Here's a big shout-out to Bushra, in Birmingham, UK, who is, by all accounts, female, and who is watching my slow deterioration via this blog. I also searched for brainhell on the internet, and found two links: Bushra's blog, and a memorial to a deceased heavy-metal musician, for a band named 'Death.' Brrr-rrr! Avert thine eyes from the omens.

I went for a short jog today, from work, and did the things on the par course, with varying degrees of satisfaction and dismay. But it feels good to exercise. I want to exercise a LOT more, actually, once I get my diagnosis. I want to confront my nemesis and quash it, if possible.

As I was jogging, I pondered the fact that I have 78% of the minimum normal blood glucose level. No, it's not that I was hungry at the time they drew my blood. I was not hungry, and plus I had just had two cookies 10 minutes before. Plus, the reference range said you would have a reading of 70 even if you were fasting. I had 55. I wish I could say that I feel tired all the time, or hungry. But I don't.

The doc is apparently not too concerned. He is going to wait until the MS panel results come in, and advise me then. The lab sent, by the way, the sample to another lab to get a second opinion on the MS panel. This indicates to me that they think the found MS and they want to confirm it, or that they had conflicting positive and negative indications of MS and need help figuring it out. We Shall See.

You know that kinda draggy, dense feeling you get from your legs after you have exerted them really hard (like, sprinting in a soccer game)? That's what my left leg feels like when I jog. No pain, just thick and stupid. Slow. "Hey, catch up there, little fella," I say. Strange that all that can be due to something not in the leg at all, but in the skull. Like, a perfectly good set of limbs is being put to waste by a problem in the switching station. Weird.