Transparent.

Last Wednesday night, sleeping wasn't happening for me. 
I knew it was coming, but sincerely tried my best to avoid thoughts that allowed my heart to feel the anxiety.

Thursday was MRI morning (for me.)
I didn't let anyone come, not that anyone really begged to come anyway.  Sometimes I like to face the facts, let them sink in, and then distribute them amongst the people who want to know.
I need time and space for processing.

I had hope this appointment was going to go well, and that was mostly the case. I've seasoned myself in the art of thought-control and after four MRI's in year, can honestly say that those terrible machines don't cause me near as much stress as they did in the beginning. Thankfully, because they are destined to become a part of my routine, much like dental cleanings and hair-coloring.

I met with my Neurologist shortly after the MRI.  The beauty of the amazing technology at the University of Utah allowed the MRI to immediately be read by both my neurologist and the head neuro-radiologist. A part of me kind-of knew this was going to be a significant appointment.  I have been given every test in the neurological field (lumbar puncture, EKG, EMG, MRA's of neck to r/o cardio stuff, etc), probably drawn 100 viles of blood, and a team of neurologists have reviewed and confirmed different aspects of my case. In fact, for the past year I have even been technically diagnosed with "Probable MS."

But, still.
Getting a diagnosis sucks. 
Now, it's real.

My experience on this path of diagnostic trial and error has been different than most.  I haven't felt desperate for knowledge, or a strong desire even to figure out my weird health issues.  I quite enjoyed denial.  I had a family doctor actually mention to me about 3 1/2 years ago that he suspected I could one day have MS, and I blew him off as if he were one of my kids begging me for another cookie. 

As long as I didn't have a definite diagnosis, there was hope I would recover and not have to climb this mountain.

But, confirmed Thursday by my darling neuro (fresh off maternity leave), I do have MS, and I can't pretend I don't anymore.  The good news of the day was that I have not had any new lesions (scarring of brain tissue) appear this past year.  I still have what my doctor quoted as "multiple" little lesions, and then one "big" one in my left frontal lobe. The big one was the deal-breaker for the neurologists who consulted and reviewed my MRI, and it is also the one that causes me symptomatically the most problems.

My doctor basically did not leave me a choice.  She highly suggested I begin taking the disease modifying injections, with her recommendation being that I start on Rebif, which is the newest and strongest.  Because I am doing so well, she'd like to preserve my quality of life as long as we can.
So, the drugs I will do.
They are injections that I give myself three times a week, which isn't too terrible considering I give Deak one each night.  There are some nasty side effects, that I am staying hopeful that I will avoid (24 hours of the flu following each injection, so 3/7 days a week, I get to give myself the flu...yippee.)  I was given a gargantuan binder full of information, asked to fill out a prescription sheet, and told to return in 4 months.

I sat through the entire discussion with a smile on my face.
That suit of steel really comes in handy some days (thank you Deak).

I walked through the front doors, looked towards my car in the direction of Huntsman's Cancer Institute and had quite divergent thoughts. Part of me felt envious of some of the cancer patients' ability to become "cured," understanding that is not a luxury I will ever be afforded. Almost as quickly as that thought appeared, a second more rational thought came and quickly dissipated the comparison of the two diseases; bringing gratitude for my hopeful longevity and quality of life.  Thank Heavens for rational thinking.

I only made one phone call, to Blair.
I couldn't speak.
All I could muster the first 30 seconds was, "I don't want to talk about it."
But, I did.
And, I cried.
And he told me it would be okay.
And, I will use his strength to carry me until I am ready to believe that myself.

I am so, so, so hesitant to share my diagnosis with others. I just want to be me, not "Jenny with MS."  I haven't had the most wonderful experiences to date sharing my probable diagnosis with others, and am very frightened by the thought of all the muffled whispers as I see others out and about.

But, I feel that I need to gather some closure. I need to accept that Multiple Sclerosis is now a part of my life.  And, a big step for me within this process, is allowing other people in my life to know; to become transparent in the one part of my life that I have attempted to hide.  I hope that through this, I will discover an honest re-definition of my life that will leave me with hope, rather than nightmares.

So, I know I've only really spoken of this a couple of times through this blog, I will give the whole "transparent in all things" approach the good old college try.  Although my primary focus will always continue to be writing my little family's history, and spreading awareness of Ring 18 and special needs parenting.  I guess I just needed more "material" and have now found yet another experience to hopefully help enlighten the few of you out there on. 

I am certain of one thing. 
I am still me.
Yes, my life requires a bit of re-defining, but I've grown accustomed to unexpected plans, and I can deal with this one too.