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?"

Why I haven't loved my life.

I alluded to not being thankful for my life in my Thanksgiving Day post. Some may have felt I left too much unsaid. If that is the case for you, then I offer this post today to give you a piece of where I've been coming from.
Please note:
This post and those that will follow in the coming days, are part of a short story that will be published in the spring of 2014 by the Writers Unite to Fight Cancer. Maybe if you like these excerpts, you will chose to buy the book. All the proceeds go to fighting Cancer.
If you like my writing style, I'd love to have you join me here as a follower (if you haven't already) and even better for my pocket book, buy Dark Days of Promise and future books.

Excerpt (names have been changed.) 
Even worse than reporting the doctor's findings to my husband, Harrison, is coming to grips with reality. I have a sister who has lived with MS for roughly thirty years. The reunion when my older siblings decided to relieve her of motherhood responsibilities by doling out her children still haunts me. My sister, dealing so gracefully, is my role model. I praised her once, even going so far as to claim my willingness to have the same disease if I could be just like her. I'd been young and didn't realize what I was saying.
Now I shiver with terror. She fights her loss of balance, motor skills, cognitive powers, and refuses to succumb to needing a wheelchair except for the months she convalesced after falling and breaking her hip while hanging clothes on the clothesline. The day I received news of her heart attack scared the logical thought process from my brain for weeks. MS isn't hereditary, so how did I get it? What symptoms will haunt me?
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