This week is MS Awareness week.
I learned of this from the same place we learn many things in 2018: social media. On Facebook, I was given the option of framing my profile picture with an orange theme and the words "This is MS". As someone who lives with this disease, I decided that this was a simple way I could give the people in my life a reminder of what my family and I, along with millions of others live with every day. When I went to do it, I realized that my profile picture was one of my two sons taken during a trip down to the Naval Academy last fall. I immediately stopped what I was doing because I thought to myself "THIS is not MS. My sons don't have it, I do." This may sound obvious, but I just didn't feel like it was an appropriate picture to post as to what MS "is".
Then I thought about it.
I realized that much like almost everything in my life, this disease wasn't just about me. I reframed the dilemma in my head and realized that there are many things that I could identify and say "This is MS."
My sons are two of them. My two lovely boys can both exacerbate and heal my illness. The demands of being a father to two young boys most certainly wears me down and leaves me short of both energy and patience, both amongst the most prominent of my symptoms. However, it's the same boys who I can watch during quiet moments and be amazed by the love I have for both of them. This love is a driving force in keeping me positive during the toughest times, reminding me that I have so much to live for as I watch these boys grow every day.
My wife is MS. I wrote last spring about the support she has given me every day since we started this journey and she continues to do so every day. I couldn't do anything without her.
My cane is MS. I'm fortunate that I haven't had to use it for over a year, but the can I acquired during my very first occurrence in December 2015 is always lurking around the corner. It provides a reminder and a sense of humility any time I think I can skip riding my bike or taking my vitamins and supplements.
My treatment is MS. I often think to myself that the only time I truly feel "sick" is when I go for my treatment. Checking in at the front desk, getting weighed, being questioned about my symptoms and then poked with a needle are all a part of a monthly ritual that makes me take pause on the maintenance that I have to keep up with in order to remain healthy. I am blessed to have received my diagnosis when I did, as we live in a time where the medicine and treatment of the disease are well researched and effective. At both treatment and appointments with my neurologist, I see people who are confined to wheelchairs and haven't had the same fortunate turns that I've had through the uncertainty of MS. I feel tremendous empathy for those people because I've had moments in the past two years where I wasn't too far from being in a wheelchair myself. My doctors, my treatment and the work of the National MS Society continue the progress made over the years to help us live as normal of a life as possible.
Finally, I am MS. It's been 27 months since my left leg went numb and my life changed forever. I've had dozens of MRIs, a spinal tap, steroid and blood spinning treatments, monthly infusions and more exercise that I had most of the previous 30 years of my life.
So here I am. My left leg and foot are still numb, I wake up feeling hungover without having touched a drink the night before and the bathroom is still an adventure. But you know what? I'm doing pretty damn good. I'm one of 400,000 people in the US and over 2 million worldwide who fight this fight every day. I continue to grow and learn from all the people in my life as I try to be a better person every day. I never know whats waiting for me in the future but I know that whatever it is, I'm ready for it.
On April 15th, my family and I will be participating at Walk MS-New York City. Any donations to our fundraising page can help the MS Society continue to do the research needed to fight this disease. Thank you for your support!
