Up until I was 35, I had no history of sicknesses (for me, the worst I would get would be a cold or the flu, but was always over it within a short period of time).  Then at 35, I started having puzzling symptoms that truly frightened me:  dizziness, blurred vision, unsteadiness whenever I would try to walk, painful spasms in my legs, hips, and arms, and numbness.  I got scared, so I went to my doctor, who immediately popped me into the hospital for tests.  He figured something neurological was going on, he told me.

Some of the tests were quite painful, not to mention, very scary.  I had no idea what was going on with my body, but all sorts of bad thoughts kept coarsing through my brain.  Did I have a brain tumor?  Meningitis?  Inoperable  cancer?  Lou Gehrig's disease?  What?? What exactly was going on with my body??

The doctor told me a few days later, after the results came back, that I had multiple sclerosis, or MS.  He explained the disease in terms I could understand, but it still sounded scary.  My life as I knew it suddenly came to a screeching halt.  I would have to depend on others whenever the symptoms flared up.  I would probably have to use a wheelchair on my worst days or perhaps walk with the aid of a walker, crutches, or a cane.  I would have problems with my vision or spasms from time to time.  The severity of the symptoms would come and go.  

My disease was serious, but he reassured me that I did not have the kind that kills.  While that was good news in itself, the mere fact that I now had issues with my health truly saddened me.  I would have to probably give up the job I loved (I worked as a nurse at a local hospital, the very hospital I was in from when I had my tests and got the diagnosis of MS) and have other people assist me whenever my body would betray me.

From a vibrant, active woman, I turned into a victim who needed help.  I became very depressed.  For a time, I wanted nothing to do with anything or anybody; I wanted nothing more than to curl up and die.

~To be continued.~