Big Belly MDS Man

I’ve reached a stage where I forget that I’m ill.

Wait. Are you "ill" if you’re suffering from a syndrome? Or, are you sydronomous? Or, something else?

Maybe that’s why I don’t feel ill. Maybe I’m not.

But, then, rude reminders unveil themselves like so many snakes hidden in the grass. Like when I try to run. Hell, forget running; when I try to jog. Can’t be done.

Try a push-up? Fuhgettaboutit.

The cruelest reminder, however, is this post-prednisone belly that sticks out in front of me like one of those radar bubble contraptions on weather-tracking airplanes. You’d think I was hunting hurricanes from my mid-section. Or, maybe tornados.

Whatever it is, this protrusion is really starting to bother me. It appears every time I look in a mirror or a store window reflection. Hey, who’s that pudgy guy looking back at me? Oh, it’s me. It’s me?

Worse, there appears little chance that I’ll be able to reduce the size of the thing any time soon since I can’t run or even do a push-up. I can’t burn enough calories fast enough to counteract the ones I’m taking in, not to mention the vast quantities taken in during the prednisone days.

(- Vast quantities of calories?

- I thought I told you not to mention that!

Sorry, I couldn’t resist.)

I don’t feel all that fat. I don’t feel sick. Nor do I see myself
as fat or sick (unless I look at a mirror or a store window reflection).

I trust I’ll get back to something resembling my real self—hopefully before ski season. Meanwhile, I guess my body and mental images of myself need a reality check.