It's Official!

Missed the first parts of the story? Start at So it begins...

May 28, 2008. A day that will live in my personal infamy. I went to the neurologist with GH. By this date (remember, this all started on May 9, 2008), I had regained a great deal of my functionality on my left side and the vertigo was gone. I felt well, although apprehensive about this appointment. I was also excited, because GH and I were leaving the next day to go to New York City on vacation to celebrate our tenth wedding anniversary. We financed the trip by colloecting from all those who bet we wouldn't last ten years. ;)

The doctor enters the examination room, introduces himself and then asks me, "What did your doctor tell you?" I repeated exactly what the nurse had said, that the MRI was indicative of multiple sclerosis. He affirmed that this was correct and proceeded to show me the MRI photos. The lesions were lighting up like a Christmas tree. Even my untrained and defective eyes could see this. Speaking of my interesting eyes, the neuro was totally fascinated by my eyes. I guess it's not often doctors get to see someone like me. I mean, I think my optic nerves have appeared in medical textbooks. Shouldn't I get some royalties for that?

Anyway, I was put through a battery of neurological coordination tests. The results were not nearly as horrid as the one in the urgent care facility, but there were still deficiencies on my left side. The doctor was also concerned about my left eye (that's the REALLY bad one). He thought the pupil was not as reactive as it should be. This concerned me quite a bit, so I made a mental note to make an appointment with an ophthomologist when I returned from NYC. That is one thing I do not mess around with or procrastinate about. Although optic nerve hypoplasia is not a degenerative condition, I always am very proactive about my eye care. That was the most upsetting part of the appointment.

The rest of it was just discussing disease-modifying treatment and any questions I had. The doctor suggested Copaxone, and since my mother had been on that medication for about seven years without a relapse, I wholeheartedly agreed. He assured me that they would make the arrangements and I would start after I returned from the trip.

There was a humorous moment during the appointment. The neuro was very positive in assuring me that I could still have children. He was all, "You're still young enough; MS will not keep you from having a baby." I was cracking up, because GH and I had decided early in our marriage that we were not going to have kids. I was trying to explain this to him, but he didn't get it at first. So I had to break it down. "Listen, GH is 23 years older than me. He has three grown kids and two grandchildren. We would have to go to extraordinary measure like IVF to conceive and we did not want to go that route." Then he backed off. I mean, I thought it was nice that he was concerned, but enough already!

So, there it was. I had my official diagnosis. Wow. Actually, I should say we had our diagnosis, because GH was there every step of the way, even knowing my greatest fears before I articulated them.

Of course, we had an obligation that night. GH was in rehearsal for The Chosen and I was stage manager. Before we went to rehearsal, we shed some tears in the car. Then during rehearsal, the guy who was best man in our wedding (who was also in the show) had this scene that is just heartbreaking to see. I just wept throughout that whole scene. It was very cathartic for me.

We went home afterward, packed the last bit of luggage, went to bed and prepared for our trip.

Tune in next time for Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da...

The Dreaded Phone Call

Missed the first parts of the story? Go to So it begins...

After the MRI, I tried to put it out of my mind. I went back to work for half-days, because that was about all I could sit up for an extended period of time. So, on Thursday, May 22, 2008, I was hanging out at my father-in-law's duplex, resting after my half-day of work. He lives in what's known as midtown, which is closer to my office than going all the way home in the suburbs.

I guess I should explain. I don't drive. I learned how to drive in the event of an extreme emergnecy, but I do not have a driver's license. I am, shall we say, visually challenged. I have a condition known as optic nerve hypoplasia (ONH), which means my optic nerves are only a half to a thrid the size of normal optic nerves. Like MS, no one knows what causes it. I have had this condition since birth, so I have no idea what "normal" vision is like. I can do nearly anything except drive and read an old-fashioned thermometer. Anyway, I digress.

While I was resting at FIL's, I received a call on my cell phone. I went outside to take the call. The nurse from my family doctor's office said, "Mrs. F, I have your MRI results. The test is indicative of multiple sclerosis." She said it in a very matter-of-fact tone, without apology. Believe it or not, I was glad she didn't say, "I'm sorry." I thanked her for letting me know and hung up. While outside, I decided I needed a cigarette (wouldn't you, even if you don't smoke?) and absorb the news. I wasn't freaked out, surprisingly. I think, somewhere in my conscious or subconscious, I knew MS was a possibility.

