Monthly Archives: July 2016

Together

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I’m literally sitting here writing this week’s blog with Bruce at my side, as we are co-writing this entry about a topic very near and dear to our hearts. The other day, while chatting with a friend, she suggested that a good topic for my blog would be to discuss how we make our marriage work. She even went so far as to say, “Even taking MS out of the equation, you guys just know how to make it work. You have one of the best marriages I’ve ever seen.” So from here on out it’s Team Rankin speaking together in the first person plural (“we” for the non-grammar nerds in the audience).

As has been previously mentioned a few times here on the blog, we met as 18 year-old freshmen at Rutgers, and became fast friends. The first four years that we knew each other, there was pretty much nothing we didn’t do together or share with each other, with the exception of one thing…much to Bruce’s dismay. But when the time was finally right, we took our friendship to the next level, and we haven’t looked back since that day.

From almost the very beginning of our relationship, we found ourselves doing things in a different way than other couples our age. The fact that we had been so close for so long definitely contributed to how we viewed things, but our own individual desires to make the bond that we’d cultivated through the years last also made us open to “breaking the rules” whenever we felt we needed to. We didn’t do anything too crazy, like see other people, but we also did not always need to be attached at the hip. In some ways, our friendship didn’t really change much at all (with the exception of that one thing we mentioned earlier). We were still great friends and connected in every single way, whether we were physically next to each other or not. We’d long been incredibly close buddies that enjoyed spending time doing anything at all together, and that was still the case. People always like to say that their significant other is their best friend, but for us that has been true almost from the day we met. We’ve just always had that connection.

When we finally moved in together after fours years as a couple (with Rennie moving each of those years to a different apartment while she waited…and waited…and waited for Bruce), we again neglected to follow the rules set forth by society. Specifically, we chose to actually use each of the two bedrooms in our two-bedroom apartment as bedrooms: one for each of us. Why did we do this? Well, to be honest, Bruce was a night owl and Rennie was an early riser. So rather than Bruce waking Rennie up when he went to bed at night, or Rennie waking Bruce up when she got up in the morning, we realized that the more practical solution was to have our own sleeping quarters. At least during the work-week. This arrangement brought along with it a fair share of raised eyebrows, including a pretty hilarious exchange between Bruce and Rennie’s then 80 year-old grandfather Stanley. While showing him our place for the first time, he turned to Bruce and said, “So Bruce, I see that there are two bedrooms. Which one gets more action?”

Rennie and her grandfather, several years after the bedroom inquiry.

Rennie and her grandfather, several years after the bedroom inquiry.

Of course, our eventual wedding in 2000 ended up being like no one else’s that we’ve known before or since. There was no proposal (that didn’t come until after 16 years of marriage)…just a mutual decision that it was time. There were no guests, as we got married at a beautiful chapel in Las Vegas (no Elvis impersonators in sight!), with only our limo driver and photographer as witnesses. Although, there where tons of family and friends watching us tie the knot via streaming video on the chapel’s website (cutting edge for the time). Even our “reception,” held two months later, was done our way. Guests were asked to wear casual attire, and the festivities were held without all of your typical fanfare…no bouquet or garter throwing, no annoying DJ or band, and no “the bride cuts the cake” annoyances. In fact, the cake was chocolate, inside and out. The event had our fingerprints all over it.

This is our actual wedding picture. Nothing conventional about it.

This is our actual wedding picture. Nothing conventional about it, and we were both approaching our maximum density!

As a married couple, we continued to maintain separate bedrooms, and were unconventional in other areas as well. First of all, in order to maintain some level of financial privacy and individuality, we kept (and continue to keep) separate credit cards and checking accounts. We have several joint savings and investment accounts, but for everyday expenditures we’ve found it best to have our own “piggy banks.” We split all bills down the middle, and we always have. If we want to buy presents for each other neither has to know what was spent, or that a gift was even purchased. This allows for a level of spontaneity that most other couples don’t have, and since most couples fight over money we’ve eliminated that as a potential problem. Of course, it helps that we’re both responsible with our spending.

