The Day I was Diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis

One doesn't normally associate disease with humor. But when I created this page, I chose the tags "health" and "humor", almost automatically. You see, for me, I find humor in just about anything. I suppose it is a sort of unique coping mechanism to unexpectedly bad news or disappointments, but it sure beats dwelling on the negative.

So, here is my story. I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis in 2002. I will skip the details of my life prior to that day, with the exception of stating that I had a good job, wonderful family, and was essentially living the "American Dream". I started to notice that things weren't feeling so perfect..small signs at first, like numbness and tingling in my leg. I wrote it off to stress. Then after awhile, larger signs like not being able to walk. Now THAT, my friends, will get your attention no matter who you are!

Suddenly I'm sitting in a neurologists office, looking at my husband's terrified face as he, no doubt, stared back at my equally terrified face. I will conceed that the day is a bit of a strange blur. I was hunkered down for the very worst news, like a brain tumor or something equally awful, and when the neuro finally appeared everything slowed down and I noticed every second as if it were a minute.  Guess I wasn't having much fun.

My neurologist, who, on a completely unrelated side note, happened to be a stunningly gorgeous man, almost distractingly so as if HE could never give bad news!  (but that is another story altogether). I distincly remember he casually put my MRI test results before me and said "Cindy, you have MS".

Now, I suspect the average reaction to news of this sort is perhaps bursting into tears or at least some form of sadness, right? Well, I did say average reaction. I am not average, though I really wanted to be at that very moment. I'm a bit neurotic, so my reaction was to start laughing with relief. The doctor, and my husband Jeff, both looked at me as if I belonged in an entirely different kind of office (or institution). The looks on their faces made me laugh even more, and I was sort of shaking, laughing, and trying to explain myself  at the same time. It all came out as a garbled, wet mess that nobody could possibly understand. And of course, that made it all the more funny to me at the time. Crazy? Perhaps.

Now, the reasoning behind my reaction. After all, I was a smart and successful computer project manager - I couldn't have "gone round the bend", could I have? Again, another story. I finally pulled it together enough to blurt out that I was just relieved to hear that it wasn't life-ending, and that I wasn't going to die. MS seemed a piece of cake, right? Just a few injections and good as new. Boy, WAS I IN DENIAL!

The doctor managed to smile a really fake "I understand, this happens all the time" kind of smile, and patted me on the back as he handed me all the paperwork that would now define my life for next decade at the very least. He told me I had a nice "positive attitude" (I think he meant starck raving lunatic) and he escourted us out the door and told me to schedule my injection training.  So casual/everyday for him, so life-changing for us.  Nobody said life was fair.

The point of this piece (you mean there's a point?!?) is to admit to a strange and somewhat embarrassing reaction to bad news. This made me realize that almost all of us grieve differently, and that there absolutely is not correct way to "handle" a bad situation. I learned about myself more in that instant than I had in the previous decade. I knew, somehow, that I would be okay and that I would recover and still incorporate laughter into my life, no matter what the circumstances be.

For the record, I have a new neurologist, but I kept my husband. :-)