2008-01-08 - 8:02 p.m.

Almost two weeks ago, I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis.

There were symptoms last spring; I went in for way too many tests and nothing was conclusive until my last MRI in December. That, alas, was.

I'm actually doing pretty well. The toughest part has been telling people; the Mom Call was probably the worst, and others since have not been nearly so tough. Still, the thing that made it all easier was the call to Mike.

Everyone who has been diagnosed with a progressive, potentially life-threatening disease should have a friend like Mike; he says all the absolute worst things, nothing is so bad after. If it's tactless, he says it; if it's downright awful, there he is, giving a voice to it. It's gotten to the point where when he's about to down yet another foot, you just put the salt directly in front of him for the duration.

While I was trying to cowgirl up to call my mother, Mike called. I knew that I had to tell someone sometime, and rather coldbloodedly decided that Mike was good practice. Among other things, one not only hears completely offensive things from Mike, one can say them with no damage done. He's kind of like the crash-test dummy of conversation.

So I told him. "Mike, the diagnosis is multiple sclerosis."

There was a brief silence. "Gosh, I'm sorry to hear that...you know, the best thing I ever heard was when Warren Zevon was dying of cancer, and he said he'd lived years like Keith Richards, and then 30 years after that, and he like, had two weeks to live!"

"Thanks, Mike, but I've never lived like Keith Richards, I don't have cancer, and I'm not terminal. MS is such a weird disease, I will probably be hammering down the headstone on you," says I, snickering madly. Particularly if you don't lose some weight, I think, those sausage biscuits and gravy are going to kill you long before some disgruntled person with delicate feelings strangles you for your tact impairment.

Don't get me wrong, I love Mike. He really is a lovely person, with all the right impulses and all the wrong short circuits between his brain and his mouth.

And I'm grateful. After that conversation, calling my mother wasn't hard at all.

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