MS is a total kleptomaniac. It indiscriminately steals from you until you don’t know how to be ‘you’ anymore. You can’t be ‘you’. Like Theon/Reek said to Sansa this week, Ramsey cut away parts of him until there was no Theon left anymore. So maybe I’m going to refer to my MS as my very own Ramsay Bolton. Or, on reflection, perhaps not.I’ll leave the GoT references behind now.
Relapse #4 was a long and bewildering one. As I said in my previous post, I remember it, or at least the first bit of it, in snapshots. Still images. Vines if you want.
Picture my MS nurse (K, she’s great) putting her arm round me as I weep, explaining that we’ll try another course of steroids, but this time given via IV. There is one more treatment, but she’s only used it for one patient before, and that’s in over ten years.
D and I have driven to my Mum and Dad’s house, as we struggle up the driveway I fall, I hear my Mum say my Dad’s name in a pleading voice. He dashes outside. Scoops me up and carries me into the house.
D and I move into my parents’ house. Just so I can be looked after while he’s at work.
I’m in a wheelchair. Mum’s assured me that it’s just for hire. A couple of weeks. That’s all.
The steroids are kicking in, I’m sure. I go to the bathroom, and grab on to the wall, the sink, as I make my way around. I fall but it’s funny. I’m getting better! I’m going home for the weekend!
There’s a kind of whooshing noise in my head. Like standing beside a motorway. That night, in my own bed, it seems to be receding. Yes! I think. I’m getting better! In the morning, it’s still there. And getting dressed is so difficult. I hardly stop crying. We go back to my parents.
It’s important to say, I think, at this point, that I understand how lucky I am to have such an incredible network of support. I know that a lot of people are not so fortunate. I have a fantastic GP who totally lets me guide her on stuff related to my condition; not one but two excellent MS nurses who I can contact at any time, and they always call back – even visit me at home if necessary; a beautiful and kind husband who I love more than anything; a fabulous, strong and kind brother – I haven’t mentioned him too much so far, but he was so great during this period of awfulness; my Dad who deserves more praise than I think YOU could stand right now; and lastly, most importantly, my Mum – as her best friend D has said, if you’re ill, you want her in your corner, she’s got her own business so she worked from home and spent every moment of relapse #4 with me – passing me over to D on evenings and weekends! – but without my Mum, it would’ve been a thousand times worse than it was. And it was quite seriously bad even with all of that support there for me.
Oh, and it got worse.
Thanks for staying with me. That was all a bit much, I know.
I always like to leave you with something nice, I’m going to go with a picture of the cat.