Lucid Dreaming

by Dean Kramer
August, 2005

I’ve known I have MS since 1984. Within the last five years it has become clear that I am in the secondary-progressive phase of the disease. I no longer have relapses nor do I seem to develop new symptoms. Instead, fluctuating symptoms from earlier attacks are gradually intensifying and becoming more permanent. As time goes by, one way I measure my degree of disability is by comparing my participation in seasonal activities from one year to the next.

“Do your dream,” the expression goes.

From childhood, summer has been my favorite season. I am genetically fortunate (according to my dermatologist). The sun was my friend and I was always tanned. In the summers during my first years at Cripple Creek I could be found basted with Coppertone #8, floating on the pond and browning nicely. Swimming and rowing kept me fit. I spent hours sitting by the water reading and bird watching. One summer I devoted my leisure time to identifying the winged insects that flitted near the pond. I dreamed myself a combination nature- and surfer-girl. Had it been a movie, my life might have been called, “Gidget Dances with Dragonflies.”

For many with MS, hot, sunny days become a draining, energy-sapping experience best avoided. By last summer, unless immersed in the pond I was able to sun bathe for only an hour at most. At the beginning of this summer I became weak and uncoordinated after half an hour of exposure. The dream was devolving into, “Gidget Gets Stuck Indoors”.

Then again, in the early years at Cripple Creek I dreamed of aging into a tanned, weathered, outdoorswoman graciously giving tours of her extensive, beautifully maintained perennial gardens. I’d stride along with a hand-carved walking staff (the only indication of MS). I’d discourse knowledgeably on the history and uses of each of my herbs throughout culture and history. I’d point out rare varieties while modestly accepting the admiration of all and sundry for such labor-intensive cultivation. Cinematically it was a Merchant-Ivory meets Martha Stewart with a nod to Margaret Mead and Vita Sackville-West sort of dream.

Over the years I’ve watched my gardening endurance dwindle from hours to minutes. Now the minutes are dwindling as well. Last year I could work for twenty minutes but this year I was dizzy, weak and staggering after only ten minutes. My dream gardens had become nightmarish vegetal slums populated by squatters, vagrants and pernicious criminal gangs with names like Mile-a-Minute Weed, Fox Grape, and Poison Ivy. The cinematic aesthetic had changed from languidly luxurious to menacing and sordid.

If we don’t let it take us down, MS offers us great scope for change. Perhaps you can’t change the course of the disease, we’re told, but you can always change yourself. I used to mistrust such people. They seemed unreasonably positive. I resented being asked to take the “dis” out of “disability”. When told to look on the bright side I’d snicker, remembering the final scene from Monty Python’s “Life of Brian” with its singing chorus of crucified thieves. But there came a point when I realized that holding onto negative opinions had become a waste of my limited energy. The people who saw the glass as half full were in no better health than I but they were having way more fun while I had been waiting for a remission, promising myself I’d do x, y or z when it came.

There’s a technique recommended by spiritual masters called “lucid dreaming” wherein the dreamer takes control of the dream and determines content and outcome. Realizing a need for lucidity in my own life’s now-impossible dreams and coupling that with a new willingness to make more lemonade, I’ve found this summer one of the best I’ve known.

For gardening, I dreamed up something smaller, choosing the 5 by 10 foot, mostly shaded area close to my front door and its ramp. Already enclosed by a privacy fence, it had a narrow perennial bed. Otherwise it had been ignored for years. This summer I bought some plants, chose a few survivors from the old gardens, nursed a few cuttings from shrubs that grew too far away for me to tend and put them all in that little front garden area. I can get there on foot, or with a walker, and even on my scooter. Twink and I had a small table and chairs out there, and we got a watering hose set up that I can access easily. Despite the shade, I can’t work for very long. But it’s so close to the house that I can pop in and out several times a day. Best of all, I can see it from the door and it cheers me up.

To fulfill my dream of catching rays at the pond with my buddies, I had to lucidly acknowledge that Gidget, no longer bikini material in any way, was going to have to wear a commercially made cooling vest of some sort. My fishing vest with frozen gel packs, though effective for short periods, was ultimately inefficient. Switching from Gidget to Goldilocks I tried Three Vests. The first one was too heavy. I could wear it as long as I didn’t want to stand up. The second one, when soaked as per the instructions, became swollen and left me looking distressingly cetaceous. The third vest is just right! It doesn’t swell when immersed in water for activation. Close fitting, it can be worn under a shirt. It can also be worn with no shirt at all, so I pair it with my bathing suit. With that and a ball cap made of the same material I’ve been swimming and sun bathing as long as I like. The vest was expensive setting me back some financially, but I prefer that to the emotional setback of staying inside while my friends are having fun in the sun.

I’ve written before that we are all heroes; we are all survivors and inventors. We are also dreamers, every one of us. I’ve heard many stories of dreams come true in my time with MSWorld. Some are large, important and inspirational dreams that change the lives of those who hear them. Others, such as my own, are small, sustaining dreams of daily comfort. Dreaming lucidly, (i.e. sanely and with clear understanding, as Webster’s Dictionary has it) we may be shown how to escape the confines of multiple sclerosis by altering the content of our thoughts and the outcome of our lives. Dream on!