Yesterday, I got lost on the beltway again. I had tried to avoid the problem by going to my father's house so that I could follow them to the restaurant (more driving, less thinking), but my step-mother did not want me to come over there. Setting out from my house, I told myself to remain positive, but I missed the correct exit for the third time in visiting this same restaurant. Still trying to control my fear, I encouraged myself that I could just take the next exit as I did the last time. Only, I missed that one, too. I was hurtling down the highway in the midst of rush hour and slowly losing my mind.

With tears streaming down my face and sheer panic setting in, I called my dear friend W. Normally, she is a great person to talk with, but her first response crushed me. She suggested I pull over and ask for directions. On the beltway, that just wasn't going to happen and any exit I took could lead me further into confusion...not to mention the fact that folks up here would likely ignore any request for help from a strange sobbing woman. I just wanted some encouragement and someone to help talk me through what I knew and what I might do.

I quickly hung up with her and cried and prayed.

Then, my phone rang. It was my vet. Really, the woman should get some sort of reward. She listens to all my Kashi, Fancy, and Madison concerns with patience and kindness. She is always positive and encouraging. She regularly calls me to check in on how we are all doing. And she never once has in any way, shape, or form made me feel as if I were not welcome in her presence, in-person or on the phone.

I had called her earlier to see if there were any of Kashi's medicines that I could safely skip for a month or two to save money. She had been in surgery at the time and was returning my call.

I tried. I really tried to keep the fact that I was crying from her. I tried to focus on the original purpose for my call. But I didn't count on her generosity.

She talked with me. She listened to me. She calmed me down. And she agreed that MS is a crappy disease.

So, it was with great irony today that a county police officer asked me for directions.

Kashi and I were walking in Huntley Meadows. The first time I brought the video camera, it was too dark to really record the visit. Today, the second time I brought the video camera, the visit was interrupted by a police training exercise. At a wetland preserve! Who made that decision?

Anyhow, a helicopter flew overhead just as I was filming a great blue heron. I waited for it to pass, but it began circling. I was a bit irritated because the engine noise drowned out the insects humming in the background and my own cheesy commentary. Then, this police officer drove out onto the boardwalk on a motorcycle! I was a bit amazed to see him, but a woman who had joined me in watching the heron told me that when she had arrived, there were a half dozen police cars in the parking lot and she was assured that nothing was wrong.

I tried to enjoy my visit, but both the helicopter and the motorcycle broke through my reverie, and I walked back into the woods to finish my hike. Imagine my surprise when the police officer on the motorcycle returned shortly after entering the woods and asked me if I knew another way out of the park other than the boardwalk. He was lost on the winding, circuitous trails that wend their way through the woods and did not want to navigate the steps of the viewing platform to exit the park via the main portion of the boardwalk. I was able to show him the way back through the woods by drawing in the dirt with a stick.

While walking out of the park myself, I kept thinking about being lost. The truth is that I struggle with navigating the unknown. If I am familiar with where I am or where I am going, then I can drive with confidence. But when I have to make decisions, the hypotheses I posit regarding north or south, right or left, almost always are wrong. And when I go to try another path or make adjustments, I cannot seem to straighten out what it is that I did in the first place and lose my way even further in my attempts to rectify the situation. Confusion reigns, panic ensues, and tears flow. I feel stupid and incompetent and utterly worthless.

I have walked the paths of Huntley Meadows so much that even if I did not carry a visualization of the trail guide around in my head, I still would have been able to help the police officer. I could not, however, tell him how to get to that blasted restaurant.

While weeping on the phone with the vet, I told her that I felt as if I had no business asking for a job when I couldn't even drive to the restaurant. Her very soft reply was to lightly tease me that of course I knew how illogical that was. Communications had nothing to do with being able to successfully navigate to a restaurant!

I wonder though...I wonder.

What hurts the most (to borrow the phrase from Rascal Flatts) is the fact that neither my friends nor my family seem to take my cognitive problems seriously. Most of the time, I get some remark about how he/she forgot something or has been lost before. I know, though. I know how very often I am confused, how I struggle to understand what used to be easy for me. I know. I know, and I am terrified. I am terrified, and I am alone.

Last night, I wept for a long while, struggling with my fears and worries and sorrow. I wept and prayed and fell asleep clutching the bible.

Yesterday, I was lost and needed help. Today, a police officer was lost and asked for help. For that one moment, I was anchored in certainty. I am still savoring that moment.

NOTE: My video of our visit has much footage of moss. Huntley Meadows is rife with it. I have discovered that viewing moss on tape is almost as good as gazing upon it in person. Kashi, however, cares not for the stuff.