You say Shit I say Shite

My surname is Davies. Davies with an ‘E’


(Please try and remember this.)

Yonks and yonks ago,  through uni I subscribed to a US based medical trial thingie, for information aimed at people with disabilities, which gave you latest cutting- edged-scientific-updates in digital format.

It had the tantalising promise of genetic sequencing information, in depth neuroscientific evaluations of current treatments and their effect on motor function at my fingertips, as well as 3d mapping of MRI scans and the opportunity to speak with real people who study the field of neuroscience, microbiology (right up my strasse) and microbiology (perfection.) to have contact with experts in MS through their scientific network was a joyus moment and this my friends, was the future of understanding, collaboration, one-to-one-ness with our fellow MS'ers AND experts of the highest standing in cellular biology at the immunological level! Experts in technology, contactable professionals?
Wow!
Amazing, I thought, I might actually finally get to say fabulous words like 'endoplasmic reticulum' and 'histocompatibility complex' without being stared at blankly.
(Yeah that's right baby I studied microbiology, I know stuff.)

So I'd be signed up for clinical trials, and be free of MS asap (Hooray)

I think back to the first phone call I received asking me if I was happy to be placed on their now shortened waiting list as an MS RRMS 'guinea pig' - "holy crapola!" I thought...No kids, unmarried, skint, dangerously opportunistic, "what's not to love?" A perfect golden opportunity for the right person. Ch-Ching!

The end of phone call for my medical sign up went something like this
" Just need to check the form now- So that's MISS Marjolie Davey?"
"Yes and No," I say, "That's Ms Davies, Davies with an 'E' "
"With an 'E'?"
"Yes With an 'E', and Ms not Miss."
"Ms? Like the letters MS."
"Yes"
"So that's Ms with an 'E' ?"
"YES. Davies- with an 'E'"
"Ok, no problem, congratulations you're now on our list, we have your name, address, phone number and email. We'll let you know when to clinical trial begins with two weeks notice to book flights and that sort of thing. Get back in touch with our experts if you have any problems."
"Ok, great thanks so much."
"You're welcome!" (and possibly) “Have a nice day!” (doubtful, been watching too many films..)

2 weeks later no phone call… 3 weeks, 4 weeks, 3 months, 6 months, 9 months,  nothing.

Then, just a week ago I received more junk mail as usual which I didn’t take straight to the bin, but instead opened (just for the hell of it- I was feeling frivolous) it was a NOTICE OF CANCELLATION (in bold, red type) which told me why these superior scientific microbiologically talented geniuses hadn’t been in touch with me, and why I’d never received an scrap of news from them.

The letter had been addressed to a MS Mavis Withanee

So then........ What’s my name again?

I'd just like to say:
Experts of the highest standing in cellular biology at the immunological level in the fields of MS with advanced technology, and contactable professionals?
What a load complete and UTTER Shit.
That's shit. (With an 'E' if you like)

Massive Squirrels

The Massive Squirrels are at it again today whizzing round and round inside my head on their treadmill of doom.

(For those in the know, 'Massive Squirrels' are a symptom of MS. Which is often (and mistakenly) called "Multiple Sclerosis".
('Sclerosis' means Scars, and 'Multiple' means, as you know, Many.) 
So, in conclusion: There are many scars where should be none, and there are Massive Squirrels where there should be soft spongy Marshmallow pockets of superior genius. And we are fucked because of this, but there is hope for us, and we March Sporadically onwards towards our final destination, we're all going to the same place folks- and lucky for us we'll get the best tables with a great view before you've even booked your room at the Grat Hotel in the Sky- yeah yeah sometimes its not great (akin to being on a giant rollercoaster- there are big dips, twisty bends, sickeningly sharp inclines and plunging downward spirals.) It can make you sick, but then, for me, that's where the fun begins.... When I feel sick I climb back on just for the hell of it - I also like to take a pocket-full of nuts and bolts with me and hand them to the person sitting in front, just before we begin the next slalom along with the line
"Hey man, these just came out of your seat."
*cackle*

Massive Squirrels crack nuts inside your skull, leave the shells everywhere, and, just because they can, they thoughtfully leave a nugget of shit in your eye socket just as a reminder of their furry annoyance which doth run amok in the House of Marjolie. Why I oughta! *shakes fist*

Anyway, also presiding over today's proceedings for me are - the Magnanimous Shakespeareans (with many a blah blah BLAH all-the-live-long day), the Misanthropic Sausages (greedy fat bastards who want to eat all the time), and the ever present Megalithic Scandinavians, (who rampantly pillage your nerves and give you the infamous "spazz hands." before clocking you one in the crown jewels.)

("Spazz hand" occurs in my left only which is a relief for a righty pseudo artist. The right hand would strangle the left if it were not also controlled by Misguided Stormtroopers who fire random shots at nothing in particular in a fruitless bid to foil the rebellion.)

For non MS'ers or (' the jaundiced healthies' as I like to call them- maybe more on that later..) These foibles are formed by defunct Myelin Sheaths which are supposed to ward off MS invaders (i.e My Self) ....fuck a duck! So it all starts and ends with MS?
You bet your sweet ass it does.
Welcome to the world of the unfavourable, the pithy and the fearless. MS for us rules the waves in the sea of normality, much like our beloved Queen does (or at least tries to). Freddie Mercury, for the record is the only Queen that rocks my world, sorry Lizzie s'nuffin' personal 'cept Freddie Rocks it and you do diddly-squat.

So, this isn't a blog full of doom and gloom, quite the polar opposite in fact, because no matter how shit you think life is, it can't be all that bad- I'm here wittering away to myself in the vain hope that one or two people will be compelled to  say "Fuck this Shit" and hopefully  ( and with slighty more articulation)

"This bollockery does not define me.One simply won't have it."

No, one will not, what does define me though are the brain hamsters and the massive squirrels who use my frontal lobe as a nesting box.
Welcome to my world, please wipe your feet on the way in, i'll stick the kettle on, you take your clothes off and we'll just skip all the formalities 'k?

Oh if only life were that simple.