Also, early on we made a conscious decision not to have children. If we had been with other people, things may have been different, but for Bruce and Rennie it just didn’t make sense. We enjoyed the time we spent together so much that we didn’t want to share that time with anyone else…even our own offspring (cue the raised eyebrows once again). Of course, at some point we may have changed our minds about this, but once Rennie was diagnosed with MS that cemented our decision. That decision has allowed us live as newlyweds even to this day.

Drinking around the world at Epcot.

Drinking around the world at Epcot.

We’ve taken a lot of criticism over the years for all of the things we’ve done differently than most other couples. We’ve been made fun of, insulted and even ostracized by some for the choices we’ve made. But none of these choices were made lightly, and they were our choices to make. Rather than get hung up on what society told us we were supposed to do, we instead did what we wanted and needed to do for us and our relationship. Perhaps if others did what made them happy, without regard for societal norms, more marriages would be as strong and as successful as ours.

Typical of us. Even if it's not New Year's Eve!

Typical of us. Even if it’s not New Year’s Eve!

So why does our marriage work? First and foremost, is the strength of our friendship. It truly is the foundation upon which our marriage is built. Even during the rare rough times before MS, we were always able to fall back on our friendship to carry us through. There really is something to be said for dating, and eventually marrying your best friend. Our friendship has given us the intense desire to want to make our marriage work. We weather the storms together, because we want to. After all, how do you live without your best friend?

Another reason we work so well as a couple, is that our personalities complement each other. You always hear that opposites attract, and in our case it’s true. Bruce is cynical, while Rennie is optimistic. Bruce tends to hide his emotions, while Rennie wears her heart on her sleeve. Bruce struggled with motivation for a long time (not so much anymore), while Rennie was always driven to do better. The list goes on and on, and we’d be here all day if we continued, but what it comes down to is that together we are perfectly balanced. Or as Rennie has said for as long as we can both remember, we’re two imperfect halves of one perfect whole.

Sounds silly, but yet another thing that makes us work is that we both have similar senses of humor, and tend to enjoy a lot of the same things. We like the same music. We love a lot of the same movies and television shows. We love the same dumb jokes. And we have always had the ability to make each other laugh. Not just giggles, but the kind of body-shaking belly laughs that often result in tears. When we said earlier that we really enjoy each other’s company, we meant it…on all levels.

Fake selfie smiles. And Prednisone moon face on Rennie!

Fake selfie smiles. And Prednisone moon face on Rennie!

Of course, not everyone is lucky enough to have found that person that they connect with on all levels. And truthfully, MS has given us both the perspective to be able to appreciate the life (conventional or not) we’ve created together. Would we have found our way to where we are without MS? Maybe. Maybe not. But who knows how long it would have taken, or what troubles we may have had to encounter to get there.

Something you always hear is that marriage is hard work. Funny, but it hasn’t ever felt like hard work to us. We are happily on this journey together, doing what we want, when we want, how we want, and with whom we want. How is that hard work?

 

 

 

 

Pride

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For those who don’t already know this, there are four different kinds of Multiple Sclerosis, with the most well known being Relapsing Remitting MS (RRMS) and Primary Progressive MS (PPMS). The difference between these is that PPMS patients experience a continuous worsening of symptoms (which happens at a rate individual to every single patient), without any periods of remission where symptoms might improve significantly or even go away entirely. Sadly, there are currently NO approved treatments for progressive forms of MS. It really upsets me that doctors even commit a diagnosis of PPMS to paper, because how do they know upon examining a patient and diagnosing that patient with MS, that their case is progressive? It’s often difficult to diagnose MS at all, let alone what type of MS a patient presents with. To me, the only thing this does is limit that patient to only managing symptoms, rather than actually treating the MS. If we don’t know that the approved treatments don’t work on PPMS (because there isn’t data to support it), why can’t we try? If every single MS patient has an individual disease course, why couldn’t it be possible that one of the disease modifying treatments approved for RRMS might help a progressive patient. I’m not completely selfless in this anger. According to the National MS Society, 50% of RRMS patients transition to Secondary Progressive (SPMS) after 10 years, and 90% transition after 25 years. It’s a pretty scary statistic!

