Seldom did I go for an off-the-shelf costume, but neither did I have the talent for making elaborate somethings out of household nothings. I’ll never forget a work colleague who created a vertical bed with a stuffed horse’s head under the covers so he could go as Jack Woltz from that famous scene in The Godfather. I also like understated costumes that make you think. I remember one couple of friends — he a lawyer, she a radiologist — who came dressed as a doctor and a lawyer. But she dressed as a man in a 1980s power suit and law book and he in a skirt, heels, and lab coat. Fun!
The Invisible Man
As it was recently the season of dressing up as someone or something we are not, I was wondering what a multiple sclerosis (MS) costume would look like. My first thought was of Claude Rains’s Invisible Man, from the 1933 classic film adapted from the H.G. Wells novel. So often MS has made me feel a bit invisible to the world around me. More accurately, perhaps, invisible to my former world. Out of sight, out of mind, goes the saying. Once I had to leave my former employment, I faded from that world. With the exception of a few close friends with whom I’ve kept in touch or reconnected after years, I became invisible to most of my former colleagues and customers, employees, and bosses. Unlike the Invisible Man, however, who is there though you cannot see him, you can still see me, but I’m no longer “there.”
The MS Monster
The idea of the “MS Monster” comes to mind as well. But just what the hell would that monster look like? I sometimes walk not unlike Frankenstein’s Monster. I’ve been known to cut, bank, and bruise myself enough that wrapping myself like the Mummy might be apt. The Wolfman would be fitting for the changes the disease can bring about, but the regularity of a full moon is far too predictable for an MS Monster costume.
No Costume at All
I suppose the best costume for my MS would be just to dress as me: same clothes, same spectacles, same shoes, same everything that everyone sees me in every day. I’d carry my walking stick, but I’d have a crutch stashed over there, and a walker behind the chair. As the party progressed, I’d change the assistive device I was using. Sometimes more assistance, sometimes less, sometimes one way down the line of progression, sometimes the other. Over in the corner, there would be a wheelchair, and out in the car, a scooter. Some people would notice when I’d changed what was holding me upright. Some might ask why I was using one just a minute ago and now was on to another. Some would think my getup trite and ridiculous. Others might think I’d put no effort into the costume at all. But they’d be wrong.
We Wear the MS Costume Every Day
We all put a lot of thought and effort into living with the invisible symptoms of MS that others have no idea we are contending with. Just to look like our day-to-day selves requires the equivalent of hours in a Hollywood makeup chair. It is a heavy costume we wear, and it’s not just for one holiday per year that we have to slip into it. It’s every time we step out the front door to do just about anything. RELATED: Invisible Disabilities Awareness Week Maybe that’s what I like about the idea of dressing as someone (or something) else once a year. It’s so much work just being me most days that pretending to be anyone (or anything) else that I’d like to be for a few hours is more fun than pretending to be what the world would like us to be the other 364 days of the year. Wishing you and your family the best of health. Cheers, Trevis
