I take drugs for MS every four weeks. I have to get them via IV at the hospital, which I actually don’t mind. It’s one less thing for me to remember to do the other 27 days.

Recently, I was sick during the week that I was supposed to go for my infusion, and still sick the next week. I can’t take the drug when I’m sick, so I ended up with six weeks between doses instead of four. I wasn’t expecting to feel any differently, but I sure did. I was exhausted after walking John to school and then dragging myself up the stairs to work. Just dragging in general, really. Some of my low energy might have been the process of getting well after a raging sinus infection, but who knows. Fatigue and MS are great friends.

I’m sad about all this. I spend a lot of timing evaluating my own health and in general, I’m doing pretty damn well. I take serious drugs, but I tell myself that they are preventing difficulties in the future, not alleviating difficulties now. This recent episode put a little dent in my ability to make that argument.

Metaphorically, we’re all walking on ice. Above the ice is the strong and healthy life you’re living now. Below the ice is the opposite: weakness, disability, loss of independence. If you’re very, very lucky, you won’t ever go through the ice. You’ll be perfect until a peaceful death comes along. But everyone lives with the possibility of a crack in the ice. Maybe you’ll get sick or have an accident or just get old. When something like this drug thing happens, it just makes me realize that my ice is a little thinner than I thought.