This is part three of my three part series about our trip to Gillette Stadium. Click here for part one or here for part two.

Still riding our high from the unbelievable Patriots victory, the four of us made our way out of the stadium and back down to the van. The next step was for me to transfer from the iBot to the Invacare chair for the ride home. This is a more difficult transfer for me than the one from the Invacare to the iBot, because the Invacare chair sits higher. Transferring uphill is difficult. Usually I can manage this transfer, but maybe 20% of the time I can’t. This was one of those times.

I had Kim grab my pants on one side and Andy grab on the other side, and on the count of three they lifted. It wasn’t pretty, but we got the job done. We then settled into the van, and they packed all sorts of tailgating equipment in and around me. Andy had volunteered to be the designated driver, and we started the slow trek home.

The Red Sox were playing game 2 of the American League Championship Series that evening against the Detroit Tigers in Boston. The winner of this best-of-seven will advance to the World Series. Game 1 had been ugly for the Red Sox. They managed only a single hit in the bottom of the ninth inning, and ended up losing the game by a score of 1-0. On our drive home from Gillette Stadium we turned on the radio to listen to game 2.

It was more of the same. Through five innings the Red Sox again had no hits. In the top of the sixth inning the Tigers scored four more runs to take a 5-0 lead. This was too much for us to bear. Silence would be preferable, so we turned the radio off. We should have learned a lesson from the never-say-die Patriots, right? I dozed for half an hour or 45 minutes. As I was waking up out of my stupor Andy turned the radio back on. The score was 5 – 1, Detroit. It was the bottom of the eighth inning and the Red Sox were showing a little life. That got our attention, and we resumed listening to the game.

If you’re a baseball fan then you know what happened next. With the bases loaded, the greatest clutch hitter in Red Sox postseason history, David Ortiz, came to bat. In Boston he is known by the affectionate nickname of Big Papi. The Tigers countered by bringing in their best relief pitcher, called their “closer”, because he is supposed to close out a pending victory. On the very first pitch Big Papi drove the ball deep. It cleared the outfielder’s glove by inches and went over the fence for a grand slam home run. Detroit’s right fielder, Torii Hunter, had jumped so high that he flipped over the fence, literally upside down, and landed on his head in the Red Sox bullpen. He was shaken up, but stayed in the game, which was now tied 5 – 5.

Here is an iconic photo of a police officer cheering for the home run at the same time that Torii Hunter’s legs were upside down.

Although we were ecstatic about the grand slam, we wanted to see the rest of the game, not listen to it. We were still a couple of miles from our house on the drive home, so we urged Andy to step on it, so to speak.

By the time we pulled in our driveway it was the bottom of the ninth inning, the score was still tied, and the Red Sox had one base runner on. We opened the van doors and Kim and Karen scurried out, dragging equipment with them so that I would be able to get out of the van as well. Kim rushed into the house and turned on the TV. Andy helped me navigate my wheelchair out of the tight quarters of the van, and we hurried into the house.

In my living room we watched the Red Sox baserunner advance to third base. With no outs in the inning, things were looking good. Jarrod Saltalamacchia, who we call Salty for obvious reasons, singled to left field. The runner scored easily from third base, and the game was over. The Red Sox had completed an incredible comeback to tie the championship series one game to one. Once again, Andy, Karen, and Kim were a 10 on a happy scale of 1 to 10. Because the view from my wheelchair was perfect this time, I was a 10 as well.

Allow me to summarize. We were upgraded to luxury accommodations at the football game and had recovered much of our original investment in tickets. We witnessed an incredible, rare comeback by the Patriots. On the way home we listened to a heroic grand slam that tied the game for the Red Sox in the playoffs, and we were able to watch the winning run score on our television. Oh, and we had outstanding food, drink, and company the entire time.

It was a good day, a very good day.

This is part two of my three part series about our trip to Gillette Stadium. Click here for part one.

We decided to compress our planned tailgating activities from four hours to two hours, so that we could spend some of the pregame in the luxury box. We ate our food until it hurt, and then we ate a little more. At around 2:30 we packed our tailgating paraphernalia into the van and began walking toward the stadium. We flashed our special passes to the stadium employees, and they funneled us toward the VIP intake system. The closer we came to the luxury box the more affluent and well-heeled I began to feel. We were leaving the riffraff behind and becoming part of the football watching elite, or something like that. I swear, when we opened the door to the suite a soft, white light emanated from within, and I think I heard harp music. This was going to be good.

