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?"


Saturday Sampler - more from Live, Love, Repeat

Trevor needed to get Porsche off his mind. If he couldn't get her off of his mind, he at least had to get out of the same household. Long, hard hours of work might be the solution.
Setting up camp didn't help, especially when it came to pitching his tent. If he closed his eyes, he could almost smell her on the fabric which in turn engendered his longing to hold her. If she were to visit him here at his camp with no one around… He would make a teasing comment. She'd stick out her deliciously pink tongue. He'd be waiting and reward her with a passionate kiss. One kiss would lead to more and those kisses could easily give him reason to share his tent for something other than sleeping. She hadn't been at the hardware store when he'd returned for the tent, but he'd acted on impulse and purchased an air mattress then as well. That would take care of the unwelcome rocks.
He picked up the journal but didn't read it. Instead he verbalized his commitment. "I will move the boulder and somehow I will share my feelings with Porsche, or die trying." 
Waking from a night of troubled sleep, he stuffed a chunk of jerky in his shirt pocket and filled his canteen before climbing the slope with the new shovel and breaking bar across his shoulders. He stopped to drop the breaking bar on the ground before turning his attention to the bush nearest the stream. It would have to come out in order to get to the boulder behind it. He set the canteen in the stream allowing the cold, running water to cool the drinking water. 
Trevor relished the hours of strenuous work and the attention required keeping the branches from whipping against his arms as he dug. The rocky ground slowed his progress. He stopped for a drink, pouring a small amount over his hands and onto the ground. It occurred to him that if he dug a trench around the bush and diverted the water, it would soften the ground, and he could possibly pull the bush out with his truck.

He dug the trench with renewed energy, making a dam with shovelful after shovelful of mud and rocks, temporarily altering a portion of the stream's course. Once the stream found its new course, Trevor reclined in the nearby shade to tend it and eat his jerky. When the stream threatened to overflow its new boundaries, he thrust the shovel blade into packed dirt, loosening the temporary dam. Some water remained for the ground to absorb. 
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