Six months ago today I was in a hospital bed.
My legs were these feeble, foreign-feeling abstractions of flesh and bone not living up to their purpose. Just work, dammit! I pleaded to them over and over and over.
My head was swimming from a cocktail of steroids and pain medicine.
My life had been upended.
MRIs, CT scans, a spinal tap. Pursing of lips. Furrowed brows.
Multiple sclerosis was the preliminary diagnosis.
Fear. So much fear.
I’ve had six months to process this hellishness.
Is the grieving over?
I’m still scared. And a little angry. And overwhelmingly sad. And terrified of shots.
But I’m walking. And doing most everything I was doing before MS, with some modifications. The treatment is working, and I haven’t had an exacerbation since the one that began October and lasted the rest of 2010.
My biggest battles are with fatigue, balance, emotions, weakness and numbness.
Still, I can’t shake the nagging thought that I will regress.
But if these 180 days have taught me anything, it’s that I am strong enough to withstand the daily buffets of life with multiple sclerosis.
So onward I will stumble.