On A Wake-up Call

I have a feeling I'm going to shoot myself in the foot here. You see, I've never written about what I'm going to write about today for a reason. That reason is that I'm very grateful to the people who read what I write, and I really don't want to depress the fuck out of you, or leave you thinking that I should man up and stop whining about my piddly little problems. But it's been a funny week - three nights out on the town have left me with little capacity for rational or creative thought so I'm left with nothing to work with but what's on my mind right now which isn't, unfortunately, particularly uplifting. Consider also the fact that for the last hour I've been listening to a good-mood-wrecking mixture of Damien Rice, Radiohead and a sprinkling of Slipknot and you'll realise that I am far from being a happy bunny.

On Wednesday, the mighty Fulham FC beat Port Vale 6 goals to 0 to advance into the third round of the Carling Cup. Money woes owing to the aforementioned string of late nights had prevented me from attending, so I spent the night in front of the telly, with my mother, living on the edge. My mum has multiple sclerosis which, as you may know, is pretty rough. Every week a physiotherapist visits to discuss how she's getting on and force her to do exercises. In an effort to tear my eyes from one of the gruesome hospital dramas that make up a large part of mum's staple TV viewing, I asked her how the physio went. She said she'd told the nurse, for the first time, about these shooting pains she gets in her face. They're completely unpredictable and, according to the physio, are on a list of warning signs that can lead to suicide among MS sufferers.

Fear not, there's no danger of that happening and that's not where this post is going, but finding out how bad these pains can be did come as a shock. My mum has had them for years and years and as much as I hate saying this, I'd become almost completely desensitised. I'd grown so used to seeing it happen that I didn't react to it like I once did - in fact, I barely reacted at all. But hearing what the physio said knocked me for six. The fact is, I'm able to detach myself, while my mum is stuck with it and I feel incredibly guilty for letting myself get to the point where I'd just stopped paying attention. So while she has been putting up with something that can be bad enough to push people over the edge, I was, basically, ignoring it. I'm not a complete bastard though, I promise. It just became normal. As normal as hearing someone sneeze, or something like that.

It's a difficult situation; to an extent you have to build up some sort of resistance. If the poor cow burst into tears every time she was affected by one of the many symptoms of the MS, she'd flood the house. And it's the same for me, my dad and my brother; it wouldn't be right for us to cause a massive fuss every time something happened, either. I do feel, however, that I'd taken my eye off the ball of late, I'd got a bit too relaxed. As it turns out, I suppose the lightning bolt from the physio was just what I needed. I should thank her - thank her for scaring the living shit out of me and reminding me of the seriousness of my mum's condition. My mum is strong, and she's brave and there's not much I can do to help her. I can, however, make sure I'm actually paying attention. I can make sure I don't forget how tough things can be for her. And I can make sure she knows that.

I can also turn Radiohead off, as I feel less miserable now. I believe that's called catharsis?