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  • She used a wheelchair when it was possible to move from place to place. She lived my worst nightmares with Multiple Sclerosis and now exists in a state I had only ever previously thought was fantasy. "There is no getting back what is gone," doctors have told me of the condition. And I have gained as much as I have lost -- constant drunken dizziness has been a close companion for years, though now its letters are fewer and farther apart. There will never again be a day when I can think about 2003 (how can anyone still be alive after that?) without choking up. I have regained feeling in my arms and legs. As miraculous as it sounds and is, it is also annoyingly toddleresque to go from laying your hand in a frying pan at parties to feeling a paper cut. I am again aware of the body I live in as a potential friend ant not a certain foe -- I don't know when it was, precisely, that I lost touch with it so entirely; I don't know exactly when it became my own worst enemy, but, oh boy, could it pack a wallop.

    What has helped so far? Chiropractic care has rectified problems I would never have attributed to anything other than MS (sensation in the arms and legs) and yoga is becoming a fast respite for spasticity and any autonomic failures of my breath. I have been given a reprieve from crushing fatigue with a medication created for people with Parkinson's disease. My eyeball seizures are under control with just three pills a day. The most targeted and doctor-approved of the ones I take to seemingly help myself is the one I most want to -- first want to -- try to negate my need for. Dr. Terry Wahls doesn't know she came into my life under her own auspices within the last month, and has heartened me further -- further! -- towards living well. It is as simple as what you put in your body. It is an equation you can solve and a science experiment with which you can win the county fair.

    As someone who had been obese most of her life and only recently has come into a world that doesn't ask her to first overcome that barrier before all others, I should have been skeptical of any diets for MS as merely fads. Of course I will not sail my syringes off to pasture right away. I can still -- even in my excitement for newly revealed possibilities -- focus on what's better for my body. Right now, I can't afford to follow a Wahls Diet as to-the-letter as I'd like. But I can start making Kale chips and looking for new routes between my wallet and grocery store shelves. I can start making decisions that are right for me, and I have. One day, I'd like to arrive at the place where Dr. Wahls lives now. I want to charge my mitochondria and have begun feeling hopeful about the body I was born into. Like when a crossword you think you have failed suddenly pops a light bulb of letters that helps you keep trucking through the puzzle. I am the New York Times Sunday edition and I am friends with it again. This amazing machine.
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