What a difference a few years makes

It's amazing to me how much my life is different that I thought it would be three years ago.  Working full time in a job I'm not super thrilled with basically because its not in my chosen field and I would like more of a mental challenge. Married but still adjusting to the rhythm of married life, including helping the hubby learn to cook. Willingly giving up driving in favor of public transit, carpooling, and a lower stress level. These are all aspects of life that are relatively benign. Had someone told me that I'd be getting daily injections and poking myself in the eye with contacts, I'd probably think you were crazy.

I've come to grip with the fact that I was most definately depressed for the majority of last year, from the time of my diagnosis with multiple sclerosis until about this past fall. What was supposed to be one of the happiest times in our lives (our first year of marriage) had me in tears at least twice a week and sometimes more. I've been told that it is a perfectly natural reaction to a life altering diagnosis of a chronic progressive malady, but that doesn't make it feel any better. I was 24 with the energy level of a 40-50 year old. My poor newlywed husband had to put up with a new bride that was a basket case who didn't want to be touched unless it was held while crying; he has been wonderful through all of it, by the way.

Basically all I have done lately is snooze in the couch...

By the time last fall came around, I think I had had enough moping, and decided that the following spring we'd step out into the MS community by forming a team for the Seattle Walk MS. Our team, A&B's Happy Hoppers, a nod the our beloved pet rabbit Pico, became the focus of my attention through the gray winter month, and gave me a sense of purpose about the diagnosis. When this whole thing began I was in the process of trying to apply to graduate school for public health to become a patient advocate. Now I have to learn to advocate for myself instead, which, I suppose in the end will make me a better advocate for other chronically ill people. 

The strange thing is, I've been lucky so far and had one real "flare" of symptoms, which is what led to the diagnosis. I've only just begun to scratch the surface of what such a diagnosis can mean. I was at my neurologist this afternoon for a routine check up and she mentioned that they don't hear much from me, which is good.  I'm at the very beginning of what will be a life long journey and where has it gotten me so far? Itchy. Very itchy. And bruised, self conscious, a bit of a hypchondriac, but otherwise ok.