The journey that started with a case of vertigo has ending with a most unexpected result - a clinical diagnosis of multiple sclerosis. As there is no history of neurological disease in my family, at least that I am aware of, this was more than a bit of a shock. A diagnosis of breast cancer I would have expected. This, well, not exactly.
The journey from August to October was difficult - emotionally, physically, and spiritually. Physically there were a lot of annoying tests, some of which resulted in some pretty severe residual pain (a week-long migraine on steroids - I recommend avoiding it). Emotionally it was a roller coaster. There was the initial shock that this was even a possibility. Just when I thought I had accepted that, there was another curve/adjustment/curve cycle that left me wrung out and exhausted. I mean we are talking about the nervous system here. The thought that it was slowly unraveling was more than a little unnerving. And spiritually, well, I blogged about that in the past (Mother Teresa and I) so enough said.
This diagnosis has caused me to redefine who I am on all those levels as well. Physically, my definition of "healthy" has changed. Before, I would have called "healthy" as being disease-free. But now "healthy" includes how long it's been since my last flare-up and the amount of damage in my nervous system. Emotionally, I've had to adjust to the changes. No longer am I just mother, wife, sister, daughter, friend, and working professional. I'm also a person with what is, at least right now, a life-long disease condition - something that must be managed every day. Spiritually, I've wondered "why me?" and what I'm supposed to do now. I believe it's Ecclesiastes that says "I can do all things through He who strengthens me"; I believe there is purpose to everything and God will not put a mountain in front of me that I can't climb. But where the purpose is here I just don't know.
Of course the first thing I thought when the neurologist raised this as a possibility was, "What about my kids?" I mean, my kids are young. There are tons of things I want to do with them that are undone - everything from vacations, to dance recitals and soccer games, to graduations and marriages. All I could think of were visions of people like Annette Funicello, wheelchair bound and unable to really do anything. It was rather terrifying. I mean, this is my nervous system, the thing that runs everything else. If the brain don't work, it doesn't really matter how healthy the rest of you is - no electrical impulses and it's all for naught. And speaking of my kids, what does this mean for them? The medical community believes MS has a genetic component, so does that make it hereditary? If so, what are their chances of finding themselves in a neurologist's office some day?
I spent quite a few days reeling, trying to make sense of all this. In the end, there are a few things I can't do physically - get enough rest, eat better, exercise, and, if needed, there are medications. I found out that I didn't have to do this alone emotionally - I have plenty of people around me to listen and help. And spiritually, well, I'm still working on that one. But I'm getting there.
An estimated 1 in 100 people have MS. In a country with approximately 300,000,000 people, that's, well, a lot. The good news is that medical science has come a long way in 20 years. MS isn't what it was - new medications and new treatments mean less interference with daily life and that people with MS have the same life expectancy as "normal" people. I've been fortunate in that I've really never noticed the effects of these flare-ups. The neurologist doesn't believe that the vertigo is related, and all the myriad of tests fail to provide a conclusive diagnosis. I have what is called a "clinical diagnosis" based on a single spot on my cervical spine and a physical examination. I've opted out of medication for the time being, although I will see an MS specialist in January for a second opinion. I get to go about my life as I always have, always watchful for the next "thing" of course. Considering the alternatives - either a more serious disease or injecting myself every day - it's a pretty good situation.
A friend of mine at work who has dealt with health issues his whole life told me how he has dealt with it: I'm luckier than the person they diagnosed yesterday. And ultimately he's right. There are millions of dollars in medical research that yield new advances every day. Who knows what they'll find tomorrow, or next week, or next year. People with MS used to be sentenced to wheelchairs; now they are living ordinary lives. Some day science may find a cure. Anything is possible.
Things like this also have a funny way of snapping things into perspective. You are that much closer to separating the trivial from the important. I've always felt that not living is worse that dying. I started to understand that when my mother died from breast cancer at 54. Now I'm one step closer to understanding that Kenny Chesney is right:
Don't blink, cause just like that
You're six years old and you take a nap,
Then you wake up and you're 25
And your high school sweetheart becomes your wife.
Don't blink, you just might miss
Your babies growing like mine did.
Turning into moms and dads
Next thing you know, your better half
Of 50 years is there in bed,
And you're praying God takes you instead.
Trust me friend, 100 years goes faster than you think.
So don't blink.
No comments:
Post a Comment