A multiple sclerosis (MS) diagnosis is considered a disability. I have a whole disability. Wow. Intellectually, I know that I have MS. However, I still forget that I need accommodations in certain instances because of my disability. I cannot do everything I used to do. I have limitations. Sad face.
My major limitation is that I have an intense bladder control issue. I accommodate for it 90% of the time. I have accepted it. I have had an issue controlling my bladder for 20+ years. It’s a part of my story. I pee. Often. In odd locations. I once pulled into the U-turn lane on highway 114. Opened my door and squatted right there!!! The urge comes immediately and at that minute everything stops until I am able to void. I know this. The people in my life all know this.
I’m currently on a plane headed back home to DFW reflecting on the events of the wellness weekend in Arizona to celebrate my dear friend’s milestone birthday. There were six absolutely dynamic women. Of the 6, I knew only one very well. The birthday girl. The vibe was relaxation, wellness and laughter. I truly loved every aspect of my trip. It was the perfect time getaway from all responsibility. Everything was planned perfectly. I didn’t have to think about anything. Ultimate bliss.
Strike a pose.
I only mentioned my condition in passing on the trip. Every single lady extended me grace to my limitations. We went on a two hour road trip to Sedona. I, of course, had to stop several times for restroom breaks. Not one person complained. Nobody said, “AGAIN?!?” They even would check with me to see if I needed to stop before I even had to think about. The Arizona heat was close to the temperature of hell. It was hot. MS tends to flare in the heat. They would tell me to get out of the direct sun. “Try sitting in this shaded area,” “stay out of the deep end (I am not a strong swimmer),” and “let me hold your hand as you get out of the van.” There was genuine concern for my well-being. I felt it. It felt like love. I greatly appreciate it. I felt welcomed just as I am, bladder and all. Grace is love.
The devil started talking to me. He said, “you are handicapped.” He laughed and said, “you cannot do everything that used to.” For a moment, I listened. That damn devil is here to steal, kill and destroy. I’d like to also add that he is here to isolate. For a moment, I put my head down. I felt the sadness rising in my gut. I needed a minute. Relax. Relate. Release.
But then I heard another voice. It was calm, comforting and reassuring. God is here. He said, “don’t focus on the few things that you cannot do. Instead, focus on all the other capabilities that I continue to give you.” Jesus.
I am a child of the Most High. He is my keeper, my confidant, my husband and my all. He chose me before parents knew I was coming. Praise Him! Hallelujah!! Thank you Lord. I feel so blessed right now that I could shout on this plane.
My BFF and I were driving down 183 passing his exit. I asked if she was in a rush or not. No. We headed to Stanley’s.
Stanley
I knew Stanley for a while. I’d been to his place a few times and remembered the directions perfectly. Stanley and I had been situationshipping, but he hadn’t been responding to my calls lately. Which was extra weird considering that I was calling the phone that I gave him. Gosh, I was stupid. I am stupid. I used to be stupid. I won’t be stupid anymore.
BFF and I drove around the maze of the parking lot and parked Action Adventure* in the spot directly in front of his apartment. We were in her car. I figured he wouldn’t know the car. Smart, right?
I sat in the passenger seat of my BFF’s car and called Stanley thirty five times. In a row. Back to back. Why? To this day I have no Earthly idea what was my intention. What could dialing this man’s phone number, back to back, 35 times in a row accomplish? Did I think that these actions would end in a positive result? I couldn’t. Could I? Did I?
He answered.
I gasped. Shocked.
He said, “are you in front of my place?” I gasped, “huh?”
I’m sure you could imagine how that conversation went. What the hell was I thinking? What was the point? Why? Just why?!?!?! This has been 10+ years ago and I still do not know the answer.
Fast forward. I had a Black male colleague on my team for the first time in a long time and we became friends. One day we were talking about our friends and some way some how I figured out that my colleague’s best friend since youth was Stanley. You have got to be kidding me!?! Nope. Best friends! I confessed to my 35 calls from the parking lot to my colleague. We laughed. We moved on.
My team from work went to The Hideaway for happy hour on pay day and guess who wanted to come? Yep. Stanley. By this time I had told the whole team about 35. I should probably be ashamed, but it is too funny for me to hide. So when Stanley walks up everyone had a good laugh at my story again.
Stanley and I reconnected. Laughed about 35. Exchanged information and have been in touch again. For a few years. We connect every now and then. Have a few laughs and then go our separate ways.
