I'm Not Drunk, But Thanks For The Concern

Some of the symptoms of multiple sclerosis mess with my motor skills. I've gotten used to people assuming I'm drunk, but let me explain why this happens and why I've come not to care about both those symptoms and the accusatory eye that I get from time to time.

MS fucks with my balance. I learned to get a cane to deflect perpetual critical eyes. The first time I knew I'd have to get a cane was at Delilah's, a great dive bar in Chicago that has since lost some of its charm due to the smoking ban. About a year ago, I was going inside with a few of my friends and had to show my ID to the doorman. So far, so good, right? Well, I wobbled when plucking my license from my wallet and the doorman assumed, understandably, that I was wasted. "Are you gonna be okay?" he asked, and then when I said that I was fine, he assured me, "Okay, because I don't want to have to kick you out at some point." Now, I could have explained that I had MS and all of that, but I didn't want to get into it. I just assured him I was fine and moved along.

Of course, to anyone who knows me this accusation is hilarious, because I don't drink. Anymore. I used to drink a frightening, almost (almost) comical amount. Whiskey was my drink, but I did not discriminate. Like the Lou Reed song says, "Whiskey, bourbon, vodka, scotch--I don't care what it is you got."

A few years ago--I think it was 2006 but I really am not sure, I checked myself into rehab in Maryland. At that point, my drinking had gotten out of control. I simply couldn't stop. I remember, during my last semester in college, when my then-girlfriend asked, "Why don't you just have three drinks, and that's it?" She really couldn't do it either--which is itself a bad sign--but I sheepishly agreed to try. Needless to say, this was not an option I could take. There's an AA aphorism that is right on the money, that says that one drink is too many and ten is not enough for an alcoholic. (I don't do AA, much to the chagrin of countless people, I'm sure, but I cannot abide the religious overtones and the need for a "higher power." I remember in rehab when they would say things like, "It doesn't have to be God. It can be anything, like Nature for instance." First of all, I hate nature--a Thoreau enthusiast I am not--and the ban on "humanity" as a higher power ended my association with that group. I'm sorry, but I don't believe in God, nor do I think that believing that humanity as a whole, which is mind-bogglingly impressive and thus qualifies as a "higher power," should be maligned and forbidden to be used as one. Amazingly, though, in Maryland, where I went, they didn't care much, which was shocking and wonderful. But I digress...)

So my balance is almost nonexistent, and occasionally I'll have a few days when I see double. Thankfully, this goes away eventually, but it does not help my coordination when it's active.

I have friends that drink--some copiously--but it does not bother me. I just hate the accusation toward myself of inebriation, especially since alcohol has been pathologically stricken from my palette of options. Actually, the only problem arises when I have a drink spilled on me, and then have to explain the smell to questioning eyes.

Rest assured, though--I can't (not "shouldn't") drink, and I couldn't even if I wanted to do so. MS has rendered my alcoholism nearly obsolete and inconsequential. This may seem specious, because a degenerative neurological disease should throw me into the throes (homonyms!) of a bottomless bender. I can't drink, though. If I did, I'd probably be absolutely covered in bruises, or a body cast, which ironically wouldn't constrict my mobility as much as you'd think. Plus, I've never broken a bone, so I think that if I did you could be suspicious.

I've also never been stung by a bee, so if I blow up like Martin Short in "Pure Luck," I probably need help.

So if I show up in a cast or with a hypodermic needle somewhere in my torso (hopefully not like Uma Thurman in "Pulp Fictionn"), then your suspicions might be valid, and I'd approve another round of intensive therapy, be it psychological or more conventionally medical.

Until then, you can rest assured that I'm not wasted. I just stagger regularly.

R