One of my best friends has Primary Progressive MS. Let’s just call him Charlie, since he has a pack of angels looking out for him, a role each of us takes very seriously.  He’s a great guy with a big heart, and we always seem get in trouble together, like we are siblings or little kids. Before MS changed his world, he was hiking, fishing, riding quads, and even scuba diving in his spare time. These days, all of those hobbies are distant memories, stolen as his disease has progressed. I definitely understand this feeling because even though I am more able-bodied than he is at the moment, I have lost the ability to perform many of my used-to-be hobbies, and consequently lost the interest in them. I don’t think this is unique, at least in my experience. Many of the MS patients I have met in the last 13(+) years would likely say the same.

The loss of hobbies is most certainly sad, but can not compare to how difficult even the most mundane daily tasks have become. Charlie has a great circle of support from his angels, but unfortunately he is proud. Too proud. He has a hard time accepting help, and an even harder time asking for it. He would rather do without whatever he needs than ask for anything from anybody. Although I understand this mindset (as he was always very independent), sometimes you just have to suck it up and take the help anywhere you can. It’s not a sign of weakness to do so. There is nothing weak about this guy. He works out with my same trainer and is maintaining his strength even if his central nervous system is misfiring.

Walking is becoming more and more difficult for Charlie, and currently he uses a walking stick for support. It takes a lot of energy to walk long distances, and yet he usually refuses the offer of borrowing a rollator or a scooter. For some reason, the pride thing gets in the way again here. And I understand how devastating loss of mobility can be. It is, by far, the most limiting aspect of MS. But it doesn’t have to be. The solutions are there, despite his resistance to taking advantage of them simply because he feels he is more of a spectacle on a scooter than dragging his ass around using the walking stick. Not too long ago, we went to an event that required walking a fair distance. Charlie finally relented to the constant nagging of his angels, and used a scooter. Let me tell you something: he led the way, instead of holding up the rear. He smiled more than I had seen in a long time, but more importantly instead of wasting energy getting back and forth to our actual venue, he got to spend his energy on enjoying the night, laughing, and making memories with friends. (As a side note, one of the angels recently went on a “walk” in a park with her family, with her on a scooter instead of her usual rollator, and she couldn’t say enough about how amazing it was being able to keep up with everyone else’s pace and talk all the while.). With a cane or a rollator you’re always looking at everyone’s backs, and on a scooter you can keep up. Get this: you can EVEN talk while you “walk”! This might sound silly to the average person, but to someone with MS (particularly someone who uses an assistive walking device), it is HUGE! The things able-bodied people take for granted…

The moral of the story is this, and I think it applies to everyone (MS or not) in every situation: taking help when you need it does not equal weakness. There comes a time when you can’t let pride enter the equation, because pride doesn’t solve these types of problems. In fact, it probably only creates more of them.

When you battle an illness such as Multiple Sclerosis, pride can come in handy but only in certain circumstances. Be proud of fighting. Be proud of being hopeful. Be proud of persevering. Hell, you can even be proud of getting out of bed and taking a shower. We all can find things within ourselves to be proud of. We just can’t let pride hinder or take away from our quality of life. Anyone who suffers from chronic illness knows that life is already so much harder for us without adding the pressure of living up to some measure of what pride means. Be proud of who you are and what you can do despite your limitations because they do not define you or who you are.

I’m proud of Charlie. Big time. It was a giant step for him, and I know it wasn’t an easy one. I am hopeful because now that he has seen what a difference one TINY modification made in his ability to fully enjoy a social event, that the angels won’t have to nag him as much next time. Or maybe we will have to continue to nag him (after all, he is a guy)…but you can bet that we will, for as long as we have to.

Lucky?

