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?"

Live, Love, Repeat --Chapter 3 continued

His gut twisted. He couldn't use kissing for his talent. He paced to the center of the stage, intent on regaining his composure and turned back. Uproars of laughter gave way to female catcalls and applause. If he accurately judged the audiences reactions they thought delay tactics were part of the design to build up his act. He loved attention as much as the next guy, but this?
"You know what happened the last time I asked for an assistant, don't you?" The audience roared. Trevor couldn't help himself; he loved having the audience in the palm of his hand. He didn't know how they'd gotten there, exactly, but he couldn't deny the high.
"Pick me!" and "Do it!" were chanted in unison. Trevor swallowed hard and turned away walking toward the rear of the stage.
Tomorrow the final swimwear competition for the general audience would take place and he knew he couldn't win that round. He let his mind tally the previous scores of the talent portion. He couldn't win this round either, and when added to the response to his dancing with a judge, his chances resembled a snowball on the Strip in August—melting fast. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand holding the mic and put his free hand on his hip. Another approving roar burst from the crowd behind him.
He must do what he'd planned. He shifted his weight. Apparently the audience appreciated the show because the shouts escalated. Well, maybe not exactly what he planned. Hadn't he already played off Aaron to introduce his talent? He pursed his lips and blew, intending to whistle 'Dixie.' It didn't work, the crowd's reactions kept making him burst into a smile. He couldn't possibly smile and whistle at the same time. He turned to the audience.
"Stop it," Trevor managed a flirting glare at the first row of females. The crowd rumbled. His attention riveted to the most verbal heckler, a striking brunette, and her blonde companion. The vivid white of the spotlight blinded him. A sharp whistle from somewhere in the crowd cut the yells.
"That's it," Trevor said in mock disdain.  More shouts. "You realize that if you're not quiet, I can't do this and I'll be disqualified." The crowd hushed. Tension filled the air. Another sharp whistle pierced the silence. He stood tall, his feet shoulder width apart.
"You," he pointed the direction of the whistle. If the heckler wanted a part of this, he could have it. "You, the one with the whistle, could you join me here on the stage?"

To his surprise a female stood. The spotlight swiveled to her making the fabric of her blouse almost translucent. She sidestepped those seated on her row. Wow, I can’t whistle with a siren like her standing next to me. There has to be a mistake.
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