What the hell does M.S. think it is?!?
I'm not going to tell you about M.S., because you can find that info out all over the web. Instead, I just want to tell you all my tale, my feelings, my own story. That's all I can do. I wanna preface this by saying that I'm not a role model, I'm not someone who should be setting examples for others. I just want to share my story, and hopefully it will help someone get through a tough time.
My tale starts in May of 2000. I went to bed early, something I rarely do. I woke up and my feet were numb (actually 'pins and needles' feeling, trust me doctors want to know the difference). I thought it was fatigue. I went to bed early every night that week. It didn't change a thing. I was signed up for track day on the 14th and I wasn't going to miss it. On the 13th, we were still doing some work to the bike. Below is a picture of me on the 13th. Notice I'm laying on the ground, I was trying to convince my friends (and most likely myself) that I was okay. I mentioned to my friend that I was tired and was starting to drop things.
Myself, My 400 (#725), with carbs out, my friend's 400 (#934, snuggles), his red 1999 R1 and my yellow 2000 GSX-R750.
I detailed the 14th elsewhere in the page. On the 15th, I went back to work. I drove to Virginia and kept complaining about how bad my feet hurt, I assumed it was from being on my feet on Sunday. Tuesday, I was having problems brushing my teeth. By Wednesday, drinking water was getting difficult for me as the right side of my face stopped working right. Thursday, I was doing really bad and came home. The entire right side of my face was now motionless and I was having difficulties walking. Friday, I went to Dr. Guy Fasciana (I have to plug the doctors).
Dr. Fasciana told me that he thought I had Bell's Palsy, based on the lack of movement on the right side of my face. The only thing I knew of with 'palsy' was CP. I was picturing myself in a wheelchair with a crash helmet. But he told me that Bell's Palsy isn't bad, it's 100% curable, etc. But he wanted me to go to Wilkes-Barre General Hospital just to be sure because the numbness in my feet didn't fit into the Bell's Palsy description. He told me I'd be seen by Dr. Samii.
I went to Wilkes-Barre General, where the staff was waiting to find out if they would have jobs by the end of the month. That's not a good place to be. I bring this up because many people on the staff didn't let this effect their feelings toward the patients, others did. Those people who it didn't effect, thank you. The rest of you, @#$! off.
Anyway, I don't wanna detail what hospital life was like, but I can tell you all expect to be tortured, to be left in the dark about your condition, and not get a decent meal.
So, for days I sat in a hospital bed, where they wouldn't let me walk, wouldn't let me think, wouldn't let me live. One morning a nurse came in and told me that someone she knows has M.S. and that they had one attack and...I didn't hear a word after that. I just heard 'M.S.' and thought, 'that's what Richard Prior has isn't?' I couldn't believe it. I looked at the window and it's eight story view, andthought about life in a wheelchair. I realized that when no one was around, I could throw a chair through the glass and I wouldn't have to worry M.S. ever again.
Somehow God must've been talking to me, and I decided to pull my lap top out of the closet. I looked up M.S. on the internet. I found out, that Richard Prior has really bad M.S. and few people ever get that bad. M.S. isn't really that bad. So I figured that I wouldn't have to jump out any windows. Then it started my mission to question every damn doctor that walked through the door. I guess they don't want you to think you have something until they know for sure.
I finally got out of the hospital. They wanted to send me to physical therapy like three times a week. From not being able to do anything for a five or six days, I could barely walk. I felt like a two year trying to walk, knowing what to do, but just not doing it. I came home on Wednesday and I had mission. Friday I'd walk normal, Monday I'd run. The next Friday I'd have my @#$!ing life back. I never had that much drive to do anything.
Friday, I walked normal. Monday, I ran three steps. Wednesday, I went to physical therapy. They tested me told me they can't help me, keep doing what I was doing, maybe join a gym. I knew by Friday, my life was mine.
Unfortunately, that wouldn't be the case. I didn't take the time to rest. I continued to push. I pushed too hard. When the summer heat and humidy came, it pushed me back. It was hard to not meet that goal.
Recently, I was doing some work on the computer and I had the Montel Williams Show on in the background (and no I'm not name dropping for someone else with M.S.). He was talking about M.S. and his program, and honestly, I only had it on for noise. That was when I heard them reading a lady's letter. She said that being diagnosed when M.S. was the day her world was shattered. I was floored. I was happy that I only had M.S. I was scared that I could've possibly had a tumor. If you have M.S. consider yourself lucky. Think of people who have A.I.D.S. or cancer or M.D. M.S. isn't a death sentence, it's just a fact of life. If you have M.S., quit whining and start living.