intravenous goodness

I'm here at the wonderful UW medical center, getting my second of three doses of IV steroids. As I watch the drugs drip into my arm, I can't help but feel lucky for being here. That may sound slightly ridiculous -- after all, I have an incurable degenerative brain disease and I'm stuck in a hospital until rush hour abates. But despite traffic and a dying brain, there are many reasons to feel good about my life.

First, I have a great new neurologist, Dr. Lucas. She has a wonderful sense of humor and is one of the smartest people I've ever met. She's practical but compassionate and has a great personality, which is rare for any doctor (in my experience). When I first saw her a few weeks ago, she told me that based on my symptoms and previous MRIs, she recommended that I start disease-modifying drugs as soon as possible. With all the symptoms I've had lately, I don't mind the idea of taking medication for my MS. The crushing part about it was the knowledge that I have to wean Maple much sooner than I would have liked.

Ever since I first had thoughts about having a baby, which was long before I ever seriously considered it, I've known that I would want to breastfeed for two, maybe three years -- basically until my kid was ready to stop. So having to wean after 6 months is a bummer (to put it mildly). But I'm starting to get used to the idea, and I feel really lucky that there are drugs that can help slow the progression of this lovely, incurable, degenerative brain disease.

I also feel lucky that I have no black holes, which are areas of complete axonal loss or atrophy in the brain, and are apparently as bad as they sound. I feel lucky that I got to have an MRI last week on the best, strongest MRI machine in the state, and I feel lucky that I had a very competent IV technician to put my IV in yesterday. (I have a very sexy brain, by the way!) I feel lucky to have a wonderfully supportive partner who takes care of me "in a million little ways," a very cool family who puts up with the fact that I'm not republican, and also an incredible friend, Hillary, who has driven up to the UWMC emergency center multiple times to hang out with me. I feel lucky as I sit here getting a steroid drip, that it isn't a chemo drip, which is what everyone else in this infusion clinic is here for. I feel lucky that I can still walk and talk and type. I feel lucky that I have a very healthy baby, who will hopefully never be tied to an IV like her mama.

There have been days recently where I feel terrible. I feel tired and my hands shake, and I can't speak as well as I used to. I feel like giving up, quitting my job and selling the house and crash landing on my parents doorstep with my dying brain and my family and the dog and all my crap. But those days pass and I remember that I actually like my job and the people in my life and I love living where I live. The fight to hold onto this life is the most worthwhile struggle I've known, and the struggle itself makes me feel lucky.