Now, of course, I have no reference point for the MS I carry, nothing and no one to see where that person is in the progression of the days.
I have met only one other person who is both bipolar and MSed. She was a very troubled young lady who had just been released from jail. The decisions she made were not the best, obviously. She seemed to have her stuff together or as we BDers know, we think we do. In the BD support group her attendance became sporadic, and then she disappeared. The group ended last summer. I do hope she is doing as well as she can.
So I'm in new territory, and more exhausted from trying to adjust to it. My speech is slower. Balance is off just a little more. There's pain right around both hips as I walk, which gives me about a two block stretch before I have to stop and lean against something. And all the stuff I forget, which I'd be glad to list if I could remember what it was.
Excuse me. It's time to walk into another room of the house and then ask myself what did I need from the room I was now in. Since I can't remember....
OK, that was a nice break. I couldn't remember why I was in the room, so I moved a book from a table to a pile of history tomes.
A study by the American Academy of Neurology(AAN) found that bipolar disorder occurs in 13 percent of people with MS and in less than 5 percent of people without MS. There are about 400,000 people in the USA who have MS (according to research at multiple sclerosis.net). So if we do the math, then there 55,000 people out there who are bipolar and have MS as well. You could put all 55000 of us in a football stadium, but we'd have to use walkers and scooters and chairs (oh, my) pack into elevators (and to save ourselves more trouble and complaining, its a domed stadium, so weather is not an issue). But try and move us around. We will but very slowly. Careful with those hot dogs and soda (unless you are cutting down on sugar). You know you will drop something. Soda cans just slip out of my hands. And then all that noise. And did you see the line for the bathroom? Both sides? And then the team we sort of root for gets intercepted at ten yard line and the player runs all the way for the touchdown that wins the game for his team, not ours. General Depression sets in. Throughout the stands you hear "This is all my fault.....I'm so sorry....Run into me with that scooter one more time, lady, and I'll - Ow! Hey!...Did I take my meds today?...Why am I here?..."