Read Online Exposure by Elizabeth Lister - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Elizabeth Lister
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a good time to tell you I have Multiple Sclerosis."
What? "You do?"
"That would be why I can't stand up right now."
I stared at him. It seemed like he was trying to make a joke out of it. I wasn't laughing. I said, very quietly, "Why didn't you tell me before?"
"Because I was fine and I figured I'd give this relationship some time before I dropped the bomb. Obviously, God had a different idea." He put a hand to his forehead, as if he had a headache.
I took a deep breath, trying to assimilate this new information. "Does it hurt?"
He shook his head. "Only my pride. Do you know anything about MS?"
I shook my head. "Not...really."
"Well it can be dormant or in remission for a long time. Then it surprises the crap out of you and you wake up with weird symptoms. That's called a relapse. Right now I've got some numbness and weakness in my legs that wasn't there yesterday."
I didn't understand. "But--is it permanent?"
He shook his head. "Probably not."
" Probably not?"
He shrugged. "I'm not upset that it happened. I mean, it's partly my fault because I stopped taking my meds. I'm just pissed that it had to happen right now." He looked up at me. "Martin, for God's sake, sit down. I can't stand you hovering over me like that."
I sat down beside him, my tired, stunned brain trying to take it all in.
"I was hoping to have some time to ease you into all this." He closed his eyes again. "That is, if you want to be involved in it at all."
I stared at him and all I wanted to do was gather him into my arms. But I didn't.
"I am involved in it," I said quietly. "I'm involved with you. I mean," I put my head in my hands. "I think I'm falling in love with you...so could you please explain to me why we don't have to call 911 but you want to go to the hospital?"
He didn't respond and I lifted my head to look at him. He stared at me with the weirdest expression on his face. "What did you just say?"
Oh no. "I said, could you please explain why you--"
"No. Before that," he said.
"Fine. You want me to say it again? I think I'm falling in love with you. I know it's only been a couple of weeks, but they've been the best weeks of my life. I think about you all the time. I can't get enough of you."
When he spoke, it was in a soft voice. "I don't think I need to go to the hospital. Not yet, anyway. I just kind of panicked a bit."
I looked at him. "But your legs!" I didn't understand.
"Martin, it's probably a pseudo-relapse. I've had these symptoms before."
"You have?" I didn't know what a relapse was, let alone a pseudo-relapse.
He nodded. "About three years ago, my legs went numb and I lost the use of them. I had to use a wheelchair for three months."
I just stared at him.
"They gave me steroids and I went on medication. I got better. But I stopped taking my meds about six months ago because I thought maybe I didn't need them anymore. It was stupid." He ran a hand through his hair. "I mean, I guess I was in denial."
It was hard to believe any of this but the evidence was right in front of me. He'd seemed so healthy, so energetic. I'd never in a million years have guessed that he had any kind of illness. "What's a pseudo-relapse?"
"It's when some of the residual symptoms come back, or get worse. It might last a couple of days. An actual relapse involves brand new symptoms, like if I woke up and couldn't talk or see properly or something. I mean, I think that's how it works. It's all very confusing." He paused. "An actual relapse can last several weeks or sometimes months."
"That could happen to you? I mean the trouble speaking or seeing?"
He nodded. "It could. But I'm not going to worry about it. There's nothing I can do about it anyway."
I sat there, stunned. Here was this beautiful man telling me he wasn't sure he'd be able to see or talk someday and he wasn't going to worry about it.
"I'm really tired. Do you mind if I just lie down and try to go back to sleep?"
I'm sure I looked terrified.
"Hey, I'm okay. Sometimes
What? "You do?"
"That would be why I can't stand up right now."
I stared at him. It seemed like he was trying to make a joke out of it. I wasn't laughing. I said, very quietly, "Why didn't you tell me before?"
"Because I was fine and I figured I'd give this relationship some time before I dropped the bomb. Obviously, God had a different idea." He put a hand to his forehead, as if he had a headache.
I took a deep breath, trying to assimilate this new information. "Does it hurt?"
He shook his head. "Only my pride. Do you know anything about MS?"
I shook my head. "Not...really."
"Well it can be dormant or in remission for a long time. Then it surprises the crap out of you and you wake up with weird symptoms. That's called a relapse. Right now I've got some numbness and weakness in my legs that wasn't there yesterday."
I didn't understand. "But--is it permanent?"
He shook his head. "Probably not."
" Probably not?"
He shrugged. "I'm not upset that it happened. I mean, it's partly my fault because I stopped taking my meds. I'm just pissed that it had to happen right now." He looked up at me. "Martin, for God's sake, sit down. I can't stand you hovering over me like that."
I sat down beside him, my tired, stunned brain trying to take it all in.
"I was hoping to have some time to ease you into all this." He closed his eyes again. "That is, if you want to be involved in it at all."
I stared at him and all I wanted to do was gather him into my arms. But I didn't.
"I am involved in it," I said quietly. "I'm involved with you. I mean," I put my head in my hands. "I think I'm falling in love with you...so could you please explain to me why we don't have to call 911 but you want to go to the hospital?"
He didn't respond and I lifted my head to look at him. He stared at me with the weirdest expression on his face. "What did you just say?"
Oh no. "I said, could you please explain why you--"
"No. Before that," he said.
"Fine. You want me to say it again? I think I'm falling in love with you. I know it's only been a couple of weeks, but they've been the best weeks of my life. I think about you all the time. I can't get enough of you."
When he spoke, it was in a soft voice. "I don't think I need to go to the hospital. Not yet, anyway. I just kind of panicked a bit."
I looked at him. "But your legs!" I didn't understand.
"Martin, it's probably a pseudo-relapse. I've had these symptoms before."
"You have?" I didn't know what a relapse was, let alone a pseudo-relapse.
He nodded. "About three years ago, my legs went numb and I lost the use of them. I had to use a wheelchair for three months."
I just stared at him.
"They gave me steroids and I went on medication. I got better. But I stopped taking my meds about six months ago because I thought maybe I didn't need them anymore. It was stupid." He ran a hand through his hair. "I mean, I guess I was in denial."
It was hard to believe any of this but the evidence was right in front of me. He'd seemed so healthy, so energetic. I'd never in a million years have guessed that he had any kind of illness. "What's a pseudo-relapse?"
"It's when some of the residual symptoms come back, or get worse. It might last a couple of days. An actual relapse involves brand new symptoms, like if I woke up and couldn't talk or see properly or something. I mean, I think that's how it works. It's all very confusing." He paused. "An actual relapse can last several weeks or sometimes months."
"That could happen to you? I mean the trouble speaking or seeing?"
He nodded. "It could. But I'm not going to worry about it. There's nothing I can do about it anyway."
I sat there, stunned. Here was this beautiful man telling me he wasn't sure he'd be able to see or talk someday and he wasn't going to worry about it.
"I'm really tired. Do you mind if I just lie down and try to go back to sleep?"
I'm sure I looked terrified.
"Hey, I'm okay. Sometimes
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