Once inside, we thanked our kind hosts and ordered some complementary drinks from the waiter (I had already moved on to Diet Coke by this point). Our priority when we enter an unfamiliar space like this is to evaluate its wheelchair accessibility. The bathroom was perfect. It was roomy and accessible and private so that Kim could come in and assist me. The suite itself was spacious, but there was no place where I could have a clear view of the field without interference from people in front of me, even though the iBot can stand tall.

Eventually we identified the best possible viewing spot. I could see most of the field most the time, and there was a television right in front of me that showed live-action. I could use that as a backup.

More and more people poured into the luxury box. The guests came in all shapes and sizes, so to speak. The all-star lineup included a private college CEO (or whatever they are called), several business owners and executives, a well-known Maine sportscaster, and a handsome dude in an iBot wheelchair. These people were no more or less friendly and interesting than the people in the parking lot. But they were either more fortunate or more hard-working, depending on your philosophy on such matters.

Many of the guests approached me to talk about the iBot. As I’ve indicated before, explaining the iBot and demonstrating its features are two of my favorite activities. It makes for great conversation. Plus, it elevates me, at least to some extent, from the realm of the pitiable to the realm of the enviable.

Did I mention there was complementary food, beer, and wine in the luxury suite? We also enjoyed shrimp, scallops, beef wrapped in bacon, noodles, cookies, chocolates, and ice cream. Although our bellies were already full, it would have been rude not to partake of this complementary feast, and we’re not rude people. We feasted again until it hurt, and then we feasted a little more.

Eventually I asked Kim to assist me in the bathroom. Even with her help, I take considerably more time than the average guy to get into the bathroom, empty my bladder, and get out. As often occurs in these situations, people waiting to use the bathroom after me became impatient. They hadn’t seen me go in, and wondered what was taking so long. They rattled the locked door more than once, and although they never shouted, “What’s taking so long?” I was able to overhear them wonder as much amongst themselves.

When we were done and I wheeled out of the bathroom, I could see the expressions on the faces of those people who were waiting so impatiently. They always look humbled, and this time was no different. It’s all good, though. When you’re a disabled person in an able-bodied world, you grow a thick skin.

The first half of the game went well. At intermission the Patriots were ahead of the undefeated Saints 17 – 7. Things didn’t go so well in the second half. The Patriots kept making mistakes and the Saints didn’t. With New Orleans leading by a score of 27 – 23, and only two minutes and 24 seconds left on the clock, the Patriots took possession of the ball for what would certainly be the last time. A field-goal would be of no use to the Patriots. They would need to score a touchdown. Tom Brady, our future Hall of Fame quarterback, had accomplished comebacks like this many times before. We weren’t confident, but we were hopeful.

On the very next play, Brady threw a deep pass that was intercepted by the Saints at the New England 20 yard line. Game over.

I moved away from the luxury box window and mingled at the back of the suite. At least half of the suite guests were leaving. Many of the 70,000+ patrons in the stadium were filing out too. I thanked our hosts for their hospitality. They graciously apologized that the team didn’t win today, and I graciously pointed out that it wasn’t their fault. I’ve joked a bit here about the extravagance of the situation, but these business owners were down to earth and kind folks, and I very much appreciated their generosity. Watching a Patriots game from a luxury box was an incredible experience. I don’t know if I’ll be able to go back out in the cold next year!

I texted a friend, Susan, who was stuck at an airport and unable to watch the game. I let her know that the Patriots had lost by four points. Andy, Karen, and Kim remained at the front of the luxury box to bear witness to the Patriots death throes, although I couldn’t understand why they were putting themselves through that pain.

After a few minutes, however, Kim called to me, “Mitch, it’s third down for the Saints. You may want to come watch this.”

I had assumed that there simply wasn’t enough time left in the game for the Patriots to get their hands on the ball again. I’m usually pretty good about these things, but in this instance I had been wrong. New Orleans failed to get a first down and had to punt to the Patriots. Tom Brady and his offense would get one more chance.

