Many of us will have, by now, blocked the painful memory of our first spinal tap (technically a “lumbar puncture,” but the older name lends to the medievalness of the procedure in my book). The pain of having a needle the thickness of a small child’s finger plunged between our vertebrae is better left to the mist of memory. I will not, however, forget the bolt of lightning that shot down my hips, through my leg exploding in my feet and — I’m pretty sure — causing thunder in the hospital corridors. I’ll always kick myself for the caviler manner in which I noted my first Lhermitte’s sign — the gentle buzzing and torn aluminum foil edges — which coursed their way along each side of my back bone when I bent and stretched my head forward for months prior to my diagnosis. Part of me, maybe the scientist part, found it intriguing how my (self-diagnosed) muscle tightness could cause such sensations. In the past few days, I’ve been experiencing off-and-on electrical sensations which have surprised, startled, and yes, shocked me! The other night I was reclining on the sofa reading when Caryn closed a door a few feet from my head. It was as if a shock wave from an explosion hit the top of my scull and coursed its way down my body like an earthquake might course through the earth’s crust. As the wave quickly sped from head to toes, it picked up an electrical quality which sent my body a-shiver and caused a startled utterance which was closer to animal than human. For the past two nights, I have been jolted awake by an explosion of electrical impulse whose origins’ are uncertain, but they run up and down every nerve fiber in a quick and painful, jagged flash. I know that the body’s central nervous system is our electrical conduit, through which signals travel back and forth like telephoned plays called to the field from our press box of a brain. The experience, while startling, is quick and fleeting and leaves me intellectually intrigued. I’d like to know of any and all “shocking” or “electrical” symptoms which you attach and attribute to your course of MS. Pushing six years of the Life With MS Blog and I don’t think we’ve ever stuck our fingers in this conversation socket. Wishing you and your family the best of health. Cheers Trevis Don’t forget that you can also follow me via my Life With MS Facebook page and on Twitter.
