"C'mon, hurry up in there!"
That's my MS.
"Get a move on, we're gonna be late!"
Not my Mrs. My MS. Multiple Sclerosis. My bosom buddy since my diagnosis back in 1996.
It was a routine physical until I mentioned the numbness in my left hand and how my right leg would stop working a half-mile into a run. (Who needs to run more than a half-mile anyway, right?)
My doctor ran his fingers lightly around my bare waist.
Either he was onto something or this was my opportunity to write to a gentlemen's magazine.
"Can you feel my touch?" he asked.
"No," I replied.
Next, he had me lie on my back and run my right heel up and down my left shin. My heel didn't follow the straight course of my shin. Instead, weaving and bobbing, it looked like it was driving the Pacific Coast Highway.
My doctor then excused himself from the room. Through the thin door, I could hear him scheduling an MRI.
When he returned, he sat down. "I guess the physical's over," I said. (Not to mention my chance to write to a gentlemen's magazine!)
"Look," he said, "I believe we have a serious problem - I think you have MS."
Cue the dramatic music. Cue a tearful Meredith Baxter Burney. I've got a Lifetime TV special going here!
And so it goes. My MS story is 15 years long...and ongoing!
When I think back, it's ironic that my journey with MS would begin like a letter to a gentlemen's magazine - "I never though this would happen to me, but..."