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About three years ago, I applied for disability pension from the state of NJ. As a teacher, I knew I would never make tons of money, but I was lucky enough to have a job I absolutely loved, and the benefits were good, which made up for the ridiculous salary teachers were given, particularly back then. Coming from a job “in industry” before becoming a teacher, I was immediately made aware of the fact that there was no profit sharing, no 401Ks, no bonuses, and no eligibility for disability insurance without purchasing a private plan. But I was doing what I loved, and that was worth every penny I had to scrimp and save. I knew my future would be secure because I was paying into my pension with every single paycheck I earned. Eventually teacher salaries became more livable, but when there is a salary guide, new teachers coming in (whether fresh out of college or experienced from other districts) always earned the kind of money I had worked years to make. Still, I had Bruce, who made a salary that allowed me to do what I loved without as much financial pressure as some of my single colleagues had on them.

When I first stopped working, I was able to collect on my private disability plan that I had been paying dearly for beginning with my very first paycheck as a teacher. I never thought I’d have to use it, and I grumbled every time I looked at my pay stub and saw that incredibly large deduction for something that was a “just in case”. It was a great plan that provided short to long term benefits, and when I was forced to use it, it allowed me to continue paying my bills while I was not able to work. It was at that time that I met a disability retired teacher (who also has MS), and she told me that she was collecting her pension. As a teacher planning to work for 20 more years, I had no idea that there was even such a thing as disability retirement. So began my journey….

I can’t speak to other states, but in NJ, the process is not an easy one. It’s pretty comparable to the process of applying for SSDI, which incidentally, had already been approved for me. In any case, one of the requirements includes having an independent medical examination by a state-assigned doctor. When I received this information, I researched the doctor who had been assigned to my case. I was horrified to discover that not only did he have horrible patient reviews, but also that he does not even treat patients with Multiple Sclerosis. Still, I tried to keep an open mind as I dutifully collected the piles and piles of records I was asked to bring with me to my appointment: MRI films and CDs with the corresponding radiology reports, laboratory results for blood work, physical therapy reports, cognitive therapy evaluations, and doctors’ office notes. 

On the day of my exam, I showed up at the assigned location, with my mother-in-law in tow, carrying the ginormous bag that contained everything they had requested, and that I had stressed so hard over collecting. As soon as the doctor walked in, I was immediately aware of why his patient reviews were as awful as they were. He couldn’t get done with me quickly enough, and clearly had no interest in being there for the (MAYBE) 10 minutes he spent with me. He asked why I couldn’t work anymore, did a few typical “neurological” tests (finger to nose, tandem walk, Rhomberg test), and declared that he had what he needed. I pointed to my bag, full of my beautifully organized and carefully collected records, and asked him if he’d like to see any of them. He responded with a curt “nope”, and left the room. I couldn’t believe how much I had agonized and stressed over this appointment, and now this guy… No, this asshole held my entire future in his hands. There was no eye contact, no sensitivity, not a drop of compassion. I looked at my Mama B., who schlepped and hauled for me, always supporting me and always by my side, and all I could say was “Really? What the f*ck?”. And she told me what she has always told me, and she has never been wrong: she simply said it’s going to be ok. 

My amazing mother-in-law, my Mama B: I am so lucky to have her and I don't know where I would be without her.

My amazing mother-in-law, my Mama B: I am so lucky to have her and I don’t know where I would be without her.

Recently a friend of mine, who also has MS and is applying for disability pension, was notified that her exam had been scheduled. She did what we all do when receiving notification of an independent medical examination: she panicked. I met up with her and she showed me the very familiar-looking letter. I tried to reassure her that it would be a piece of cake, but obviously this whole process is quite terrifying. I told her about my experience, and although I couldn’t be absolutely sure (because I do have MS!), I was almost positive that she had been assigned to the same (asshole) doctor. I was honored and relieved when she asked if I would accompany her, because she was extremely nervous and I wanted to be able to offer her the support I anticipated she’d need. 