I went back inside and waited for GH (Goat-Hub) to pick me up. I think I called to see when he would be there. I could have sworn I said, "I heard from the doctor's office." Anyway, when he got there, he exchanged news of the day with his dad and then we went home. I had another performance of Midsummer Night's Dream that night. As we were driving home, GH kept talking on and on about inane things that occurred during his work day. I had no idea what he was saying, he could have been speaking in Russian for all I knew.

At some point, I said, "Honey, did you hear me say when I called you that I heard from the doctor's office?" He said, "No! I didn't hear you say that! What did they say?!" So I repeated what the nurse had said. He was like, "Well, we knew that was a possibility." To which I replied, "At least it's not a brain tumor, right? This is something that is manageable. This will not kill me. OK, let's not tell anyone except family until I see the neurologist, OK?" He agreed.

We got home, greeted the fuzz muffins (Janis Joplin F, a.k.a. JJ and Johnny Cash F, a.k.a. Cash; yes, we name our dogs after dead singers) and I called my mom with instructions to keep it quiet for now. Then I started to put on my makeup for the show. Although I still couldn't use my left hand, I could still apply stage makeup with my right.

I went to the theater, going through the routine of getting ready. I'm sure I was more quiet than usual, but I bet everyone attributed it to me not feeling well. I did what I was supposed to do and went home immediately after the show. During the times I had some quiet space around me during that performance, all I could hear in my head was, "MS, MS, MS, MS...The MRI is indicative of multiple sclerosis." It was like a broken record playing over and over and over.

This was right before Memorial Day weekend, of course. Why can't I ever have a medical problem during regular business hours? My mission for Tuesday when I returned to work was to call the neurologist's office and see if they could schedule me any earlier than July. I told the receptionist about my MRI results and that I would really like to get an official diagnosis as soon as possible. She said she would let me know if anything became available. She called back later that afternoon to tell me that an appointment became open for the next day. I said, "Great! I leave for New York the following morning, so this fits perfectly."

Tune in next time for It's Official (and Happy Anniversary, by the way)!

The MRI of DOOM

Go to the start of my story: So it begins

Don't think I'm a pessimist due to the title of this post. I stole it from the House recaps at Television Without Pity. Bad stuff ALWAYS happens on House when the Patient of the Week has an MRI.

I went to the second MRI of my life on May 19, 2008. I had the first one in 2002 when I was experiencing numbness and tingling in my right arm. That MRI showed no abnormalities. I still felt pretty crappy, but the vertigo had subsided somewhat and I was no longer nauseated.

I arrived at the hospital and did all of the registration stuff. Once I was lying on the table/slide before entering the MRI of DOOM, the tech asked what music I would like to hear. I wasn't aware that they now offered CDs. Being the music lover I am, I asked for some Aretha Franklin. Of course, they didn't have that. So I blanked out and just said the first thing that came to mind, "OK, got any Beatles?" They did! So I slid into the tube and assumed the most comfortable position for lying motionless. Then the most effed up versions of Beatles songs began to play. I assumed they put on some compilation CD that had unreleased studio recordings or some such. Dudes, I have never taken acid in my life, but after the experience of listening to that weird stuff while in the MRI of DOOM, I think I have vicariously. That was messed up!

When I expected the nice technician to say that I was done, she fooled me. She said, "We're going to bring you out and inject some contrast dye." Uh-oh. That doesn't sound good. I start freaking out a little inside my head; this was around the same time that Ted Kennedy was diagnosed with a brain tumor. OMG, OMG, OMG! Long story short, I got shot up with contrast dye and endured another round of pictures with the bizarre Beatles music in my ears.

When it was all over, I had to just sit for awhile before my head felt like I could walk again. You don't realize how dizzy you can get from lying flat and motionless for a long time. Anyway, I finally left and found GH (the Goat-Hub) and related the experience to him. We made jokes and went along our merry way, awaiting the results.

Next, The Dreaded Phone Call