The Patriots moved the ball well, and with 10 seconds left in the game they were on the New Orleans 17 yard line. On the next play, Brady dropped back and let the ball fly to the back left-hand corner of the end zone. Kenbrell Thompkins, an undrafted rookie, leapt up and caught the ball. Both of his feet landed inbounds – touchdown.

Unfortunately for me, but understandable in the context of such an exciting finish, everyone had stood up in front of me as soon as the ball left Brady’s hand, and I didn’t see the catch. I was aware of the completion because of the reaction of the rest of the fans. I shifted my gaze from the field to the television just in time to see Thompkins celebrating in the end zone.

In this instance, the view from my wheelchair sucked.

On a scale of 1 to 10, if I had watched that play from my couch, or if I had been afforded a clear view of the field, I would have felt like a 10. But, given that I had actually missed the climactic event of the day, I was probably a solid 8 instead. I wish I wasn’t that way. I shouldn’t have let it affect me, but these are just the facts. Still, I was very happy about the outcome of the game.

Sheepishly, I admitted to my group, who were all solid 10’s as they should have been, that I had sent a faulty text to our friend Susan. We laughed about it, and I quickly sent her a correction!

Although my end-of-the-game was slightly subdued from what it otherwise could have been, I can’t imagine the regret and disappointment of the significant number of fans who, after having spent hundreds of dollars and many hours at the stadium, left early and completely missed this dramatic comeback victory. And how do you suppose most of those fans learned of their premature evacuation? As they were walking towards their vehicles or as they were cracking open one last beer for the post game tailgating, they heard such a roar emanating from the stadium that it could only have meant one thing. Ouch.

Part three (conclusion) tomorrow…

It’s always great fun, and one of the highlights of our year, to make our annual trek to watch the Patriots play football at Gillette Stadium. But our experience this time was unusually memorable, for a couple of reasons.

I’ve mentioned many times before how fortunate I am to have Kim as my wife, best friend, and primary caregiver. But I’m also blessed to have two very supportive brothers and their awesome wives. I wrote about Tom and Diane after our trip to Jamaica in February of this year. This post is about spending the day with Andy and Karen in Foxboro, Massachusetts.

Planning for a day at Gillette Stadium is all about food and drink. Diets and any counting of calories, carbohydrates, or even cookies are suspended for the day. This year we brought several flavors of ribs, buffalo chicken macaroni and cheese (yes, you heard me correctly), chips, a bacon and cheese dip, whoopie pies, roasted almonds that I couldn’t stop eating once I started, and several varieties of beer and soft drinks. We brought a small grill for cooking, a folding table, a cooler, and three folding cloth chairs. Thank goodness for my packing spreadsheet.

Of course I brought my iBot wheelchair, as I always do for these big outings. But at the last minute I decided I would also bring my Invacare chair, if only for the ride down and back. The Invacare chair has the added feature of the easy-lock system, so that I can safely and effortlessly secure the wheelchair to the floor of the van.

We’ve gone to a Patriots game every year for a while now. One of the benefits for disabled people at Gillette Stadium is (or was) the handicapped parking lot, situated directly in front of the main entrance to the stadium. All parking lots open four hours before game time, so we arrived promptly at 12:25 for this late afternoon start.

As we approached our special parking lot, I became confused by what I saw. The lot was closed, and nobody was parking there. We were quickly redirected to the adjacent lot and found a suitable handicapped parking spot with room for my ramp to open on the right side of the van. No problem.

We asked someone why the other parking lot was closed. They indicated that since the Boston Marathon bombing the parking lot nearest the stadium was being used as a security buffer between the stadium and the mass of humanity outside of it. Thanks, terrorists. Now the available number of handicapped parking spots at Gillette Stadium has been cut roughly in half. This will make it even more critical that we arrive early in the future. There’s nothing like forcing the cripples to compete for parking.

In concert with thousands of other people around Gillette Stadium, we quickly emptied our vehicle, and within five minutes we had our grill, table, chairs, cooler, etc. all set up. Each of us had a fresh, cold beer opened, and we were ready to go. I transferred from my Invacare chair to my iBot and elevated myself to balance mode. In no time at all, people were walking up to me and asking questions about the iBot. I love it when that happens.

One of Andy’s many fine attributes is that he knows everybody. He and Karen live in Bangor, the third-largest city in Maine. Andy has been active in countless civic organizations and more than a few business ventures. All three of their kids went through the Bangor Public school system. He’s like the unofficial mayor of Bangor.