She collected her records just as I had done, even though I knew she wouldn’t need them. As soon as the doctor walked in, I knew it was the same asshole that managed to spend ten whole minutes with me before deciding my fate. He was equally as rude (or even more so if that’s even possible) and brusque with my friend, and now that I wasn’t actually dependent on his opinion, I found myself feeling very protective of her. My view from the outside of this scenario made me so damn mad. When someone with Multiple Sclerosis realizes it’s time to stop working, she is vulnerable enough without adding this kind of stress and pressure. 

Obviously this system is broken in many ways. First of all (in my opinion), a doctor who doesn’t even treat patients with Multiple Sclerosis in his own practice should not be the one assigned to make a determination (favorable or not) for a patient seeking disability retirement due to MS. It doesn’t make sense. Secondly, and more importantly (also in my opinion), a little compassion would be nice. I’m not saying I want to feel like the doctor is my best friend, but to be treated like a human being and a professional, is the least I could ask for. This guy, who clearly doesn’t know the multitude of ways MS affects our vitality, gets to decide our entire future. And while he sits there with his condescending, holier-than-thou, my time is more valuable than yours attitude, you can’t do anything but suck it up and take it because he gets to make the decision about where your life goes next. 

I can't even begin to fathom how many times i walked this hallway. The only time it was ever this quiet was early in the morning and late afternoon and evening. I was always at my desk by 6 AM, and never left before 5 or 6 PM. And they say teachers work from 9-2.

I can’t even begin to fathom how many times i walked this hallway. The only time it was ever this quiet was early in the morning and late afternoon and evening. I was always at my desk by 6 AM, and never left before 5 or 6 PM. And they say teachers work from 9-2.

I am so glad that I was able to be there to support my friend through the ten harrowing minutes she endured with Dr. Asshole. I even got to say a few words on her behalf and gladly took the sarcastic “Thank you, Doctor,” that the jerk directed at me. She was grateful that I was there, and so was I. 

A lot of people have made assumptions about me as a person since I “retired” and began collecting my pension. They don’t understand the years I worked and the amount I sacrificed to be in a profession that allowed me to do so. Besides paying into it with every single paycheck, I paid for it in spades going through the process of being able to collect my own money earlier than anticipated. Instead of telling me how “lucky” I am because I am no longer working, I wish people would understand how lucky THEY are for being able to work. 

The headphones were for grading speaking projects I had assigned.

The headphones were for grading speaking projects I had assigned.

If you think Señora Rankin was ready to retire at age 42, think again! This was not how I planned it, but I worked hard to get here, and I’d gladly go back if someone would take my MS away. Now THAT’S what i would call lucky. 

My beautiful school and my home for 13 years.

My beautiful school and my home for 13 years.

Half Full

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I love my volunteer job for so many reasons. In addition to the administrative tasks that I work on while I’m there, I also get to interact with the patients as they go through the intake and the exit procedures of the office. Though many times I serve mainly as a friendly face on the other side of the desk, there are occasions when I feel I serve a much greater, more important purpose, and often I feel that the patients affect me way more than I affect them. These are the moments that remind me of how far I’ve come, and they are the moments I never forget. 

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One such occasion happened a few weeks ago, when I had the pleasure of meeting a patient I had never met before. This woman has been a long time patient, always coming in with a smile on her face and a positive attitude. She’s also a workaholic and a perfectionist who defines herself by her job. To be honest, she quite reminds me of the old me: the Mrs. Rankin me. 

As a teacher, I was never done, and my work came with me everywhere.

As a teacher, I was never done, and my work came with me everywhere.

Unfortunately, after 23 years of steadfast dedication to her job (as a paralegal), my new friend arrived at the place that no MS patient wants to be. She suddenly finds herself in the position of having to choose between her passion, her livelihood, the one thing she feels truly defines her, and managing her MS on a daily basis. Not everyone gets to this point, but many of us do. For us, just living with Multiple Sclerosis becomes our full time job. 

