Do you remember what you were doing on March 15, 2002? I can’t forget. It started in a neurologist’s waiting room, where I was holding an envelope with my MRI scans. I couldn’t help but peek, and that’s when I saw the technician’s report. When the doctor called me into his office, I told him that I’d read the report.
Doctor: What did it say?
Me: He says I have multiple sclerosis.
Doctor: You do.
My first feeling? Relief. At my previous appointment, my doctor said the most likely causes for my symptoms were lymphoma, a tumor, or multiple sclerosis. After hearing that, my husband and I were practically begging for MS. It didn’t have an expiration date, no limit. Sure, it meant living with a chronic disease, but the key word was living.
I was also relieved to know. Instead of chasing symptoms like crazy for years, needing a correct diagnosis, I knew the name of my nemesis. It’s a lot easier to fight when you know what you’re fighting. At least, you know where to start. For me, it was joining the National Multiple Sclerosis Society and signing up for the MS Walk. I wanted to walk since I knew that there were many with the disease who couldn’t walk for themselves. I wanted to do what I was capable of doing.
Fourteen years later, I need other people to walk in the MS Walk for me. I’m an off-and-on blogger (with a goal of being more on than off). I check out webinars and other learning opportunities. I’m re-reading The Happiness Advantage, the book from the Everyday Matters course. (Quick plug: If you have a chance to take the Everyday Matters course through your local chapter, do it. Or just read the book on your own.) I call myself The Human Pharmacy because of all the pills I take. I also have two amazing boys, who are my proof that pregnancy and parenting with MS are well worth the effort.
But every year, I can’t help but laugh sarcastically when the anniversary of my diagnosis comes around. In Julius Caesar, Shakespeare said to beware the ides of March. I may not be a Roman monarch, but I can’t help but think about it every year. Only instead of saying beware, I tell myself, the ides of March is a bitch.
