, friend, and working professional. I'm also a person with what is, at least right now, a life-long disease condition - something that must be managed every day. Spiritually, I've wondered "why me?" and what I'm supposed to do now. I believe it's Ecclesiastes that says "I can do all things through He who strengthens me"; I believe there is purpose to everything and God will not put a mountain in front of me that I can't climb. But where the purpose is here I just don't know.

Of course the first thing I thought when the neurologist raised this as a possibility was, "What about my kids?" I mean, my kids are young. There are tons of things I want to do with them that are undone - everything from vacations, to dance recitals and soccer games, to graduations and marriages. All I could think of were visions of people like Annette Funicello, wheelchair bound and unable to really do anything. It was rather terrifying. I mean, this is my nervous system, the thing that runs everything else. If the brain don't work, it doesn't really matter how healthy the rest of you is - no electrical impulses and it's all for naught. And speaking of my kids, what does this mean for them? The medical community believes MS has a genetic component, so does that make it hereditary? If so, what are their chances of finding themselves in a neurologist's office some day?

I spent quite a few days reeling, trying to make sense of all this. In the end, there are a few things I can't do physically - get enough rest, eat better, exercise, and, if needed, there are medications. I found out that I didn't have to do this alone emotionally - I have plenty of people around me to listen and help. And spiritually, well, I'm still working on that one. But I'm getting there.

An estimated 1 in 100 people have MS. In a country with approximately 300,000,000 people, that's, well, a lot. The good news is that medical science has come a long way in 20 years. MS isn't what it was - new medications and new treatments mean less interference with daily life and that people with MS have the same life expectancy as "normal" people. I've been fortunate in that I've really never noticed the effects of these flare-ups. The neurologist doesn't believe that the vertigo is related, and all the myriad of tests fail to provide a conclusive diagnosis. I have what is called a "clinical diagnosis" based on a single spot on my cervical spine and a physical examination. I've opted out of medication for the time being, although I will see an MS specialist in January for a second opinion. I get to go about my life as I always have, always watchful for the next "thing" of course. Considering the alternatives - either a more serious disease or injecting myself every day - it's a pretty good situation.

A friend of mine at work who has dealt with health issues his whole life told me how he has dealt with it: I'm luckier than the person they diagnosed yesterday. And ultimately he's right. There are millions of dollars in medical research that yield new advances every day. Who knows what they'll find tomorrow, or next week, or next year. People with MS used to be sentenced to wheelchairs; now they are living ordinary lives. Some day science may find a cure. Anything is possible.

Things like this also have a funny way of snapping things into perspective. You are that much closer to separating the trivial from the important. I've always felt that not living is worse that dying. I started to understand that when my mother died from breast cancer at 54. Now I'm one step closer to understanding that Kenny Chesney is right:

Don't blink, cause just like that
You're six years old and you take a nap,
Then you wake up and you're 25
And your high school sweetheart becomes your wife.
Don't blink, you just might miss
Your babies growing like mine did.
Turning into moms and dads
Next thing you know, your better half
Of 50 years is there in bed,
And you're praying God takes you instead.
Trust me friend, 100 years goes faster than you think.
So don't blink.

Why Driver's Licenses Shouldn't Be in Cracker Jack Boxes

Okay, I know. You can't really get a driver's license out of a Cracker Jack box. But as I watch other drivers, especially during my daily commute, I really have to wonder.

Take Friday. I'm heading northbound out of the city. Two solid lanes of traffic for miles, creeping along at less than 10 miles per hour. Must be an accident. Or a disabled car. This stinks, especially at 5:00 on a Friday. But what are you going to do?

Sure enough, I soon see flashing lights ahead. Must be some accident. We creep closer. Definitely a big accident. There are police, tow trucks, fire, ambulance, the works. All on the southbound side of the highway. Wait, southbound? Yes, that's right. All the excitement is on the opposite side of a divided highway. None of the production should be interfering with northbound traffic. What the heck? So I've been creeping along for the last 30 minutes because of rubberneckers? Ding, ding! The minute traffic moves past the accident scene everything opens up. You would think that people would have better things to do at 5:00 on a Friday. I know I do - it's called going home. Duh.

