One of the most debilitating symptoms, for me, is called Uhthoff Phenomenon — temporary worsening of neurological symptoms in people with demyelinating conditions. Studies show that a rise in core body temperature of as little as half a degree (for me, even less) can cause us to lose function.

Side note: I am writing this while enduring an episode of Uhthoff Phenomenon because I wanted to observe the effects on my writing ability. It is far more difficult for me to think, to create — even to type. I am typing mixed-up letters for the words I mean to write and having to make far more corrections. My backspace key always gets a workout, but this is…extra.

What caused this round? A ten-minute walk outdoors. We walked on flat ground. No exertion. Mostly in shade. We planned about a twenty-minute walk, but I felt the symptoms coming on quickly, so we headed home. The total distance walked was perhaps the length of a small city block. By the time we got into our air-conditioned house, my cognition was slowing down rapidly; I was uncoordinated, and it felt like a heavy hood was being pulled down over me from the top of my head. My eyes felt too tired to stay open, as though my eyelids were simply too heavy.

It was a mild episode.

I recall two severe episodes that happened while on vacation in Mexico years ago. The first time, I didn’t yet know I had MS. The diagnosis came a few months later. On that trip, we went on a tour with friends to the archeological site at Coba. It was a phenomenal, thrilling adventure. (I would love to return. Unfortunately, the route is no longer safe to travel.

Our tour guide was an archeologist with a great sense of humor. He made it interesting and so much fun. We climbed the Mayan temple and were even allowed to stand inside the room at the top. Amazing!

Standing on the ground at the bottom of the temple, we were in the jungle in the Yucatan Peninsula. Standing on top, all we could see were the tops of the trees, a lush, verdant canopy, for miles; an unobstructed view under a bright blue sky.

The day was hot and humid. I was struggling and didn’t know why.

Back on the tour bus, I stumbled to my seat. Within minutes I was so sound asleep that I had no awareness of anything going on around me. Thank God I was with my husband and our friends, or I would have been very vulnerable. I could not wake up. I had no control over that crushing, suffocating fatigue.

My husband woke me up when the bus stopped at our destination, Tulum, a gorgeous archeological site. I managed to get to my feet and fumble my way out of the bus, but I was not truly alert. I’ve never felt so disoriented.

The second time, our hotel was located across the street from the ocean. All our past trips had been to resorts where the ocean breeze blew freely. However, at this resort, trees lined the road, and the layout of the resort blocked all ocean breezes from reaching us. I could spend hours on the beach and handle the heat pretty well as long as I also had shade. Inside the resort, it was a different story.

As we walked from the beach back to our hotel room, leaving the breeze behind, my legs got progressively “heavier.” My cognition skills declined. I felt like I would have an emotional meltdown from the growing panic in me that corresponded with the rapid progression of my symptoms. All the while trying not to upset anyone, not make a scene, not lose consciousness right there on the hot stone walkway.

Our room was on the second floor, up two small sets of outdoor stairs, maybe ten steps total. By the time I reached the door, I was whimpering internally, maybe even aloud. I was in full panic and on the verge of vomiting. I rushed into the room, bolted for the shower and let cold water pour over me until my core body temperature cooled enough for my mind to begin to clear and for the panic to subside. I feel anxious now, remembering. This happened nearly every time we returned to the room that week.

Afterward, exhaustion hit hard. Now I know that is called PEM: Post-exertional Malaise. My body worked hard to get me through all of that and it demanded rest afterward. As miserable as it was, I tried hard to have a good time, not to ruin the trip for any of us. I loved being there with my wonderful husband and our amazing friends.

Wanna buy me a COLD coffee?

The current, spicier me is more likely to advocate for myself by reminding myself and others that I can’t help that my neurological system is broken.

Years ago, a local neurologist was conducting a study to learn more about the effects of heat on multiple sclerosis patients. I volunteered. They placed wraps around my torso, arms and legs, that had tubes for water to circulate through. The researchers could adjust the temperature of the water and, therefore, the core temperature of my body. Their protocol was to heat me up, checking my symptoms and vital signs at every half-degree change in core temperature. They performed some of it while I sat in a chair and some while I rode a stationary bicycle.

