Garage Days Re-Revisited

The title you may know as having been the title of one of rock-band Metallica's albums from the late 80s. Maybe you weren't into heavy- metal music, or even alive then, but I was an up-and-coming young bass-player at the time, knowing a little Metallica was sort of considered common courtesey for a rock bassist (as well as remaining safely aloof from the James Hetfield/Lars Ulrich/Dave Mustaine altercations that merely started literal fights among friends).

Anyway the theme of being forced to return to the "garage" (the place where you first learned to be proficient at some skill) just when the world seems to spin at your behest...is so common as to be annoying in it's familiarity.

But it's what I had to do.

Developing Multiple Sclerosis is a bit like having to go back to the garage to relearn Deep Purple's Smoke On The Water...again.

Only, now, my dominant side (arm AND leg) have become so paralyzed, that I'd have trouble even holding an electric bass, now (yes, even with a guitar-strap).

But whatever...life throws everyone unexpected curves...how one overcomes those "curves" says a lot about whether or not they have what it takes to succeed in the first place.

And I am here to tell you that there are some tough people out there (besides me, hehe)...many of them treated with disdain by people who couldn't even live the life they are forced to live 24/7...

Which reminds me of a particularly obnoxious heckler literally thousands of miles away in another country who doesn't realize I am so disabled that only a multi-thousand-dollar MRI (Magnetic Resonance Imaging) Scan, or even MORE expensive PET (Positron Emission Tomography) Scan can even aid an experienced Neurologist in knowing EXACTLY how damaged my brain is.

I guess the guy's/gal's addiction to nationally-socialized medicine makes him/her better able to cope with the very real costs of M.S. in a capitalist country like the United States where healthcare isn't free, or even discounted. But I wouldn't prefer to live elsewhere.

Some of the best M.S. doctors in the world are right here in my home state of California, and I think they were amazed even that I had retrained myself to walk.

I guess this heckler knows more about the realities of M.S. than my Stanford-, University of Malta-, and University of California-trained neurologists? I'll bet this genius heckler doesn't need anything but an auger to see inside the human skull. ;)

Never mind the mess...I'm almost dead anyway, right? *-)

I notice that the heckler isn't brave enough to pay me a personal visit...so maybe he/she is just delusional...and for that the heckler has my pity. I'm going to live...I have my doubts about this heckler's future. ;)

ADDENDUM:
That last statement shouldn't be misinterpreted as a desire to see any misfortune to come to this person, but rather a recognition of the kind of trouble that seems to follow the type of arrogance -I- perceived. Maybe it's a cultural thing: the REAL MEANING having become lost-in-translation.

But whatever the intended translation was, I perceived a challenge to MY STATEMENTS about MY PERSONAL EXPERIENCE...I guess I tend to believe that NOBODY except GOD knows ME better than ME. Silly me ;)