It is fifty years since I, aged twelve,
realised that something was wrong with me.
Over these fifty years I have become more and more disabled;
I was to discover at some point
that it was due to my having multiple sclerosis.
I have found an ability
to dictate articles or poems like this
and, with the help of my oldest son, Barnaby,
I have been encouraged to open a blog.
I have learned how to be patient
while others try to do things for me.
No-one finds using my computer easy
as it is not theirs and it has Windows 8.
I have found pleasure in the company of my friends
who seem remarkable in coming to visit me
at least once a week;
they and my carers seem to think I am remarkable
in putting up with being as disabled as I am.
All these people have found it hard to imagine
how I cope without becoming depressed.
It is easy to look back on what I have lost
but I am kept going by thinking of what I can find to do,
and my carers and my friends help me find things to do
such as taking me out in my car
to get me out of the four walls of my bedroom.
Mary Smith, 5 December 2013