We laughed recently. It was fun. I wondered if I’d been missing out by not taking him seriously. Could I actually be with Stanley after all of this time?
Fuck no! Stanley is still Stanleying and I do not have the energy for his level of foolishness.
We can laugh. But I’ll never cry for him again.
XOXO
Lesson: Once ‘ain’t no good’. Always ‘ain’t no good.’
Question: Why do I still entertain Stanley knowing that he ‘ain’t no good?’
*Action Adventure is when you back into a parking spot just in case you have to leave expeditiously.
Today I’m talking to the single people specifically!!
You meet a guy. You hit it off. You give him your phone number. He screws up. You no longer want to communicate with him. Do you use the Block feature? Or do you just stop calling and/or answering? That is the question!
I use Block for telemarketers. No hesitation. However, in my dating life I haven’t used it.
When I cut someone from the roster I just stop calling. Majority of the time when I’ve made the “do not call” decision I guess the dudes have made the same decision because I rarely have received any follow up communication.
In special circumstances, I will delete contact information and the text conversation from my phone. He no longer exists to me. This is when I know that in an inebriated state I would have a strong desire to contact him and if I have the access to their contact information then I would definitely use it. My guess is he probably wouldn’t answer. I would get sad that he didn’t answer and mad that I called in the first place. This set of events would then cause me to eat something sweet. I’d order an Oreo Madness AND a Cinnabon Caramel Pecan Cheesecake from TGIFridays through Door Dash. Yes. I am referring to actual events that have occurred. His name is. . . John Carl Williams. The name has been changed to protect me. In the past, I would refer to him by his full government name.
I’m currently considering blocking Kramer. He keeps texting paragraphs. I’m pretty sure that he wants to ask me to give him the money he spent on me since I do not like him. He wants to talk today after work. I’m curious to hear what he has to say. I definitely will not be sending him any money. I’ll block him afterwards. I am sure this chat will be great content.
A year ago today I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. I am sure I have had it for much longer than one year. Maybe I’ve had it all of my life. Maybe I have had it for 20 years. I am not sure when was the first time I had an uncontrollable urge to void and then chose to drop my pants in whichever parking lot I was in at that moment. I wish I knew. The moment my life’s journey changed from hopeful ignorance to life changing disability.
I want to be hopeful. I sincerely do. Sometimes. No, most times I am. Then there are the times that I cry uncontrollably. I cry because of the unknowns. Will I adjust to having to consistently wear incontinence underwear? Will I wake up one day and no longer have the use of my right eye, my left leg or one of my arms? Tear.
This post has to end on a positive, right? I have to leave some hopeful quote that I searched for on Google. Got to love the Google.
Not today.
XOXO
Lesson: Real life does not end in “happily ever after.”
Question: What was the moment your entire life changed? Do you know? Would you want to know?
Monday, Aug 8 Strike One asked that I keep my Saturday open for him. He said that he wanted to see me. Butterflies. Spontaneity is cool. However, a man stating his claim on your time in advance is automatically a turn on. What would we do on Saturday? I am a planner. Strike One stating that he wanted to spend his nearest off day with me made me feel special. Am I a priority to him? Not clear, but surely feels like it. Points.
A few days passed. Things felt off. Hmmm. Calls were few and far between. As a matter of fact, he only called when I was already asleep. Is this a sign? Did he intentionally call knowing that I’d be asleep just to check the box that he called. I’m thinking too deeply as usual. He called when he thought about me. Just breathe.
I am the pink Starburst and he is treating me like I’m a yellow.
Saturday came. We hadn’t touched base on the details of the evening. What’s the plan? I sent a text asking if we were still on. This was his response.
Thoughts?
He’s a flake. We were no longer hanging. PLUS I had to be the one to request the status update. Hmmm. I didn’t respond to the message. Annoyed. I put on my pajamas. Settled into my cozy corner of the sofa. Searched for some mindless programming. Ate something sweet. Then, I did the only thing I had the energy to do. Kick my leg up. *My BFF knows what that means.
Sadness from the movie Inside Out.
XOXO
Lesson: Words don’t mean anything without the actions to back it up.
Question: No questions, it’s definitely strike two.
Update: Strike One/Two and I had a conversation. He wanted to be honest with me. Hmmm. On Saturday after flaking on me, he decided to catch a movie “at the last minute.” Late that night, he felt like going to watch a movie. . . . with a woman. Da f*ck? I thought you felt like staying in!?! Why did he feel the need to tell me? What was I supposed to do with that information? Of course, I am seeing other guys. Friday, I met Kramer for dessert! I am the pink Starburst and he is treating me like I’m a yellow. We are not exclusive. Was he trying to make me jealous? Hmmm. DO I feel jealous? Shit. Yes, I do! I have to leave him alone. Damn it!! STRIKE THREE.