I sat in my usual seat as I listened to her cry about how she wasn’t ready to stop working, and how much she loves her career. I couldn’t help but go to her, because I was getting emotional myself. In an instant, as the tears began to flow, I was immediately brought back to the moment when I was faced with the very same decision. My heart was breaking for her, and also a little for myself. It’s always frustrating to think that perhaps others won’t understand, because we “look so good”. It’s also scary wondering how will we find our self-worth if we are not contributing to society somehow through our work. Plus, there’s a fear more powerful than anything, that’s always in the background because MS can wreak havoc on us at any moment, without warning. All of that adds up to tears. 

I tried to comfort her as best I could, knowing that it probably wouldn’t help much, but also that I could definitely give her the benefit of my experience. I told her that I was in her exact position three years ago, and that I have no regrets. I told her that everyone is replaceable even if you’re the best at your job. Once you’re gone, there’s always someone else. I told her that she spent the last 23 years working at her job, so now she can spend the next 23 working on herself. I told her that she would eventually stop crying, even though it didn’t feel like it right then. I told her that it wasn’t her fault that her body was letting her down. I told her how much better she would feel physically, without the incredible amount of stress any job places on our bodies, causing symptoms to flare. I told her how amazing life can be when you look beyond your job because only then can you be completely content and at peace. We are, after all, human beings, not just work machines, and how lucky she is to be forced to learn this while still at a young enough age to really enjoy living for a long time to come. 

It really blows my mind how my life has changed in just three years. It’s a short time, yet I’ve come such a long way. I remember how defeated I felt…how utterly devastated. I felt worthless. Like a failure. Like my life was now meaningless. But you know what? I just had to find the true meaning and value without using my profession as a crutch. 

This was my home for many years, and now my world is so much larger than this one classroom.

This was my home for many years, and now my world is so much larger than this one classroom.

Three years later I can be proud of who I have become. I volunteer my time, and I love that I am able to give back in this small way to the medical team that has always taken such good care of me.  I work on my body in ways that make me stronger, even if my nerves are misfiring. I happily enjoy whatever time I get to spend with my loved ones because I am fully focused on them, without the work distraction. I have an entire MS family who loves and supports me 100% of the time. I have so much to be grateful for, and I am now, more than ever, a glass-half-full-kinda-girl. 

MS family love.

MS family love.

Grief Too

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When Bruce and I first talked about his entry discussing how he experienced the five stages of grief, we thought it would be interesting for me to share my thoughts on the same topic. 

For me, the onset of the crazy symptoms that led me to seek medical attention left me feeling a sense of complete and utter upheaval and chaos. Just as Bruce and I were settling into our marriage, in came the storm to interrupt our lovely calm.  I had just started teaching in my third school district (the one that truly felt like my home), and I had no doubt that I wanted to spend the rest of my career there. I felt like a burden on my husband, as we were riddled with questions and doubts, yet there were no answers to be found for months. I was lucky to have amazing coworkers who helped me with the simplest of tasks: photocopying (since I couldn’t feel the paper), tying my shoelaces (because I permanently lost the ability to tie them myself), and even coming into my classroom to give me unofficial “breaks” because I was beyond exhausted. I feared both for my marriage as well as for my livelihood. 

Just like Bruce, I cycled through the five stages of grief not only for me, but also for my partner, because he did not sign up for the life that we were currently living when we exchanged our marriage vows. The only positive thing here was that we were never both in a dark place at the same time. One of us was always up when the other was down, and vice versa. Still, I hated thinking that I could be a burden on Bruce someday, and at the same time I was processing fear, often crippling at times, far greater than I ever thought possible. I cycled between fear and guilt every second of every minute of every day. Even though I was surrounded by people, I still felt alone. Grief often brings about a sense of loneliness, and I have no doubt that I experienced the stages of grief, both for me and also for Bruce.

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Here is how I experienced the five stages of grief:

DENIAL: Of course, as Bruce experienced his form of denial, in which he minimized what our diagnosis meant, I was sure that I was going to be the one person who would never experience a relapse, and that I would accomplish remission forever. In my mind, I was young, in good health, with a positive attitude and all good things in my life: a solid marriage, a home I loved, and a job that was my passion. This could not be happening to me. Bruce is absolutely correct when he says that our denial was fed by the fact that we didn’t really know what MS was. But that blissfully ignorant state could only last so long because being who we are, we quickly educated ourselves, and we learned far more than we ever wanted to know. 

