A yearly goodbye

I went to buy a bottle of bubbly for tonight and, while paying, was asked what my resolutions for 2013 are.  I stood there, silent and stunned.  A million thoughts ran through my head.  I could have had an hour long conversation with this man - pouring out every last thought and detail - right from the bottom of my soul.  Everything that has happened in 2012, and why I will be so glad to see it gone.  Instead, I told him I try not to make resolutions.  They turn life into something "achievable" rather than something to enjoy.

That being said - 2012 was a very difficult year for me.  It has brought a multitude of huge changes in my life.  Changes that will never go away.  Changes that have been excruciating and confusing to accept.  I don't anticipate that the dawn of a new year will make those emotions disappear.  It is impossible for them to simply vanish.

But 2013 will bring a new start.  It will not be the year I got diagnosed.  It will not be the year my concept of me got flipped on its axis. 

So, tonight, with my bubbly, rather than welcome 2013 with a list of resolutions, I will excitedly, yet probably with tears, say goodbye to 2012.   My hope for 2013 is one of health and happiness.

Something beautiful

The lure of a tattoo has been with me for a while:  Creating meaningful permanence.  Reclaiming some of the control I have lost from my body. 

I wanted something with personal importance.  And I wanted something that would signify a certain moment in my life.

What better time than now...

I decided on a small feather with a tangled, flawed area.  I wanted something that symbolizes freedom and strength, yet more importantly, something to act as a reminder that despite this terrifying disease, my life can be beautiful and awe-inspiring.  Imperfections included.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays.  Enjoy the beauty in life.  And embrace your imperfections.

 

 





The diagnosis continuum

Today I saw my neurologist.  We discussed my first 2 months on medication, the side-effects, my small relapse, and then, my MRI results.

The pessimistic realist in me expected the results to be bad - I assumed it would be an abnormal MRI.  There would be lesions.

Yet, although expected, there was still so much emotional sadness and surprise when he told me my spinal cord is now affected as well. 

I have one transverse lesion at C4 (cervical vertebrae 4).  This means it occupies almost the entire horizontal space at that level of my spinal cord.  There are usually fewer lesions in the spinal cord than the brain - for physical-space and anatomical reasons.   So, the fact that I have more than twelve in my brain and just the one on my spinal cord does not matter.  My entire central nervous system is officially affected by this horrifyingly scary disease.

I feel invaded.  Occupied.

And perhaps, more-so right this moment, sad.  I don't know why - the MS is not new.  And the diagnosis is not new.  But knowing that this disease is now all-encompassing in my body makes it that much more daunting.  That much more overwhelming.

And so, we continue.  Blood tests every 4 weeks; Neurologist appointment and MRI every 6 months.

I gotta breathe this all in for a while...