This year marks the 10th year since I had my first symptom of Multiple Sclerosis. 10 years of uncertainty, confusion, many highs and lows, new found strength, perseverance, courage, frustration, helplessness, acceptance, and knowledge. What has bothered me the most, is that MS is completely unpredictable, and is different for everyone. Personally, I like to know what is going on at all times. MS has affected my health, some times more than others, and it has stolen one main thing from me. Stability. I crave it on a day to day basis, and there are times where it hits me like a hurricane. It disrupts everything. It has also taught me to value life alot more, as I have seen first hand what MS can do. I have seen what it has done to others. I feel their pain and their fears, even though I don't experience some of what they do. MS affects each individual differently. Different levels of pain, fatigue, sleep problems, depression/anxiety disorders, mobility issues, bladder/bowel problems, paralysis, and in some cases, death. It affects not only the individual with MS, but all of those around them. It instills fear and confusion in others. There are many possible causes for the disease, none have truly been confirmed--but some are definitely sounding possible!
I remember being told that I have a disease. That was the first term used. The second was the "2 words". Multiple Sclerosis. I had done the research, had a gut feeling that MS was what they would tell me. I just kept denying it. I mean, my first symptoms were on my 17th birthday. I got the diagnosis a year later. It was a blow, physically, mentally, and emotionally. I was beyond scared, I was petrified. And confused, shocked, and then started to deny it. I tried to reason with myself and others, thinking that it was wrong. And having to tell my family was the worst thing. I instantly felt like a future uncertain burden. I still feel that way at times, even now, though everyone assures me that I am not. I almost went into a form of mourning, as it truly felt like a part of me had died by hearing those two words.
The relapses continued throughout the years. I went for numerous tests, MRI's, doctor's appointments. Took pills, tried injections. Explained to family, friends, and other aquaintances about MS. People were understanding and supportive, but unsure and confused. If I didn't have my parents around through all of this, I don't know where I would be. They didn't feel sorry for me or throw regular "pity parties". They were loving, supportive, and caring. I remember so many nights curling up in bed with my mom, when the pain and tingling was unbearable. Or sleeping on the couch in the living room, just to be close to them, to be near the comfort. I remember getting excited about having good days. Where the pain was minimal or non-existent. When I wasn't tired or moody. My moods flucuated alot, mostly from pain, lack of sleep and frustration. I would relapse when stressed, when getting sick with something, or when tired. I could usually predict a relapse.
As I look back on these 10 years, I look deep inside myself. I still ask "why" everyday. Why me? Why MS? But I also remember how this has shaped me as a person. It has developed my character, strengthened me, increased my passion for life, raised my faith level, and helped to take time to appreciate the small things in life. Now, my injections cut down the relapses. I still get tired as anything, but it's nothing like it was. My lesions seem to be reducing in intensity, and are not multiplying. And I remain positive, that one day, possible causes could become definite, and preventative measures may even come about.
Having and facing an incurable disease can make or break a person. It has made me more determined and stubborn. I enjoy life alot more, I take better care of my health now, and have more respect for others. And, I haven't done this alone. If it wasn't for my parents, family, friends, Andy and family, and Liam, I wouldn't be as positive, that's for sure.
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It has been 3 years since my grandpa passed away. I miss him more and more everyday, and I truly wish that he would have gotten a chance to meet Liam. He adored kids, and was amazing with them. Gentle, patient and kind--those are only a few out of the many words to describe him. He became my best friend when I was younger. He would spend hours drawing or reading with me, both passions of ours. He had the cutest little mannerisms and quirks, and I miss them all. Gingersnaps and black coffee. The smell of sawdust and Polo cologne. The times when he would grow a beard, just because he wanted to. The fact that he would do anything for anyone, and not want anything in return. Breakfasts at the malls, lunch at McDonalds. He loved his fries. And I don't think I have ever really gotten over him being gone from my life. He was a part of it for so long, and there was so much more that I wanted to share with him. He was such a loving grandfather, father, husband, brother and friend. He was everything. I remember when I was young, he would hold my hand or offer a hug whenever I needed him. Near the end of his life, I remember holding his hand, thinking our roles were reversed. He needed me there, to let him go, to give him peace, but also to comfort and love him. When I read the euology at his service, it gave me peace. I know he was watching and he was proud, like he always was of me. I love him and miss him so incredibly much, more so it seems, everyday.
We lost his brother shortly after. Another blow. They lived next door to each other, and would always sit on their front steps together, watching the world go by. They never said much, but their visits spoke volumes. It hits me the hardest going to Grandma's, seeing both sets of front steps empty, seeing his favorite recliner empty. Expecting to see him sitting at the kitchen table, by the window, working on crosswords or eating crackers. Seeing the basement empty, stripped of everything. I wish I could see him one last time, to tell him how much he is loved, cared about and appreciated. To give him one last hug and smile. To hold his hand and to never let go...To not let him leave us when he did, to give us more time...
We lost his brother shortly after. Another blow. They lived next door to each other, and would always sit on their front steps together, watching the world go by. They never said much, but their visits spoke volumes. It hits me the hardest going to Grandma's, seeing both sets of front steps empty, seeing his favorite recliner empty. Expecting to see him sitting at the kitchen table, by the window, working on crosswords or eating crackers. Seeing the basement empty, stripped of everything. I wish I could see him one last time, to tell him how much he is loved, cared about and appreciated. To give him one last hug and smile. To hold his hand and to never let go...To not let him leave us when he did, to give us more time...
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The past definitely shapes our present and future. Memories have been made, enjoyed and cherised. Smiles have been had, tears have been shed. My face right now is proof of that. Writing this has torn me apart and brought me down, but also has given me comfort and solace. I know that everything is still okay. And I shall move forward again...until next time I look back...
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