Aching for a sympathetic listener

We go to dinner at a friend's house and as we are served wine, cheese, gossip, and conversation, I notice some guests giving me strange looks.

I know why. I keep crossing and uncrossing my legs, shifting my rump in the chair, stretching out a leg, often discovering one foot has started a rapid tapping, and that both feet are playing machine gun. We start dinner with my legs hidden under the table, but then dinner stretches to dessert and on to the long after-dinner conversations I love so much.

Suddenly, I leap up, walk back and forth, saying, "Go on." I may stretch my legs leaning against a wall or chair back. People are polite and try not to stare. They fail, and I blurt "restless legs."

They nod as if they understand, but they don't. I have an unpopular disease, Restless Legs Syndrome. Sometimes a guest will say, "My grandfather had that." Or my grandaunt or grandmother-in-law, someone they know, but they are only mildly sympathetic. My legs are not impressed.

And I can't blame my family or friends for lack of sympathy. No one, as far as I know, ever died of restless legs. It's not a popular or dramatic disease. There is such a thing but the causes are unknown and the many treatments are rarely effective. I even went to a pharmacist in Sweden -- standing the entire flight -- who supposedly had a cure. I bought it but it did not cure me.

There are many of those nonfatal ailments that frustrate. Those who do not suffer don't realize how much the condition limits and affects the lifestyle of those who suffer.

The first problem is insomnia. The only relief that helps requires you to move your legs when you sleep. One sleep test revealed I average 75 leg movements an hour. Many times these movements are strong spinal snaps that are painful.

I was a person who prided myself on being able to sleep anywhere, even under shell fire. Not anymore. One particular morning, after an hour or so of the too-familiar dance, I got up at 1, dressed, and tried to write. Finally, I fell asleep in a recliner a few hours later. Did I feel rested and revived? No.

If I go to a movie I often stand at the back of the theater. I can read about two pages and then have to pace around the house or stretch my legs. Writing this column, I've walked around my office after almost every sentence. My car trips are marked by frequent staggering walks around the car.

Am I whimpering? Sure. At 79, I deserve a good whimper once in a while. When your friends complain of aches and itches that are not dramatic and require no lifesaving treatment, listen to what they have to say and express sympathy, even if they jump up and pace back and forth during the conversation.