It turns out that a company which works closely with the New England Patriots is headquartered in Bangor. Of course Andy knows the owners quite well. When they learned that we were attending the game, one of them stopped by where we were tailgating and gave us four complementary passes to their corporate luxury box.

The tickets we had purchased months ago for this game cost us $147 each. They weren’t bad tickets, but they weren’t great either. It was a no-brainer for us to accept this generous offer. Then we started toying with the idea of doing something with the tickets that we had already purchased. Ideally we would’ve invited friends to join us, but it was already too close to game time. We certainly didn’t want to walk around the parking area like a sleazy scalper, shouting, “Anybody want to buy some tickets?” Yet, the thought of recovering at least some of the $588 was enticing.

Soon we noticed a commotion off to our left. The Patriots were hosting the New Orleans Saints that day, and a group of about a dozen Saints fans were making their rounds in the tailgating area. They were dressed flamboyantly, as residents of New Orleans are prone to do. They were very friendly, and Patriots fans were friendly back. Kim and Karen joined them for a photo.

Several folks in that group were former New Orleans residents now living in the Northeast. It was a long shot, but Karen asked one of the ladies if she would be interested in purchasing any tickets. Much to our surprise and delight, she said she might like one more ticket, but needed to make a phone call to confirm. When she got off the phone she said, “Actually, we could use three tickets.”

We negotiated a $100 price for each of three $147 tickets. It was a classic win – win situation.

This day was starting out really well. But there was so much more to come.

Part 2 tomorrow…

Because I can barely do anything physical, Kim and I have this running gag.

“Kim, we need to mow the lawn, and by WE, I mean YOU.”

“Kim, we need to build a brick patio, and by WE…”

“I know, Mitch. I know. When you say WE, you mean ME!”

As satisfying as it may seem to lounge about and do nothing other than make suggestions and dispense praise or criticism, I’m saddened that I can’t contribute more. Before my diagnosis there were some chores I hated and others I liked. I particularly enjoyed anything that made the outside of our house look better. I was the guy who took care of the swimming pool. I did most of the mowing and at least half of the raking. I loved to cut, split, and pile firewood. I enjoyed pruning trees and bushes. At two of our homes I installed fences. I can’t say that I loved to mow the lawn, but I can’t say that I hated it either.

Today, it eats away at me to see these opportunities and not be able to do anything about them. I have to be careful to not overwhelm Kim with my “Honey, we need to…” suggestions too. In fact, this is one of the few areas of friction in our marriage. I need to do a better job of either cutting these requests to a bare minimum or delivering them in a more thoughtful, considerate manner. Alternatively, if I whisper my requests in her ear while she sleeps she might awaken with the inexplicable urge to do exactly what I suggested. I think I like that idea better.

It’s not as if Kim used to be timid, and all of a sudden had to grow a pair. She’s always had enough audacity to dive headlong into complex projects that she may or may not have any business attempting. Fortunately for us, they usually turn out well.

Also, it’s not as if she loved to lounge around and take it easy before my diagnosis, and now she is forced to get up off the couch. In fact, another running gag of ours pokes fun at her inability to kick back and relax. She seldom reads for pleasure and won’t watch movies with me. This is probably a diagnosable and treatable disorder. No doubt there is a pill that she could take to cure this brand of crazy. But I hope she never finds it, because I like her and my household just the way they are, thank you!

Another motivating factor for Kim is her extreme frugality, which she comes by naturally. I sit back at a safe distance when Kim and her parents devour the coupons and flyers in the Sunday paper. Because of this genetic trait, Kim can’t stand to hire professionals to do any work around the house that we might be able to do ourselves, and by we I mean her. Recently, however, she has exhibited some cracks in this facade, and has not completely discounted the possibility of us hiring some help for a couple hours a week, but I’ll believe that when I see it.

I’m not the only one who comes up with ideas for projects. Yes, I was the one who pushed for the patio that she built this summer (to the right and below), which is nearly identical to the one she built at our previous home (above). Our friends, Khoren and Kelly, who purchased that home from us two years ago, are still enjoying Kim’s first patio. But Kim is the one who decided on her own to paint every room in our new house, to change all the hardware on the kitchen cabinets and every doorknob and hinge in the house, to put hardwood flooring in Zach’s bedroom, and to refinish and paint all of the kitchen cabinets. She will undertake those last two projects this winter. Kim is fairly accomplished at installing hardwood floors (picture at top of post), but this will be her first kitchen cabinet refinishing. Does anyone have advice for how we (Kim) should approach that project?

