Hair and makeup…booked!
Botox…topped up! (Don’t judge me. If it was in my calves for movement or in my bladder for control, you wouldn’t judge!)
Shoes x4…organised! (I’m not even going to go into that!)
Tomorrow night is the annual fara Gala Ball in Melbourne. This night is my favourite night of the year. It is a night when FA is recognised, celebrated, tears are shed, money is raised and hope is heightened.
Everyone in the room is lovely, understanding, non judgemental, kind, giving…all of those nice words.
It is the one night where I feel a million bucks. No one stares at me because I may look a little different. No one judges me because I talk a little slower (especially after champagne). No one thinks it’s odd that I can’t hear very well in such a noisy environment. Actually let’s rephrase that…I DON’T JUDGE MYSELF!
The line for the disabled toilet is huge and I love it! Gives me a chance to catch up with all of my heroes.
I smile all night. Go to bed smiling. Wake up smiling.
Then I go home.
Home to routine.
My body needs routine to function so I’m not saying it’s a bad thing.
The gala is on the Friday night. On the Monday, I cry and cry and cry some more.
I don’t want to have FA. I don’t want to use a walker. I don’t want to fall over. I don’t want to go to appointments every day. I don’t want to have to calculate and concentrate on every move I make, every word I speak, every single thing I do really. I don’t want my children to have a mum with FA. I don’t want my husband to have a wife with FA. I don’t want to be scared of the future.
By Thursday, I should be fine again. Ready to take on the world.
It’s so true though. What goes up, must come down. In my case, crashing down.