Lesson: Just words.
Question: Why do I keep falling for the same okie doke?
Let’s call this one Kramer. Kramer is 6’5. He’s 49. Has one 26 year old son. Has a full time job. Jovial personality. Friday we had our initial meet and greet at City Works in Frisco. The plan was to have dessert. My sweet tooth has been out of this world lately. City Works has a Peanut Butter Snickers Pie that is divine. My mouth is watering just thinking about it. Should I go there this week?
I wasn’t in the mood to meet anyone new. I’ve been feeling blah lately. I was late to the venue. Kramer text saying that he had arrived. I text saying there was traffic but I would be there soon.
I arrived and landed a parking spot right in the front. I text I was walking in the restaurant. I looked around the restaurant and the only Black man was there with someone. Kramer was nowhere to be found. I immediately ordered a Green Tea shot, and a glass of Angry Orchard. A little something to get my nerves together. I went to the restroom to freshen up. He called. This time asking me for the name of the restaurant. He was across the street at the Star taking a million pictures. Funny, that’s something I would do.
He finally arrived. The first thing that I noticed was his height. He’s very tall standing at 6’5. Nice. He had a belly. Not too big, but definitely noticeable. Interesting. He did not post any full body pictures on his Facebook Dating profile so it shocked me a bit. Not sure why it mattered considering I also have a belly. He leaned in to give me a hug. I gave him a side hug while still sitting on the barstool.
We chatted a bit. I ordered the Peanut Butter Snickers Pie that I came for. He ordered a water. No dessert. No drink. Hmmm. We talked about our children, our church home, or lack thereof, and a little about our jobs. He talked about the fact that it was hard for him to find employment so he settled for the job he was offered. Hmmm. I hadn’t really considered the struggle for a degreed Black man to find employment.
Talked a little more. He kept commenting on my looks, my legs, my feet and my body. He said that I am sexy several times. I do love compliments. However, there is a limit. I want a man that appreciates every inch of body… especially my brain. He almost seemed obsessed with my legs and feet. It was weird but I did not say anything. I finished my dessert. The waitress put the tab in the middle of both of us. He picked it up and made a comment stating that I was expensive. Hmmm. I am expensive. I had a shot, a glass of Angry Orchard, and the dessert. The plan was for dessert. He did not order anything. Is money an issue for him?
There was a Beyoncé trivia night at Cafe 214 last Saturday. I heard about the event and immediately text a bunch of friends, bought a table and started to plan an outfit that was Beyoncé worthy.
On the day of the event quite a bit of my friends had other things happen that made them no longer available. Cool. I was still going and going to have a great time.
I arrived late. Checked in. I had an 8 person booth to myself. I stretched out. Picked a team name. DDC. Ordered a tequila sunrise and a watermelon mint hookah. That hookah hit hard. HARDT. Turned the night into a solo date and embraced being with my thoughts and Beyoncé. The only time I remembered that I was alone is when I didn’t know the answer to the trivia question. But I phoned a friend and got the answer.
Enough room for me to stretch out:)
The ladies at the table across from me were hella friendly. The event was an entire vibe. Hookah was potent. Music selections were banging. The Bee Hive was in full effect. I sang my heart out when the question involved Beyoncé’s song, “1+1.”
If I ain’t got nothing, I got you. If I ain’t got something, I don’t give a damn. Cause I got it with you. I don’t know much about algebra, but I know one plus one equals two!
Algebra was the answer. The atmosphere was the perfect balance of chill and hype. Second round started. Hmmm. I have to use the restroom. I should have went to the restroom at intermission. I was playing on my phone instead. Instagram is life. I really need to go to the restroom. They played some of my favorite Beyoncé songs and I sang along. Very loudly. I wanted to wait until the game was over. After two rounds of questions regarding the Queen, “what’s her dad’s name?” and “how many Grammys does she have?” Matthew and I have no idea. They began a round of Urban Trivia. I finally went to the restroom. By this time, it was a full on emergency. I walked briskly towards the women sign. As soon as I opened the door, I saw the line of ladies who also were antsy for a little relief. Uh oh. I thought about pleading my case to skip. I didn’t say anything. Got my spot in line. UH OH. I immediately proceeded to have an accident. Right there standing next to the stall. I felt the leakage rolling down my leg. Fuck!
