What if you were told you only had ten years left to live?

I hate M.S.  I really do.  I always have, always will, but there are times when it just biotch slaps you in the face.  Quite rude.

The times you dream big, the times you try, they all just seem pretty frivolous.  What does it matter?  M.S. will stop you no matter what.  That's so hard to accept when you're used to fighting.  When you're so darn stubborn, you won't go down without kicking and screaming.  I will go down kicking and screaming, you can be sure of that, but in the meantime?  Ugh, M.S.!  Get a life!

When I first started getting sick, the shock of it all was, um, quite the shock.  My husband also has an auto-immune disease, Type 1 Diabetes.  I asked him how long it takes to get over the shock.  I asked him how long it takes to stop denying it, how long does it take you to finally accept it.  Here I am, just now realizing that it's not the same.  Diabetics take shots.  Then they continue their lives.  M.S. doesn't let you go back to the old you.  You're progressing every day.  You get worse every day.  This is not Diabetes.  So the answer to those questions?  Never.  That's the answer.  You never get over the shock.  You never stop denying it.  You never accept it.  How can you accept a disease that never lets you go back to your life?  That never lets you be normal again?  Diabetes is a bad disease.  I do not downplay that.  I just wish I could regulate my blood sugars and be okay.  Diabetes is a disease you're in control of.  Take care of yourself, you'll live a long, happy, normal life.  I DO take care of myself.  90% better than most people do.  But ya know what?  Nothing I do will stop my disease from progressing.  I have no control, no say in what happens to me.  I can eat right, exercise, get my sleep, meditate, it doesn't matter.  It's going to keep progressing.

There are four types of M.S.  I have the one you don't want.  The one only 5% get.  The one that never lets you go into remission.  The one that never takes a break.  The one that starts out so severe, keeps going severe, and stays so severe, you're expected to die ten years after diagnosis.  One year down, nine to go.  Does it scare me?  No.  Not like you'd think it would.  Does it make me mad?  Um, yes.  Very much so.  My oldest child will be 16.  My youngest will be only 11.  I will miss all of their weddings.  College, heck, even high school graduations.  My grand-babies. 

Family will tell you you're going to be one of the lucky ones.  I think they say that to try and convince themselves more than you.  'Cause you have M.S.  You know how fast you're deteriorating.  You can see it, you can feel it.  Either way, I hope they're right.  I don't count anything down, I don't feel doomsday coming.  I do feel incredibly calm about it.  Angry yes, but calm.  If I only have nine years left, they're going to be the best nine years ever.  I'll make sure of that.  If I live longer, I will never take a single day for granted.  Until then, screw you, M.S.