I flunked. My system was so sensitive to heat that they could not warm me up to the full temperature required to complete the experiment. I missed the mark by one half of one degree. Physically, cognitively, and emotionally, I was a soggy noodle. I couldn't think, and my speech slurred; I couldn't get out of the chair.

They treated me urgently: had me sip cool water, they quickly pushed much colder water through the tubes, placed cool cloths on my head and face, and placed ice packs under my arms and knees. When I revived, they told me I had nearly lost consciousness, and they had to stop the test. They said that even though I wouldn’t be included in their final data, they learned a lot and would set up future protocols to measure at intervals of a quarter of a degree instead.

Victory! It was proof that it wasn’t “all in my head,” though that is where the faulty wiring resides.

Summer can be depressing when temperatures rise, and I am stuck inside to stay cool. It’s been easier the past few years since I started writing again. My mind is engaged in learning, research, and the writing itself.

My writing friends at AWritingRoom.com have also uplifted me. We help each other stay on track with our writing projects during our Silent Writing sessions and craft chats each day. We keep each other inspired and motivated, creating momentum, word by word, or Bird by Bird, as our mentor, Anne Lamott, teaches.

The summers of 2024, 2025 and 2026 have been much cheerier for me because we are in Community together. If you’re a writer, I invite you to consider joining us at AWritingRoom.com.

You know me — I LOVE a good pivot, a U-turn, a search for the positive in a trying situation.

Today’s mini-meltdown revealed the upside to me. I am so excited!

I have finally found one benefit to experiencing Uhthoff’s Phenomenon.

I no longer have to place the back of my hand on the hot ground for five seconds to find out if it is too hot for our dogs’ paws.

Because my body is already screaming the answer at me as it starts its shutdown: “It is already too hot for them, and for you.”

* * *

What messages do your body and your creativity long for you to hear?

Our walk was more of a stroll, slow with all the stops and starts. All the pups are boys and each has his own liquid opinions to share, including replying to each other's replies on the same rocks, sticks and trees in our path.

We were not breaking any land speed records, nor trying to.

I have one goal of late, and it is to stay vertical while walking. Sounds simple enough. But as you know, I have become vertically challenged.

We strolled along a little path at the entrance to the park. The boys began to sniff the grass, bathing their senses in aromas, and calming their nervous systems by the act of sniffing. Sniffaris release feel-good chemicals in dog brains. It is heavenly for them.

They’d each bent their heads toward the grass, confident, or maybe just hopeful (dogs are the ultimate optimists, after all), that I could keep myself upright while they enjoyed themselves.

I wanted that for them.

It wasn’t to be. Without notice or anything noticeable starting the unfortunate chain of events, my feet connected, planted in place, while my entire body fell forward. Again.

As the slo-mo path rose up to meet me, I softened my body for the impact. At least I know I am still capable of learning and adapting. The former falls were not a complete waste. I instinctively pulled my head back to keep it from bouncing off the ground. That was a newly minted instinct.

Hey! I’m getting good at this!

I distinctly remember rolling my eyes on the way down. Seriously?! Again?!

The very-good-boys noticed me heading their way and stepped aside to avoid being epically squished. Smart pups! And rushed to check on me once I’d landed.

This time, I was in the HOA, but I was not in the street; a big checkmark in the plus column. I had a good chance of not being run over by a reckless, speeding neighbor. Not 100% guarantee, but a chance.

The dogs were safe. I was safe. I wasn’t as injured as in the previous two falls. Check. Check. Check. The plus column was looking good.

I praised the pups for being such good boys, Ripple helped me to stand and stabilize myself, and we finished their sniffari.

“How was your walk?” my hubby asked.

I rolled my eyes again as I told him the update.

I’m pretty sure the dogs rolled their eyes too, as if to say, “We can’t take her anywhere.”

The FALLS TRILOGY taught me to learn, adapt, take extra care, trust the pups, explore healing modalities to address the root cause, do the physical therapy, get back out there to do what I love, and always look for the positive. Even from a horizontal position on the pavement.

What meaningful lessons have you learned from unexpected events?

Let’s chat about it in the comments. Thank you for reading!

Review: -15/10 do not recommend.

My husband was just a few steps behind me, tending to our niece’s adorable uber-fluffy Pomeranian, Raider, when I abruptly transitioned from vertical to horizontal. It happened fast, but somehow felt slow as I watched the sidewalk close in on my face.

