Where Did August Go?

These past 30 days bring to mind the first eight weeks after bringing home baby: everyone is fussing over the cute new addition; while the parents paste on a fake grin and secretly dream of returning this 24/7 insatiable demanding bundle to its original owner. The obvious difference is that eventually the baby learns to laugh and smile, the whole Gerber baby thing, while my struggle to simply survive will not come to fruition in such a tangible way.
I fired my first home health physical therapist for his out of touch and falsely hopeful treatment goal that I learn to stand on one leg at the kitchen sink. The reality is I have fought for the past two years to give up standing. When you can sorta, kinda, teeter on the leg that has about 80% function to reach the Worcester sauce bottle, (while leaning over the pan of beef stroganoff bubbling on the stove) it is painfully difficult not to. I used to be an accomplished cook: now a few times a month I marshal the strength to dump a couple of cans of stuff into the crockpot with a package of seasoning mix created by a food scientist. Giving up my unsafe version of standing was the final door to shut in packing up and moving away from so many dreams, from the practical to the profound. So, who was this seemingly well-intentioned fool to suggest I replant blackberries in my backyard?
It is almost impossible for me to find one good thing in my current state of affairs, but, since I know I am supposed to: my hubbies steadfast support; my son flying home to check on me; the friends and family who've pitched in; the comfort of prayer and praise music; a home with water, lights, and electricity etc., etc.. Not one thing about my health makes the list. It is hard to embrace any of the gains I've made since this last exacerbation pushed me so much farther down the MS continuum and I haven't been able to return, in any area, to the state I was in before. To illustrate, my left leg weakness has gone from a percentage function level of 40-50, down to 0 and now a persistent 0-30. This drop in range of function holds true for every area affected by MS. Other than my nose, this seems to be every inch of me.
With little fanfare, my bladder lost its function. I am tethered to a Foley catheter and facing surgery to make it permanent. People blithely tell me how much better it will be once I have a suprapubic catheter in place. When the medical term for something I am going to live with for the rest of my life sounds like a word that isn't said in polite company, it isn't likely to be good. In fact, I find myself profoundly mourning the loss of my bladder and all it entails. Who ever thinks they will miss the mindless ritual of using a toilet?
My memory has also taken a scary turn. Not just middle-age forgetfulness: I am talking about blank spots in the middle of a conversation where I can't remember what we are discussing; I am talking about writing down every little thing I need to do each day in order to do it; I am talking about working with a memory specialist. I avoid the phone, laugh off the gaffs when I can't fill in the blanks; and paste on a smile. 
I am often asked how my claim of Christian faith fits in with my grim slog through life with MS. After all, aren't Christian women supposed to be virtuous and somewhat mindless Barbie Dolls? I rather prefer the recent revelation that for much of her life, Mother Theresa felt distant from God. Yet, she more than embraced a Christian life. My Christianity isn't an external facade; it is a commitment to a truth that flows through my life. Being a Christian doesn't make me happy or healthy or a lottery winner. It simply means that every day I survive steadily going toward something greater.
Surviving is the watch word of this day, this past month, and into the foreseeable future. So, thank you to all who help. Their acts serve as the cups of water that marathoners snatch from the hands of volunteers. 
Closing with a nod to Gloria Gaynor, Disco, and my Aunt who introduced me to this song many years ago:

Oh no, not I
I will survive

as long as i know how to love

I know I will stay alive

I've got all my life to live

I've got all my love to give

and I'll survive

I will survive

Update: Post Hospital—7 Days+ 1

So much love and support has come my way over these past days: my husband's coworkers and the church family brought us meals; a group of friends spent a work-day evening reorganizing our house to make room for a hospital bed; and other hands-on help; as well as visits, cards, and most importantly prayers. It is much much easier to shift my view of 'normal' to my body as it is now with this foundation of support from everyone in our circle. It is reassuring to know that I have these people to back me up, no matter where MS leads me.
One thing that I am often asked is, 'What has physically changed?.' A common misconception with MS is that exacerbations lead to paralysis (the complete loss of feeling and function). For me, this has never been true. With secondary progressive MS, physical loss is more a steady onslaught of stealthy creeping weakness and reduced function that also varies in impact. For example, I can pick up my coffee cup 3, 5, or X number of times and on the next, my hand lets go and liquid every where. From day to day, moment to moment I never know what is going to function and to what degree. {Remitting/relapsing MS is characterized by dramatic sudden attacks}. One reason this recent episode is so scary, is that it is the first time I have had a true sudden attack of MS, in years.
So, what exactly has happened? I woke up in the middle of the night and discovered that from my shoulder to mid thigh I couldn't move, turn over, sit up—whammo, just like that. Most of the time, I stubbornly refuse to seek medical attention. Why bother when my disease course is untreatable. Doctors are trained to do something, even when faced with diseases like mine. But, that particular Monday morning, I wanted to call my doctor. To my surprise he sent me to the ER and then tucked me in to five days in the hospital.
Coming home on Saturday was discouraging. To me, the results of this exacerbation seemed unchanged. My wise husband, with his caregiver eye, was able to point out that my left arm is moving better and so is my thigh. Subtle changes that mean the fight against these latest losses isn't over.
Right now, my goal is to be able to transfer from one place to another all by myself and to ditch the hospital bed. Once I am independently mobile, I will be able to be on my own again. Physical therapy starts next week and I am ready to fight to regain some ground.
For now, my left hip remains, like wet cement, stubbornly aggravatingly near impossible to move. The left side of my torso and shoulder are slightly more mobile. I still can't sit up without slumping and occasionally toppling over. We've had some good laughs at my gumbiness. My reasoning and short-term memory don't seem to be improving. My bladder function will be determined at the Urologists on Thursday. I can and do leave my hospital bed with help from the hubster in the evenings and at night. Daytime can be bleak with facing eight hours pinned to my bed.
Visitors welcome! But, please call first, I sleep alot and tire easily. Thank you everyone for all of the love and practical support.