Yes, I knew I had to use it. Yes, I know holding it is an issue for me. I didn’t want to miss any trivia questions. That shit wasn’t even important. I wasn’t even close to winning. The restroom was next to the speakers so I’m sure I could have heard the questions. In hindsight, I realize this accident was completely avoidable. I have an issue with incontinence. I know this. I’ve had it so long that I cannot remember when it started. 15+ years. I’ve peed in numerous parking lots, on the side of buildings, in the dressing room of Cache in Cortana Mall, and once on the highway where 114 and George Bush intersect. However, These last 2-3 years my issue has become a major challenge. My quality of life has been altered. I now peed on myself in the restroom at Cafe 214.
Luckily, I’m always prepared for these situations. I keep wipes, extra underwear and even a pair of jean shorts in the car at all times. I cleaned myself up in the car. Went back to my seat. By this time the waitress had taken the remnants of my drink and my hookah from the table. She thought I had left. I decided to leave. I felt icky. I was alone. I wanted a shower, a bed and a heavy cry.
I started to cry as soon as I drove out of the parking lot. Sob actually. A real nasty heavy cry. There was also a runny nose. Just nasty. The devil whispered in my ear, “you are alone. You have no one. You have nowhere to go. Nobody to call.” The devil really is a liar. I’ve heard that said countless times. This is the first time he’s lied and I recognized the lie. In truth, I’m the opposite of alone. I have a phenomenal support system of family and friends.
My phone rang. It was my BFF. She knew I had an accident. She wanted to check on me. She has a telepathic sense of when I need her. I told her earlier about my accident and she wanted to make sure that I was feeling okay. I’ve never been alone. That damn devil. Lying and shit. My BFF has come to every single appointment with my neurologist for the last year. She asks the questions that I forget. She takes notes. She also reports the status update to the rest of my support system each time. I have multiple sclerosis. An autoimmune disease. One of the side effects of MS is incontinence. I wasn’t crying because I was alone. Damn devil. I was crying because I have this shit. Multiple Sclerosis. I’m still learning what multiple sclerosis means. I barely know how to spell it. Thanks autocorrect.
I was diagnosed August 2021 when another friend drove me to the emergency room. Stayed all day. Test after test and two MRIs. She was next to me when the cold ass Karen told me that I have it. Multiple Sclerosis. I have multiple sclerosis. Fuck.
Back to last Saturday. Once I remembered the devil is a liar. I wiped the tears from my eyes. I am the furthest thing from alone. The devil knows my weakness. I was invited to a pool party. I have a lot of friendsand associates. I showered. Put on a swimsuit that makes titties TITTY. Uber cute and my favorite colors. Black and white. I got the address and headed to the pool party. I needed a drink and a laugh. I knew both would be there. It was a great night. Hilarious people. Laughs galore. Too much alcohol. I had a half of a red Solo cup of Cabernet. There were these cinnamon rolls that were extremely hard to put down. I even slid down the pool slide. A good fucking time.
I conquered the slide!
I did not let a five minute challenge ruin my entire day. Gold star. Saturday was an event filled day consisting of gun range and Bar Louie with a new male friend. Wink. Beyoncé trivia, pool party and it ended with some excellent sleep. It was a good day.
XOXO
Lesson: Don’t let MS hold you back. Take a shower and go on.
I am Danielle. Danielle Denise Clark. Brown Sugar. DDC. DDCANDTHECITY. A play off Sex and the City. I am DDC and I have adventures in the city.
Note: these are the only names that will answer to. No Dani. No Denise. No D. It actually makes my blood boil to be called D.
Welcome to my world. Come in, get settled, and buckle up for the ride.
I initially created this blog, at the request of my life long BFF, to write about my dating chronicles in detail anonymously. I have had some entertaining experiences. Ask me about Master P.
However, I realize that I am more than my love life. I’m a mother. A daughter. A sister and a friend. A blogger. I love karaoke, afternoon naps, and repeatedly watching the same two tv shows on Netflix. Grace and Frankie and Schitt$ Creek. Self love, personal finance, health and wellness and my birthday celebrations are some of my favorite topics. I am sure there are a few more things that I could add to my about me, but this is just a start.
This blog is to be an outlet for me to share my experiences. A place to house my thoughts and express myself. Would I like it to grow and get monetized? Absolutely. But it isn’t the goal. The goal is to have a place to go to remember adventures at times when my memory fails me.
