I’ve always liked bowties. Bowties can look dapper, sleek, hipster, or just plain silly. I prefer silly. I picked my neurologist based almost entirely on the fact that he wore a bowtie. He had an “emergency bowtie” on his book shelf. I thought this was weird… in a good way. I was pretty sure he, like, knew things, too.
I think his bowtie had a sperm design on it. I’m really not sure because I couldn’t ask him. You can’t just ask someone if their tie has multicolored sperm on it. That could go one of two ways:
Me: Yes, I’m paying attention, areas of inflammation, etc. Quickly, though, DOES your bowtie have a sperm design on it…Dr. Brainy: Um… no? These are just squiggly lines with pointy oval shapes on one end.Me: Okay, sorry, but it looks like you have multicolored sperm on your tie.Dr. Brainy: Oh. Sad. 😦 I’ll probably hate you forever now.orMe: ….does your bowtie have a sperm design on it?Dr. Brainy: It does!Me: Okay, yes, carry on.
I spent the majority of that appointment staring at his neck like a serial killer.
I guess I should explain the neurology thing: I have malfunctioned.
On November 23rd, while I was watching Doctor Who and his bowtie save the universe with my friends, I suddenly smudged my glasses. I couldn’t get the smudge to go away, even though I’d cleaned them. When I got home, I went to change into my contacts to find that I hadn’t smudged my glasses at all.
The entirety of the central vision in my left eye was gone. In it’s place was a fuzzy, grayed-out almost-circle, like when someone takes a picture with a bright flash and there is a spot where you cannot see. I completely panicked, as you do when you suddenly go partially blind. I can’t see. (Insert alarm bell noises here.) BAD. VERY BAD.
And so began the two weeks of my life that I existed in a near constant state of fight or flight. That night, I chose flight. I decided that it would go away and went to a party. I stand by that decision. It didn’t go away.
Since then, I’ve chosen fight. Two MRIs, four doctors, five botched spinal tap attempts (and one blood patch,) twenty seven needles, and five thousand milliliters of steroids later, I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. Essentially, what that means is that my immune system has gone rogue and occasionally attacks things it should really not attack. Asshole. In my case, it appears to be rather fond of my optic nerve (which has since been kind enough to stop being inflamed, allowing my vision to return to normal.)
I debated writing this post for a long time. I have this really intense fear of people thinking I’m playing the sympathy card for attention, of being defined by it in the eyes of others, or of making people upset. Really, I would prefer if everyone would just NOT act like anything because I have to live another sixty years with this. I can go to work, I can get married, I can have babies, I just might sometimes have a little trouble seeing out of one of my eyes (or some other symptom but we’ll cross that bridge when and if we come to it.)
I allowed myself a one day pity party. Clearly, the list of things I wound up stressing about did not include actually having an autoimmune disorder. I didn’t even make it through the day. Feeling sorry for myself was so incredibly boring. Plus, I was on steroids and much more interested in yelling at everyone. Roid rage is real.
The way I see it, things can always be worse, way worse. I don’t see being diagnosed with M.S. as some terrible, horrible, no good, very bad thing that’s happened to me. Now I know. I know why I get tired easily. I know that if I ever lose my sight again, I don’t need to be scared. I will have medicine that tells my immune system to calm the hell down. And at the end of the day, I know that I’m going to be okay. So many people don’t have that security.
This is probably the last post I’ll write explicitly about M.S., for the reasons I state above. But now, perhaps my life and attitude towards it may make a little more sense — even if it was just a post for me to gather my thoughts and make a little more sense to myself.
My Pop always said “Live the shit out of life.” That’s the plan. I always liked adventures and bowties anyway.
P.S. Going to see Dr. Brainy now. PLEASE PRAY FOR MORE SPERM TIE.