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There are days where I watch The Curmudgeon struggle just to make it across the room with his rollator and it makes me so sad, and so angry.

There are days where all I want to do, need to do, is get away from the house before I explode in pent-up anger, not at him so much as at his MS, and what we’ve lost because of it.

We’ve lost us.

We’ve lost all there was of ‘us’ because it has all become him, his MS, his weakness, his inability to do things, did he take his medications, did he eat, what can he do today, is he too weak to get out of bed?  Yes, it’s all about him.

And it is exhausting both physically and mentally.

coffee zombie