It's our anniversary. I sit next to my beloved husband of 31 years. The waiter has taken our plates away, and we are listening to the band playing the same (now Classic) Rock we danced to when we were dating. We tap our toes to the music as we wait for a slow dance to come up.

But, the memory of us out on the floor dancing to all the tunes, and watching my husband really get into the rhythm of the music is a knife in my heart. I remember him pushing his long hair off his sweaty face as we made our way back to our seats during the breaks, and me laughing because he would always say the same thing: band breaks should be outlawed. He hated to stop the dancing, even to rest a bit and grab a quick drink, because he loved to tear up the floor that much.

Those days are gone. He still looks the same (except his golden hair is only down to his collar instead of halfway down his back), and he is still trim and fit. It's me who can't go out there-except for a sedate slow dance. Bah-dah bah-dah boom-shaka- boom. Our feet are tapping. Shall we dance to this inviting beat? No. No more. MS has stolen that part of my life away. It's not easy to gyrate and jump with a cane in my hand. My darling insists he doesn't mind sitting it out, but that's small comfort. I know better. I tell him I'll invite other women to join him out there, but he just says 'no'. He kisses me and says it's no fun without me. It's a toss-up which of us loves the other more.

I always tell a sympathetic Dr. Sahgal that in my fight against the disease I try to ignore my MS as much as I can, but not tonight.

Tonight, the MS won a round.