This is the attitude I pretty much take, but then I see a cute little couple and think I’d like to have somebody to push me around in my tricked out wheelchair some day.
A concerted effort will be made to make myself emotionally available to another human being. It’s a frightening thought, but I’m up for the challenge. I’ll put myself out there. I have done that online dating thing because I know people for which it worked out really well. I hated it. The method was nice, but well, I hate dating. I met interesting people...some I even still talk to, but haven’t really tried to do much more. Once again...not my thing.
People ask me what I’m looking for in a partner. Rich and on the verge of death. I kid. I want young, virile and dumb as a box of rocks...and rich. I can’t say what I want as I don’t think it should come down to a check-off list. Someone who can put up with me. I think that is important, but mostly doesn’t care that I’m damaged goods.
If someone is looking for a running buddy or a skiing partner, they better look in a different direction. I’m not always going to be well enough to do these things. Also, I hate running and have no desire to strap planks to my feet and go flying down a mountainside. Even sledding scares the bejesus out of me. Sharing interests with a partner is important. I’m not saying I want to spend every freaking minute with someone, but having something to do that appeals to both is healthy for a relationship. It’s frustrating that I can’t do the things I love, but add wanting to explore new territory with someone, and it gets more frustrating.
I’ve read a lot about disclosing your MS to a potential partner. When should someone cough up the details of something that is only a part of them, not what defines them? There’s only so long I can skirt the issue.
“You play rugby! That’s so cool. When’s your next game?”
“I’m sort of on the injured reserve list.”
“What did you hurt?”
“My brain. Any way, I am thoroughly intrigued by your interests and hobbies. Tell me more.”
During a stint of physical normality, it’s easy for someone to be cool with the whole MS thing. They think I’m a strong individual with a good outlook on life. That is an admirable quality that I would be attracted too, but I’m not always so happy go lucky. What happens when a relapse takes over the body? Would a person want to deal with dating someone like that? Does someone see themselves being there for me for the inevitable sickness, not just the health? It’s just easier to date the girl who likes to strap things on her feet and go flying down the mountain or taking long runs on the beach.
Dating is scary for everyone. You’re supposed to spend countless hours with someone over dinner or coffee. You market yourself to someone hoping that he or she chooses you based on common interests and similar personalities. You hide your crazy. Then you discover that your personalities don’t mesh or that one of you is a bit crazier than the other. The dance starts all over again with someone new. That’s what “normal” people go through. Add in various MS quirks and you’re going to the bathroom every 15 minutes or you walk like you’re drunk. You’re not drunk because you don’t want to be dehydrated so that nurses can easily insert a needle into your vein to administer your MS drugs. Hiding my crazy until I have trapped the unsuspecting victim was much easier before I was trying to hide the MS.
Maybe I shouldn’t hide it. Maybe it should be one of the first things I talk about. “I’m from Ohio. I work for a university. I have two fat kitties. I have two older brothers. I have MS. I like bluegrass, jazz, folk and psychedelia music. I prefer vanilla ice cream over chocolate. What about you?” I could talk about how I like volunteering for the MS Society and hit my date up for some donations. That sounds like a good plan actually. Gonna slap that on a match.com profile.
I should smile and bat my eyes. Laugh at awful jokes and flip my hair. Totally lose my identity by rounding the corners of this square peg to fit into someone else’s circular life.
I should put the cynicism on the bench and just go full force into finding the person who will inevitably push me around and talk about our five adopted children. (There are too many children in the world already without parents and squeezing something the size of a watermelon out of something the size of a lemon does NOT sound fun.) I’m not really worried about all the frogs out there as I enjoy a good story. I just don’t to invest the time when I could be doing much cooler things.
I just laid out a lot of crap here that could be a Psychologist’s next award-winning publication.
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