And this is when i began to cry,
for the beauty so close on this weather worn plank
for the intricate veins, the colors bleeding through the back of a leaf fallen in the night,
the dew still clinging.
Grief flooded my throat so suddenly; the lingering questions I’d let sink below the surface of my daily thoughts filled my whole body with startled fear. What if this is also the last walk? What if when I receive the results of the next blood test in a few weeks my T-cells are still too low? What if my doctor no longer feels comfortable prescribing Gilenya; the only medication that has offered release and remission from the downward spiral I was in from MS exacerbations? If we stop it will I start having back-to-back exacerbations, like when I had to stop the Tysabri infusions? What new symptoms will appear? Will any of the other one or two medication options left work for my body? Will I lose the ability to walk, to talk, to see through both eyes? What if she has me stay on the medication I’m on at this new lower dose, but the drug causes PML a risk I knew about when starting Tysabri, but was not known (at least to me) when I started Gilenya two years ago. That devastating virus could kill me! I’m no different than the organic material that died and created the mat of peat I’m standing on, the ground that isn’t ground on top of a deep lake, the bog I love, the bog from which new life grows and dies and grows and dies, continuously transforming. Oh, oh, oh, what if? What if I wipe my face on the sleeve of my fleece jacket and come back to the marvel of this awe-filled place and let the awful worries sink back down again, because it is a gorgeous morning and I’m here, and I’m walking and what could be better than the tapestry of this leaf, the gift of this moment?