Choice

Choice

Choice (noun)
an act of selecting or making a decision when faced with two or more possibilities

Today is the 9th anniversary of starting on treatment for multiple sclerosis. This amounts to about 486 injections, minus illness, birthday week, and travel. Sometimes it feels like it’s been forever, since I no longer really remember a time when I didn’t feel MS. Some weeks it’s matter of fact and others it’s hard. Fortunately the last 1.5 years, it’s been 90% of the former and maybe 10% of the latter.

Statistics say that there are around 1m people living with MS in the United States, and almost 3m globally. But since MS is not required to be reported, we rely on data that is often manipulated, especially in the U.S., since it relies on diagnostic codes, which are often fudged in order to gain insurance coverage.

In 2018 we are lucky to have 16 disease modifying medicines for MS, with more to come. Just a short 20 years ago, people were sent home with steroids (maybe) and told not to move. Also, there are a host of meds for symptoms and side effects of the disease.

What we still don’t have is a cure. I hear this about MS all time, but I don’t really listen since I know how complex this neurological disease is and certainly not easy to dissect. That said, I do believe there can be better targeted treatments with less side effects. Better (and more) research in stem cells from your own body, rather than having to go through the toxic process of obliterating your immune system, like for people living with cancer.

It’s such an odd thing living with a disease that people can’t see and one that each of us experiences in very individual ways. As they say, when you’ve met one person with MS, you’ve met one person with MS. #snowflake

When subscribing to the blog, please check your email (in box and spam/junk) for the confirmation note. Once you confirm, you’re good to go and will receive posts. 

Treatment

 

 

Treatment planTreatment (noun)
a session of medical care or the administration of a dose of medicine

Today is the eighth anniversary of starting treatment for multiple sclerosis. My math skills are fuzzy at best, but if you figure 52 injections a year times eight years, that’s 416 injections, give or take based on illness, birthdays, etc. But for the most part, weekly injections, for eight years.

At the time of my diagnosis there were only injectables or infusions, not the oral meds there are today. One of the things I’ve learned both professionally and personally, often times knowing what you don’t want is just as, if not more important than, knowing what you do want.

Given what I do for a living, I was able to review the clinical trial and usage data and whittle my list of treatment options down to what I was willing to do. Although my body was in turmoil at that point, I knew I wasn’t willing to inject more than once a week. Inject, it’s an odd concept. I also knew I couldn’t do nothing, or only treat holistically as some recommended. That.was.not.an.option. Complementary, definitely, alternative, no way.

For most people the notion of doing harm to yourself isn’t ingrained. Having to do something as violent as an intramuscular injection, that causes flu-like symptoms, even once a week, seemed so violent to me. I could easily do it to someone else, just like I loved watching brain and heart surgery, but to myself? Hell.no.

Once I decided on a course of action, I ran it by my neurologist here in the U.S. before setting the wheels in motion in Basel. We hadn’t anticipated a delay in starting treatment, which I’d mentally prepared myself for, but another week more separated the start date from what was originally planned. I didn’t fully grasp the whole long distance marathon thing at that point, given I never endeavored to actually run a marathon.

The onset happened end of March and diagnosis middle of April, by the beginning of June 2009 my body was so sick, that starting on treatment was not only a way for the physical healing to begin, but a way to take “control” over a life that felt very much out-of-control. Starting treatment was also a step in the life is unpredictable direction. One of the worst diseases a type A control freak could get IMO. I was incredibly scared of what was next.

When the decisions were made and drug ordered, J followed by N came over to be with me. Although it was one of the worst times in my life, looking back it also showed me that I can ALWAYS come out on the other side and be ok. A few more bumps, bruises, and warts, but ok just the same.

June 5, 2009 was 1/4 of the injection (you increase the dose over four weeks until the full dose). We practiced on an orange and these little pin cushion type contraptions. In case you’re wondering, none of them ACTUALLY mirror that of injecting yourself. Even hospitals in Europe don’t have the same level of aircon that we have in the U.S. and sitting in the little exam room, learning my new skill, and then having to execute, left me light-headed and near passing out. The first injection was administered by the nurse. We would try again the following week. I needed a STIFF drink.

A HUGE shout out to nurses, because the nurse I worked with, A, at the University Hospital of Basel’s neurology clinic, was beyond amazing. She took one of the worst times in my life and made it as tolerable as it possibly could be under the circumstances. I was 4,000 miles away from home, in a healthcare system vastly different from ours. I will be forever grateful to her.

When I moved home to NYC, she was one of the last stops I made to say good-bye. And when I returned to Basel last year for vacation, she was one of the first stops I made. Going back to where I was diagnosed was bitter sweet, but seeing her was a happy occasion. When you live in an area with a large expat population, your patients come and go. She told me that I’m one of the few that has kept in touch. I couldn’t imagine not.

When subscribing to the blog, please check your email (in box and spam/junk) for the confirmation note. Once you confirm, you’re good to go and will receive posts.