Two Weeks Later
It’s a
strange feeling, this floating between one state and another. Everything appears
to be completely unreal. It’s like I am in a dream state. All these uncertainties
that had been plaguing me for so long have a name now, but it’s just so hard
for me to accept it. I suppose it shouldn’t be all that surprising that I am
not magically accepting of it all right away. It has barely been over two weeks
since my neurologist gave me the news of my diagnosis:
M.S.
It
seems like I have been writing this paragraph, or something like it, for days
now.
M.S.
M.S.
M.S.
It
echoes in my head, you know. It threatens to shake me apart with every
repetition of those two little letters, but I know that I am made of much
stronger stuff than that. Those two letters, though, are so heavy on my
shoulders.
M.S.
M.S.
M.S.
Two
little letters; such a horrible disease. I’ve been through my first treatment
for this particular exacerbation of this illness. My neurologist wanted to stop
the flare-up in its tracks before it got any worse, which it was doing, so she
put me on a lovely five-day infusion of Solumedrol steroids. My last infusion
(for this time anyway) was yesterday.
At the
infusion center, it seemed like everyone was there for her (yes her) M.S.
medications.
M.S.
M.S.
M.S.
On the
one hand, it was heartening to see others who know what it is like to just find
out about the disease. They let me know what while, yes, things change, they
don’t have to change horribly. They didn’t blow smoke up my ass either, which
was refreshing. It isn’t all downhill, which is definitely a Brightside. Life will change with my diagnosis, but how
much will largely be up to me.
M.S.
M.S.
M.S.
Poison
will get periodically pumped into my body to control this disease. I will get
to live with its lasting effects every day without fully knowing everything
that it is going to do to me. All I can hope is that these treatments will make
my life more livable in the future.
M.S.
So many
changes need to be made. Plans that I had, that we had, need to be
re-evaluated. What seemed possible might no longer be so. Facing this set of
facts has been tearing me apart inside. Fear is almost constantly at war with
my resolve to return to some semblance of normalcy. I don’t know if normalcy is
even possible anymore, though the other patients assured me that it is. I am
not even sure what I am capable of doing anymore.
M.S.
M.S.
M.S.
What has
this disease already taken from me?
What
will it take from me in time?
What
can I do to stop it from taking more away from me?
The sad
fact is that there is not much that I can do. All I can do is prepare as best I
can for what will come and weather whatever the Universe chooses to throw at
me. With my family’s help, I will get through this. The path has gotten rocky
and dark, but there are bright points of light and joy ahead. I just have to
look a little harder for them, is all.
10-9-11
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