The most distressing thing was the distinct and memorable bounce of the side of my head off the concrete.

“Crap. I’ll have to go to the emergency room for this one.”

My husband spotted me right after my head settled back into place.

“Are you okay? What can I do? Should I call for medical?”

He got the same Minion-like response as the last time. “Bee-do, bee-do!"

“Wee-woo, wee-woo!” The air was knocked out of me again.

However, this time, some safety features were in my favor: we weren’t on home turf in our HOA community, so cars were not hurtling at us at double the speed limit, I was on a sidewalk that had a parking strip and curb and gutter between me and the normally paced traffic of the sane and considerate drivers who exist outside of our HOA.

Things were looking up! And so was I, right into the faces of three curious very-good dogs, who had all managed to sidestep my tumble and keep themselves safe.

“You okay, human?” times three.

Once I caught my breath and my husband caught my hand to help me stand up, we finished taking care of the pups and headed home to get them tucked in for their naps while we visited the ER.

Lucky again, nothing was broken. My ribs were bruised on the opposite side as the previous fall. Scans were done of my head and torso for the “blunt-force trauma” of flesh pounding the sidewalk. No concussion. No brain bleed.

A good day indeed.

Buy me a cuppa

“We see something that you’ll want to follow up on with your primary care physician. Are you a smoker?”

“No.”

“Have you ever been exposed to second-hand smoke?”

Hasn’t everyone? I thought.

“There’s a nodule in your lung that you’ll want to monitor.”

That is the moment I knew these falls were not negative events.

They were gifts.

I knew I should have gone to the ER after the first fall; I just didn’t want to. My immune system is so compromised, even on the best of days, that hanging out in an ER waiting room full of sick people is a scary notion, something to be avoided if possible.

So I had the opportunity of falling again for another chance to get it right, to go where a light could be focused on what was perhaps the real reason for the falls; to let me know I had a nodule that would not have been found otherwise.

“You’ll want your physician to follow-up on the nodules in your thyroid too, especially those in the isthmus.”

Dear God, I’m sorry I didn’t pay attention to your benevolent message

of that first fall. I’ll try to listen better for your loving care.

I was relieved that the two falls happened within a few short weeks of each other. And I hoped that sliver of time hadn’t given some kind of cancer a ticket on a runaway train in my body: a ticket to metastasis-ville.

At the follow-up appointment with my primary care doc, he wasn’t too concerned about any of the nodules except those in the isthmus. He said those were the most likely to be cancerous, but even they had a high chance of being benign.

Tests were ordered, and a referral was sent to an endocrinology clinic.

My husband and I tried to appear and behave mostly unfazed. We tried to keep from spreading our low-level panic to each other.

Refer a friend

We know that we work well as a team when life hands out the hard stuff. We have confidence in ourselves and in our loving, supportive relationship.

We just needed to know the test results and the plan. Waiting for those took far longer than they should have. But the eventual results gave us a big sigh of relief: only a 4% chance of being cancerous, according to genetic testing. Monitor all the nodules for growth. If they reach the size that “meets criteria for biopsy,” we will do that again.

We also received that gift: the reminder to slow down, pay close attention to the opportunities for better self-care, even when they are wrapped in unwanted packages.

Was this debacle, I mean opportunity, finally tied up with a neat little bow?

Ha! No. Life is too life-y for that. Stay tuned for the third and final part of the adventure.

How about YOU? Have you experienced situations in your life when something looked like a problem but revealed the true problem below, like the visible tip of an iceberg versus the massive mountain of ice below the surface?

Sometimes, those icebergs reveal gifts.

I’d love to hear more about your experiences and the hidden gifts that emerged from negative situations.

I’m sure I fell too many times to count as a kid. Those falls are not memorable; in fact, I recall only one. I leapt from a giant dirt pile at school, back when kids were allowed to leap from 15-foot dirt piles to land in 5 feet of soft soil, back when kids could get dirty, even at school.

One leap left me with grit embedded in a knee. I still remember my teacher working the little rocks out one at a time. Though bloody and painful, I survived. And returned to flight off the pile.

