As a Multiple Sclerosis patient, it has become necessary for me to reinvent myself. I have ... and continue to ... refuse to lie down and die, or in this case, follow the normally prescribed drugs and treatments that do nothing to defeat my disease. I am not only surviving by pursuing alternatives, I am thriving. I do the things specialists told me I would never be able to do. I walk and hope to one day even run regularly. I retain my cognitive and creative abilities for the pleasure of my readers. Although you may never see me on my daily walk, you are welcome to read my novel(s) and in doing so, come to ask yourself, "How can the 'out of the box' protocol she has followed, help my loved one with an autoimmune disease like Multiple Sclerosis?"

Revised ending to Chapter 2

Thanks to Teresa Anderson's comment on Friday, I've decided to change things just a bit at the end of Chapter 2. Thank you Teresa! Your type of comment is what I'm hoping for to make the whole so much better for all those that read it.
Note to Teresa: Don't forget to contact me so that you can get your prize!

Ah, gee thanks, you old buzzard. His leer turned uglier, stripping her with his cold blue eyes. Her skin crawled. He rubbed his rough beard.
"Been dreamin' of a warm bed. Even been prayin' fer one. Guess the good Lord answers prayers. Whatda ya say? Come with me and 'ave the nice things?"
"Never." Trish struggled against the rough bands about her arms and chest, trying to break free. It was a mistake. He pulled the rope tighter, cutting into her skin.
"I done fought meaner heifers than you, girl."
He tramped toward her, closing the distance between them until he was so close she smelled the layers of dirt and sweat. She threw her knee at his groin, intending to drive him to his knees long enough to escape. Instead she found her knee caught in layers of filthy cloth sending a more putrid whiff of his stench to her senses. He chuckled, his stale breath of decayed teeth and food engulfing her, turning her stomach. Her gag reflex forced its way to the surface and she held her breath, swallowing the bile down. He dragged his filthy hand across her face, pinching her mouth between his fingers.
His eyes tightened on her. "Ya come along nice an' sweet like, an' I won't 'ave to get mean. Maybe ya like the feel of spurs to yar skin. I gave up cowboy'n in favor of huntin' for gold. But don't think Old Curly's lost his touch. I's can still rodeo with the best of 'em. Ya give me trouble an' I just might think of goin' back." He continued making his vile plans while he tied her hands. "That 'orse of yourn don't 'ave much for hind quarters on 'em, but Old Curly could do some right sharp 'orse tradin' an' get me one that do."
She tuned his sordid verbiage out for the moment. She had to watch for the chance to escape.
When he indicated she mount Yedi her hopes soared. Yedi would respond to her leg cues. She didn't have the chance to settle herself before Old Curly climbed up behind her, wrapping his filthy arms around her and hissing his lurid plans in her ear. Her stomach churned at his debasing comments and sickening odors.
This was not the kind of adventure she'd hoped for.
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