I’d been asleep when the call came in.

‘Dr. H wanted to let you know he’s referred you through to see a neurologist as the MRI confirmed there are MS lesions on your brain.’

It took a minute for what I was hearing to register, so I asked her to repeat herself. The news didn’t change in the thirty seconds it took her to repeat herself. She could not tell me more than that, as she didn’t really know more than that. No one could tell me more; I would now be stuck in limbo. AGAIN.

It all started with a headache. Or a series of them and wonky vision. While the wonky vision was not really a new thing, it had gotten worse but that was what had prompted the ophthalmologist to order the MRI on my brain in the first place. And no joke, I was fully expecting the MRI to come back saying my brain was unremarkable. I was making jokes about it to everyone because I was 1000% convinced of it. While I knew it was being done to rule out multiple sclerosis, the last thing I was expecting was for the MRI to show anything.

This was in March. MARCH. It’s July now and still, I wait. Of course, I still do not know much more than I did then. I have met with my family doctor, and I know a little more, and I have met with the doctor who ordered the MRI, and both are surprised I haven’t heard from the neurologist, but that is the way things go. We wait to see specialists. It just is the way. So, in the meantime, what do I do?

Nothing. It’s just another diagnosis. Like the rheumatoid arthritis, the Charcot foot, the issues with my spine, the rotator cuff tear, the depression. They are just words on a page.

Of course, they have an impact on things like how I feel and how I get around, but it doesn’t change who I am. Not fundamentally. I remember each one, how I felt when they came in and the sense of disbelief. The sense of “how the…” and not understanding how or why. Because when you look at it all on paper, sometimes things don’t make sense.

People toss platitudes like God doesn’t give you more than… To someone who is a non-believer, it is well intentioned, but largely, without meaning. Or If you lived better… Which is, frankly, just mean. No one has any idea HOW I live. I may have smoked, drank, and partied my way to fifty and have no regrets, or, I may have lived reasonably, exercised when I could, and ate as well as I could afford. Sometimes, we just get wonky genetics, or sometimes, we just don’t know.

Do I think I’m lucky? Yes! I have a son that is amazing, kind-hearted, and giving. I have friends that are beautiful, supportive and gracious. My husband has stuck with me through every single diagnosis tossed my way. My family (parents, siblings, etc.) have done all that they could to help when and where they could. Took me in, helped at my house, supported my family.

My health isn’t so lucky, but it could always be worse. All my ‘conditions’ can be reasonably managed and while my mobility is impacted and I can only walk very short distances and need a cane for that (and will likely need a wheelchair eventually), I am as sharp as a tack. I remember most things with picture perfect clarity. The details are sometimes a touch hazy to start with, it all floods back in waves of colour, punctuated with stories.

Not all the memories of these events are happy and there are days when I wonder why and how, but I remember that they don’t define me. That they are part of me, like eye colour. I’ve had moments (more than a few) when I question things, but I am fortunate to have a good support network. Those very close to me have heard the rumblings and questions because some days another diagnosis is a hard thing to hear.