Our daily recess escapades left my friends and me with dusty ankles. The dirt pile was the type that dump trucks create by backing up and unloading one truckload after another for fill dirt. We tamped down makeshift stairs into the side of it, and ran as fast as we could to leap off the end to land calf-deep in soft dirt, jump up, run to the steps and do it again.

The goal was to get in as many jumps as possible before the end of recess. It was a blast! No adults complained. Noone erected fences around the dirt pile to keep us out. No major injuries occurred.

Our only instructions were to dust off before returning to the classroom. And if we dragged in a bunch of dirt on our shoes, we were required to clean up after ourselves. Those were important lessons in consideration for others.

Recently, I learned that falls taken as an adult are not as fun, and the price to play is far higher.

On a routine dog walk in our little community, I tripped over my own feet and fell forward with my full body, landing face down on the asphalt. I put out my left hand on the way down to catch myself. That was a mistake, of course. I injured my hand and did not stop the fall or make the landing any less painful.

I learned the visceral definition of having the wind knocked out of me as I lay in the road, wheezing weirdly as I tried to tell my husband I couldn’t talk.

The thought of the wild wheezing now makes me laugh so hard that I nearly had another issue that plagues many women of my certain age and women living with Multiple Sclerosis. LOL.

My dear husband was asking if he should call 911, what he could do to help, what I needed, and if I was okay.

I could not answer him. All I could do was wheeze in a way that sounded like Carl, the Minion. “Bee-do, bee-do, bee-do.” But with “Ws.”

“Whee-woo, whee-woo, whee-woo.”

My hand and knee were scraped and bloody; I wondered if I would need to pick little rocks out of my skin like my teacher had that day in elementary school. But being unable to breathe was the concern. My ribs hurt. I knew only time would make that ease off.

The dogs’ leashes had dropped out of my hands, but my sweet pups were standing next to me, looking down at me with concern. I wanted to tell them what good boys they are.

Suddenly, I pointed frantically; a car was coming fast. I was lying in the road in a shaded place and knew the driver could not see me.

My husband looked up and flagged the driver to slow down. Thank God, the literal Creator, that my husband was with me that day.

Once breath returned to my lungs, I slowly rolled to one side, then the other, figuring out the least painful, most effective way to get on my feet. Getting up was so much easier as a kid.

We finished our brief walk at my insistence. I refused to give up and give in.

Since my diagnosis with Multiple Sclerosis in 2004, I am determined to walk every step that I can. Every step is precious to me. A step that I take today might mean a step I still get to take in the future.

Once home, we assessed the damage: no obvious broken bones, some raw road rash on my hand and knee, sore ribs on the left side, and breathing normally again.

Would I be able to type with that injured hand?

Surgeons insure their hands for huge amounts of money because that is how they make a living and how they fulfill their calling as healers.

What about our healing hands, Writer Friends?

It was my first injury since claiming my identity as a Writer. My hands have become even more valuable to me, not monetarily, but writing is how I find out what I think and how I feel. They are part of how I encourage others.

What would I do without my hands?

I guess I would become thankful for dictation software in a hurry.

That fall did not require a visit to the ER, though it would have been wise. I hadn’t hit my head, and apparently, that is how I determined if an ER visit was needed.

Thankful that I was in decent condition, I got back to living life, though tenderly and with a bit more caution.

The question nagged at me; why had I fallen? And more concerning; why didn’t I step forward to prevent the fall?

Was damage to my neurons, caused by Multiple Sclerosis, interfering with the signals from my brain to my body that would normally cause me to take that step forward to save myself? Was it a sign of declining reflexes? THAT scared me.

I called my neurologist. She saw me right away, evaluated how my body was functioning, didn’t find any significant issues (thank God, again), ordered MRIs, and referred me to a Vestibular Therapist.

My highly qualified neurologist’s genuine care and concern eased my panic. I knew I was going to be okay, no matter what changes might be coming.

I also knew that my husband and I might face another new normal soon. But we are great as a team and have tackled hard things throughout our nearly 30 years together. We knew we would draw even closer together and do our best.

Buy Me a Coffee

We knew we would encourage and uplift each other and include daily laughter to make it all a little easier to handle.

I wish that was the end of the falling saga. It was just the beginning.

The next fall made me incredibly grateful. More on that in my next post, coming soon.