Or take this genius. Intersection of two roads, both two lanes - one in each direction. Road coming down the hill widens to two turning lands, right and left, and the lane for traffic going up the hill. Morning, and there is a line of cars waiting at the red light waiting to make the left. Mr. "I'm More Important Than You" pulls out into oncoming traffic zips up to the light, and then makes a left turn against the red light! Here's a real rocket scientist for you, boy. I mean, I'm not talking about a couple of back country roads where you might see a car every 45 minutes. The road he turned on to is a major artery into the city and heavily traveled, especially during the rush hours. So what this jag-off did was not only incredibly stupid and incredibly illegal, but incredibly dangerous. But of course he was in a hurry. That makes it all right.

I could go on, but you get the drift. Otherwise rational people get behind the wheel of a car and become absolute maniacs. It's like there's a circuit that runs from the ignition to the driver's seat. When you turn the key, two things happen. First, the car starts. Second, an electrical impulse is sent through the steering column, across the floor panel, and up the seat into your derriere. When this impulse reaches your brain, all ability to think is shut off. Yeah, you know how to push the accelerator and turn the wheel, but such simple thoughts such as "Maybe I shouldn't cut off that Mack truck if I'm driving a Civic," are gone. Poof. Like magic.

Some people I know are in favor of equipping vehicles with rockets, to blow up these bozos. I'm not so harsh. Stupidity should not be an automatic death sentence (unless you are a Darwin Award recipient, of course). I would, however, like a set of laser beams positioned perfectly to blow out tires. Zap! and watch the tires of the car disintegrate and the vehicle come to a screeching halt. And the driver has to pay to replace those tires. Do it enough times and the cost alone should be a deterrent.

Here's another idea. OnStar, the company that makes all that communication and navigation technology found in GM vehicles, recently announced a new service. They can send a signal to the car that turns off the engine and renders the vehicle impossible to start. The intention is that if your car is stolen, you can call OnStar, they can determine if it is being driven, and then stop it until the police arrive. All we have to do is expand this service to allow people to report idiot drivers. Imagine the call:

"OnStar, this is Kelly. How may I help you?"

"Hi, the GMC Canyonero in front of me just made an illegal turn on red and cut me off. Can you shut him down?"

"Of course. Do you have the license number of the Canyonero?"

"Yes, ABC-1234."

"One moment." Pause. "I'm sending the signal now. The Canyonero should be slowing."

"Yes, he's drifting off to the right-hand shoulder. Thanks!"

"No problem. Is there anything else I can assist you with?"

"No, thanks. You guys are awesome!"

Just think about it. How liberating for those of us who understand that turning on the ignition should not be connected to turning off the powers of higher reasoning.

Things That Make You Go "Hmm"

Some questions I have asked myself recently, with no real answers. If you think of some, please let me know.

Question 1: Why wash dishes by hand if you have a dishwasher?

I really don't like washing dishes by hand. In fact, in the universe of household chores, washing dishes is right at the top of my "least favorite" list, only slightly behind "scrub the toilet." Washing dishes leaves my hands feeling like sandpaper, no matter what Palmolive claims. The exposure to hot water weakens my nails (yes, every woman has a vanity - what of it?). And dish gloves irritate my skin. So when we moved into our house 9+ years ago, I was thrilled to see a dishwasher, even if it was slightly dated. When that got to the brink of quitting, I convinced The Hubby to buy a newer one. I was a happy girl.

The Hubby, however, does not share my joy. He will actually wash dishes by hand - not just pots and pans, but plates, cups, and silverware - rather than load the dishwasher. He claims its because if have some "arcane method" of loading the dishwasher. There's nothing arcane about it. If you put glasses on the left-hand side of the upper rack, they will get broken. That's because the left side is elevated, and when you go to close the rack with 8-12 ounce glasses in that spot, the glasses will collide with the top of the machine and break. I warned him about this once. He has not loaded the dishwasher since. And, in fact, he rarely empties it. He will actually open the door to remove the single item he needs, and close it on a load of clean dishes. Why?