To summarize, Kim now does all the things that she used to do, all the things I used to do, and all of the additional tasks associated with taking care of her disabled husband. Kim is able to accomplish this because she is a restless penny-pincher, and a loving, caring, and incredibly awesome person.

I liken MS to premature aging. Not everybody has MS, so it’s sometimes difficult for people to identify with my situation. But everyone gets older.

At certain milestone birthday parties, like a 40th or 50th, well-intentioned friends and loved ones often poke fun at the guest of honor by presenting him or her with symbols of old age such as adult diapers or a cane. It’s all in good fun, but it highlights the fact that items such as these, and many more, are associated with growing old, and growing old is associated with becoming feeble. And if MS is like growing old, well you get the picture.

Then there are ailments which are all considered part of growing old: cognitive decline, fatigue, stiff joints and muscles, sensitivity to both hot and cold weather, and balance and strength problems. Another classic marker of old age is the propensity to watch the Price Is Right. These are all blessings that MS has bestowed upon me, albeit prematurely (remember to have your pets spayed or neutered).

Many older people are known to complain about their accumulated infirmities, and perhaps they have earned that privilege. But in certain instances those who are complaining should take into account whom they are complaining to. For example, my father found it more and more difficult to walk pain-free during the last few years of his life. Out of sheer habit he repeatedly grumbled to me about this unfairness, and how growing old was a burden. He did this as I listened to him from my wheelchair, in my mid-40s. On one level I was offended by his insensitivity, but in the end I just cut him some slack – he was inconsiderate but not malicious.

When I go out and about in our neighborhood during normal working hours I am often embraced by the retirement crowd as one of them, even though I’m clearly much younger. Just yesterday I was at the grocery store, in the embarrassing medicines aisle, when a very kind 73-year-old gentlemen approached me and struck up a conversation.

“What did you do for work?” he asked. I looked at him with some level of bewilderment. Sensing my confusion he said, “I assume you don’t work anymore?”

“Yes, I am retired,” I replied. “I used to be an engineer.” Apparently this is how retiree small talk works.

We each went on to brag about our children, and in his case, grandchildren. We also complained about the weather, the rising price of everything (even though inflation has never been lower), and several other injustices. He was a very pleasant fellow, and I enjoyed our conversation. Me and the old folks – we get one another.

As my abilities continue to fade in certain areas, I sometimes can’t determine if it is due to normal aging or if it is due to the progression of my MS. If I start to forget people’s names more often than I used to, is that MS progression or normal aging? If I need to take two naps a day instead of one, MS or normal aging? Become constipated? MS or normal aging? In the end, the root cause doesn’t really matter because the treatment, if any, is the same. But nevertheless, I occasionally lose sleep wondering exactly which incurable affliction is putting the screws to me, the one that everybody has or the one that only a few of us have.

I think we can all agree that certain aspects of growing old suck. But having the body of a 95-year-old when I’m only 49 sucks the big one.

Until scientists solve the aging problem, and Ray Kurzweil predicts this will happen as early as the year 2045, old age stereotyping and good-natured ribbing will continue to exist. Do I feel uncomfortable when this style of humor is used at milestone birthday parties? My honest answer is yes. However, I’d rather be invited to the party and feel uncomfortable for a few minutes, than not be invited at all.

Nature (Photo credit: @Doug88888)

This post was originally published in 2011, but on the heels of last week’s post, I think it is particularly apropos. Enjoy.

My friend Keith ruptured his aorta a few years ago. The bleeding was slow enough and the medical attention he received was timely enough that he survived, despite the odds. If not for outstanding doctors, strength of will (his and his wife’s), and good fortune, we would’ve said goodbye to Keith years ago.

My mother-in-law was diagnosed with breast cancer a number of years ago. It was a large tumor and she was given a 50-50 chance of survival. It could’ve gone either way. But due to her indomitable spirit, the support of her loving husband, and modern medical technology, Carole is still with us.

Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords was shot in her head (in her freaking head!), point blank, by a deranged assassin. Yet she not only survived, but is growing stronger each day.

