Blemished Harvest

Dan Weatherington
Blemished, A Musical Promo



One thing was certain, something was wrong… very wrong. This wasn’t a cold and it wasn’t the flu.
My handwriting had gone from what Sister Mary Catherine used to use as an example of good penmanship to chicken scratch. The jerks I had first felt in my legs had now progressed to no feeling at all below my hips.
I had no idea what the doctor was going to say but I certainly wasn’t ready when his words told me it looked like Multiple Sclerosis. Multiple Sclerosis? What in the hell is Multiple Sclerosis? Is he talking about Jerry’s kids? I’m not a kid. I’m thirty-five years old and a Vice-President of one of America’s largest mortgage banking companies. I can’t have this Multiple Sclerosis stuff… whatever it is. My life is really just starting. Now, is this man telling me it’s about to come to an end? No, no, no, this can’t be happening.
Can it be cured? How? Is he going to give me a pill? Will he give it to me today and this Multiple Sclerosis stuff be gone by tomorrow? Maybe by the end of the week? Or am I going to have to have surgery? What will they cut out? Is it some form of cancer? I’ve never known anyone with Multiple Sclerosis. I’ve heard of it. I think they call it the crippler of young adults. Or is it a terminal disease. I’ve got so many questions. I’m so scared.