Question 2: Why do people say "I'm out of clothes" on the day they have no clothes?

Last weekend we traveled out of state to attend a wedding - my dad's in fact. Nice time, long drive. The result was I didn't get to do weekend laundry. I'm thinking, no big deal. The kids have enough clothes to get them through a couple days, so I'll do laundry on Tuesday or Wednesday. Cool. This morning, thinking I'll be really slick since I had a couple minutes, I throw an entire load of kids clothes, including school uniforms, into the wash. This way, they are ready for the dryer when I get home. Time savings for the night. Excellent.

As I go back upstairs I hear The Girl say, "I don't have any shirts." Well, too late; everything is in the wash. Wear your jumper. There is much pouting and huffing as she dons the jumper she insisted I buy, but has since refused to actually wear. Too bad, so sad. The I hear The Boy. "I don't have any pants." Well, it's 60 degrees outside and shorts season is over (not to mention shorts aren't in the uniform code for October). Guess you'll have to wear jeans. "But people will laugh at me!" No, they won't. Put on the jeans. Of course then I had to write a note to his teacher explaining why he wasn't in uniform. And of course this could not have happened tomorrow, Picture Day, when they can wear whatever they please.

News flash. The time to tell me you are out of shirts/pants/skirts/whatever is when you pull the last one out of the drawer, not at 7:10 on the morning you need to wear the shirt/pants/skirt/whatever.

Question 3: Why ask me a question when you don't like my answer?

This is a work thing. I am, as I have mentioned before, a project manager. My job is to put together a schedule of work, monitor that schedule for slippage, alert the appropriate folks when it does slip, and assist in getting things back on track. It is also my job to call people when I think the plans they are developing are not even connected with reality. I am a bull-crap detector, and I call it like I sees it.

So this past week, I'm asked to jam a task into a plan that is going reasonably well, but has a lot of risk. I ask for a task definition. "Performance enhancements." Okay, what are the estimates? "No idea, maybe a week maybe two. Just stick in a task for two weeks." Uh, do we have any requirements? "Make it faster." How much faster? "Faster than it is now." Okay, so you're really asking me to put in a task for an undetermined amount of time that you are giving a half-baked two week estimate for, there are no specific requirements, the task may go longer than two weeks if you think you can get more functionality, and if it really explodes we'll just take it out. "Yes." My bull-crap detector goes off. "But I need to show we're working on it!" Are we really? "Well, maybe." Then why put in a task? "Because I need to show it." What about testing? "We'll do it in system testing." More bull-crap. Dear god.

This went on for twenty minutes, I kid you not. The lead product manager, lead developer, and I, with them saying "Why does it matter?" and me answering "Because I cannot knowingly put together a plan that I believe is a lie just so you can look like you're doing something." And then I get accused of being negative, of not being a team player, and of making things difficult.

Fortunately, my boss is on my side. We, the Project Management Office, are all that stand between bull-crap plans and the Rest of the World. It's a sucky job, but somebody has to do it.

Question 4: Why are video games so addictive?

I am not a big gamer. Don't really like shooting things, or blowing them up. I do, however, like puzzle and "adventure" games. Once upon a time, I played the original Zelda game for Nintendo and really enjoyed it. But I don't really have a lot of time for it, nor do I have the money to invest in serious gaming. So I don't do a lot of it.

However, a friend at work has a Nintendo DS and the latest Zelda game - Phantom Hourglass. He let me use it once at lunch. He is an evil man. I now spend my lunch time bolting my food so I can get maximum game time. Today, I was so engrossed in getting to the next level of the Temple of Flame, I was nearly late for a meeting. My geek cred has skyrocketed in the Development section. My time management has plummeted. My friend says, "Why don't you buy one?" Because I have other things to do with the $165 plus tax buying a DS and the game would set me back. But he's a good guy - he'll let me keep playing his at lunch.

Crack for adults, I tell you. "Just once, everybody is doing it. The first one is free."

He is an evil, evil man.

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All these questions presented themselves in the last three days. Not quite as deep as the meaning of life, but if you have any answers, please, share with the class.