Keith, Carole, and Gabby are all living on bonus time.

It is heartwarming to learn about people who have cheated death. The heroes of these stories have each acquired a renewed appreciation for life, having come so close to losing it. In some sense don’t we envy these folks? Don’t we almost wish for our own near-death experience, so that we could stop taking life for granted, so that we would have legitimate grounds to cherish each and every day?

I’m here to say that we can all breathe this rare air without battling cardiac failure, overcoming cancer, or surviving a shot to the head. If you think about it, each of us is already operating on bonus time. Here’s what I mean.

First, every single one of our direct ancestors had to successfully survive their own birth, avoid childhood diseases and maladies, live to childbearing age, mate and produce an offspring before dying of disease, starvation, war, or attack by sabertooth tiger. And except for the last 50 or 100 years, all of our ancestors did this without the benefit of sterile operating rooms, Facebook, or Prozac. Consider the odds that each of our family lines has overcome, generation after generation, to win this tournament of life. Although we may not have cheated death as palpably as Keith, Carole, or Gabby, we have cheated nonexistence by a considerable margin.

, U.S. Congresswoman. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Second, think about all of the people that could have been born instead of you, but never were. What if your parents had not met one another, but had fallen in love with (or at least had sex with) somebody else instead? The person that is you, with your unique genome, would never have been born. What if your mother, or her mother, or her mother, had come down with a headache (real or imagined) and hadn’t been in the mood to procreate at the very second that she did. Because so much of who we are is the result of the random merging of genes from each parent at the split second of conception, if this moment had been delayed at all then some other child with different hair, a different personality, and maybe even a different gender would’ve been born instead of you. In the sense that you exist and all these other potential people don’t, you have been profoundly fortunate. Congratulations.

Third, think about all the close calls that you’ve survived, the first of which was your own traumatic and risky birth. Then think about how many times you’ve stumbled but caught yourself; how many times you almost crossed the street but at the last minute noticed a speeding car out of the corner of your eye; or on how many occasions you overcame any number of teenage and early adulthood risky decisions involving alcohol, drugs, and other dangerous behaviors. Frankly, thinking back, I’m amazed that I’ve eluded death for as long as I have.

By simply being alive enough to read this blog post you’ve overcome greater challenges than heart disease, cancer, or gunshot wounds to the head. You shouldn’t be here. No one of us, by any statistical analysis, should be here at all. But we are. There is no need to wait for your own story of extraordinary survival. It’s already been written.

Give yourself permission to embrace that same zest for life that Keith, Carole, and Gabby already have. Stop sweating the small stuff. Stop giving a damn what everybody thinks about you. Most importantly, stop putting off your dreams for another day. Start living them today, because the splendid adventure that is your life is a gift that so many other potential people never got the chance to experience. If nothing else, don’t we owe it to them to make the most of our good fortune, to live life to the fullest?

Joy (Photo credit: www.0260mkg)

And the size of the dream is not important- climbing all the great peaks in North America or trying to be a more considerate spouse. It doesn’t matter. The same principle applies.

When you wake up each day, take stock of how incredibly fortunate you are to be here at all, remind yourself that you’re already operating on bonus time, and then act accordingly.

Marc and I became acquainted when we were hot on the trail of an emerging stem cell treatment in Israel. The total cost was something like $25,000, and, feeling a little desperate, each of us considered how we might fund such a venture. But fortunately, before we threw a bunch of money at an unproven idea, our treatment interests were diverted elsewhere.

If you’re not familiar with Marc, he authors the blog called Wheelchair Kamikaze. His website combines outstanding writing, photography, video production, and research analysis to create what I’m pretty sure is the most widely read MS blog in the world. He was gracious enough to give me some much-needed advice when I started my own blog.

As Marc and I became friends we spent a lot of time emailing and Skyping about treatment options, our mutually beloved Red Sox, or anything else that popped into our heads. We agree on most subjects, but not all. For example, we both embrace the concept of a multiverse– the idea that there is not a single universe but that there are many. Marc likes the theory that slightly different versions of Mitch, or anyone for that matter, live in each of the different universes. I tend to believe that there is only one Mitch, and no alternative Mitch’s are running around (or wheeling around) in the other universes. With such disparate views on the essential nature of our being, it’s a wonder that we can remain civil toward one another.