BARGAINING: While Bru was busy beating himself up for not noticing signs that something was going on medically with me, I did everything I was told. I was a stickler for my injections, carefully rotated my injection sites, kept a symptom and injection site reaction journal, ate well, and exercised as often as I could, all while working full time. In my mind, all of these things were my bargaining chips to ensure that I would not progress any more. I sometimes miss that ignorance or idealism in which I proclaimed that I would be the one person who never, ever progressed because I did everything the way I should have. 

DEPRESSION: Unfortunately, depression is an actual symptom of MS, and not necessarily just a sad feeling due to life circumstances. MS patients with sclerosis (lesions) or scar tissue on certain areas of their brains will experience depression. As a true optimist, I had never felt depression before. But I began losing control over my body and what it could do for me, and the athlete in me cried with frustration. “Friends” walked out of my life because they no longer felt they could relate to me, and I sank deeper into the darkness. If it wasn’t pointed out to me by my nurse, I wouldn’t have even realized that I was dealing with depression. I learned that sometimes, pharmaceutical intervention is necessary in order to live your happiest life. 

ANGER: Bru has always been an angry person, and I have never been. It’s just one of the ways we complement each other. My anger was not directed at anyone or anything in particular, though. I never asked “why me?”, but instead asked “why NOT me?”. I was angry at my body for letting me down, and I was angry that Bruce had to be subjected to this new life of ours. Sometimes his anger pushed me further into depression, and other times I let my anger get bottled up until it was released with a good, long cry. 

ACCEPTANCE: In my world, this stage in the grieving process has been the most difficult, but also the only really satisfying part. Once I was able to accept this new version of myself, all weaknesses and flaws included, I was finally able to feel fully at peace. It wasn’t the life I had imagined for myself and my spouse, but it was the one we got. Accepting the hand we were dealt allowed us both to be more present with everyone and in everything we did, and only upon accepting our life as is, did we truly feel happiness. It’s such a shame we had to learn how to deal with a chronic, incurable, and progressive disease in order to feel authentically happy. 

Today, a friend and I were talking about this entry and she asked me if I am still grieving. My answer was yes. I continue to experience these stages of grief, not necessarily all of them, and definitely not in a specific order, but I certainly have my moments. My friend asked me how I find my way back to a good place despite it all. The answer is quite simple, actually. I simply remind myself of all the gifts I have been given as a result of the journey. While someone else in the exact same position can only see the hardships that MS has caused, I refuse to see anything but the gifts it has given me. 

Mary and I are very like-minded and I love the conversation we had about what a difference one's outlook can make on the outcome.

Mary and I are very like-minded and I love the conversation we had about what a difference one’s outlook can make on the outcome.

I can’t feel my feet, but I pay attention to my body and I know when something is not right.  I can’t run a marathon, but I know my limits and I work hard at maintaining a fit, healthy lifestyle. My career ended suddenly and well before I wanted it to, but I am able to spend time volunteering to help other MS patients, which is as rewarding as teaching was, but in a totally different way. I don’t have new kids every year any more, but I still take my mama Rankin role very seriously, even when my kids become mamas themselves. Many people walked out of my life when times were rough, but then I was lucky enough to meet my MS family, who quickly became among the most important people in my life. 

I wouldn't trade this MS family for ANYTHING.

I wouldn’t trade this MS family for ANYTHING.

Grief is an emotion that lasts a lifetime, but it ebbs and flows along the way. Experiencing all the stages of grief, even the low, painful periods of denial, anger, and depression, is part of what makes us human. How can we fully appreciate how incredibly happy we are, and how amazing this life is, if we don’t experience the low points? After all, the view from the top of the mountain is that much more rewarding when you’ve made the long trek up from the bottom. 

This is the view from the top of a mountain near Skagway, Alaska.

This is the view from the top of a mountain near Skagway, Alaska.