Kim and I have visited with Marc and his wife Karen several times when we’ve been in the New York City area. There’s nothing quite like a tour of Central Park from a native New Yorker. But Marc isn’t much for traveling outside of the range of his power wheelchair. So I was surprised and pleased when I received an email from him a couple of weeks ago letting me know that he would be passing through Portland on a road trip and would like to stop in for a visit. You can read his entire travel report here.

We chose a nice seafood restaurant for dinner, right on the water. It’s about a 20 minute walk from our house along a paved trail with scenic views of the ocean and the Portland skyline. A homeless friend of ours, Carrie, was staying at our house for a couple of nights, so the reservation was for five.

Throughout the walk to dinner Marc and I tended to end up side-by-side in our wheelchairs, so that we could chat. We compared notes on MS treatments, discussed the best way to grip a joystick on a wheelchair to minimize hand fatigue, and acknowledged how fortunate we have been in the marriage department. By taking up so much space, we often blocked the path for the walkers, joggers and bike riders who we shared it with. Sometimes we got out of the way, and other times we were too deep in conversation to notice. The only remarks we heard from other people were their unnecessary apologies. Wheelchair users can get away with anything.

It was nighttime when we exited the restaurant after a wonderful dinner. Much of the pathway home was unlit, but Kim had brought a flashlight. We soon learned that a single light for five people was about four lights too few. In fact, at one point a bike rider startled our homeless friend, Carrie, almost hitting her. She issued a spontaneous scream, and when no collision ensued and nobody was hurt, we all laughed about it.

Here’s an iPhone shot of one of the views along the walk.

After we returned home from dinner Karen and Marc were able to hang out for a while at our house and pose for these pictures before continuing on their way. This was a memorable visit from two wonderful people. I’ve made so many friends over the Internet in the past few years, but it’s particularly gratifying when I’m able to spend time with them in person.

I suppose I should clarify one item. Our “homeless” friend, Carrie, and her husband Mark have been two of our closest friends for over 25 years. Carrie was only homeless for two days because she had closed on the sale of their house in Maine, and she was waiting for her flight to join Mark at their new place in the San Francisco area. We miss them already, but wish them all the luck in the world on their new adventure.

(Darren, I expect to hear from you re: multiverse.)

(Photo credit: Denis Collette…!!!)

I’ve thanked a lot of people in my blog posts: Kim, various friends and relatives, random people who helped me at the grocery store, etc. But I’ve been remiss in expressing my gratitude to the very group of people with whom I share my innermost thoughts each week.

To the readers of this blog… THANK YOU!!!!!!!!

I don’t write so that I can admire my own words. I only write because I see that people are reading, and because they keep coming back. I have my moments of insecurity and doubt, and these occur at what I would consider a fairly normal frequency. I can run the gamut from questioning my writing skills all the way to wondering if this whole thing is really a well-intentioned and meticulously executed conspiracy among my friends and loved ones just to make me feel better (think The Truman Show). But whenever doubt creeps in, all I have to do is reflect upon the sincerity of the comments and correspondence I receive. I can also step back and appreciate the number of visitors that I have each day, from all over the world. I am soon reassured that this blog is legitimate, and that I’m not making a fool of myself.

Having said this, if there are any conspirators out there who want to come clean, now would be a good time!

I particularly enjoy reading and responding to the comments at the bottom of each blog post, and receiving emails (there is a “click here to email me” button on the top right of my blog page). In fact, I encourage more of you to leave your honest feedback in whichever way you are most comfortable. But if you simply enjoy reading but not responding, I understand. I am often that way with the blogs that I follow.

So once again, here is a big THANK YOU to the group of people who motivates me to dictate my musings onto the interwebs every week. Authoring this blog is a big part of why I lead such a contented life as a disabled person.

Reminder: Many folks tell me that they enjoy my blog but have trouble remembering to check it for new posts. I think half of them are lying (and that’s okay). For the other half, you might consider the convenience of having each post delivered to your inbox. Simply type your email address into the box on the right hand side of the blog’s home page, just above the “Subscribe” button, and then click the Subscribe button. Almost immediately you will receive a computer-generated email that you need to respond to in order to confirm your subscription. Then just sit back and have the material delivered to you each week. You can always unsubscribe or automatically forward my emails to your junk folder at any time.