The Ugly Post with the Important Message

Today I learned a new word. Suprapubic.

If reading about this particular symptom of my disease (that being urinary incontinence) leaves a foul taste in your mouth, then, by all means, wait until the next post. But this one is going out there because writing into  this vast expanse, this great void known as the Internet, sometimes helps me to organize my thoughts. Occasionally, I’m lucky enough to have other people weigh in and provide their opinion; I value that more than most would imagine. I don’t expect medical professionals to be reading my blogs and providing me with solid medical advice. But just getting someone else’s take on what I’m going through is sometimes more useful than a doctors appointment that I waited six months for.

On point: urinary incontinence. It’s despicable. The frustration it causes is equaled only by the tremor which prevents me from doing so many things. In this respect, the incontinence is not much different; I am unable to leave my house without an extra condom-catheter (my current preferred means of catheterization is by using what is referred to as a “male external catheter,” (or MEC for short), an extra extension tube, an extra leg bag, as well as a complete change of clothes – socks, boxers, pants, and a T-shirt just in case; one never knows exactly how messy one catheter dysfunction from the next will be. When I say my “preferred means” what I should really be saying is “ONLY means.” The tremor makes it impossible for me to catheter internally (that would be directly into my urethra, the image on the left in the link above), on top of which, I am very susceptible to infection, as I’ve only ever cathetered this way once, and the next day I was close to having a full-blown relapse due to the inevitable urinary tract infection which set in almost immediately. It was done in the most sterile of environments: a hospital, by professionals. Still, the resulting infection was something that, if I can, I would like to avoid ever experiencing again. So this suprapubic catheter provides a third option. After having had my urologist explain to me, in brief, how the procedure to insert it would be performed, I’ve become very aware of my pubic bone (we all have one, between our bellybutton and our’junk’). This (suprapubic) catheter would be inserted just above the pubic bone. From there, I’m given the choice of whether I want to attach a leg bag, or insert some kind of blockage device which would plug the catheter. When I feel I have to go, I simply unplug, drain into a urinal (a plastic, graduated container, also part of my “just-in-case” gear that I carry around in my backpack) and do what you would normally do with your urine, and flesh it down a toilet.

Of course, the whole thing is not without risk of further infection. What little research I’ve been able to do has led me to read that it is of tantamount importance to keep the catheter site clean. That it requires frequent flushing with a saline solution, somewhere in the neighborhood of 60 cc by syringe. Leads me to question whether I’d be able to perform this task as well, given the unpredictability of my tremor from one day to the next. Oy.

I use this blog to organize my thoughts, to gripe, to whine, bitch, and to moan, but it always ends the same way… With me saying “I’ll figure it out, I always do.”

Multiple sclerosis. It’s been the bane of my existence since age 2, when my poor father was diagnosed. That was almost 30 years ago, and it has not let up for an instant. And I am but one of the 75,000-odd Canadians caught under the crushing weight of this disease. Having said that… It’s that time of year again folks!

Once again, my family and I will be doing the “MS Walk of Hope” and so I am, as I do every year at this time, soliciting donations for the MS society of Canada. Whether a cure will be found in my lifetime remains to be seen, but one thing I know for sure is that we will never grow closer without the support that I typically receive from my friends, family, and the like every year. This blog has become (dare I say) inspirational to many; the fact that I am able to discuss my disease with little to no restriction, so candidly and openly, may help somebody, anybody, and that is why I continue to write. On its most visited day, this blog has seen 488 visitors. This was likely due to its address being published in the Globe and Mail in article I was cited in discussing my experiences in Costa Rica getting “Zambonied,” or having CCSVI surgery, if you so prefer. Still, I have 111 loyal followers, and to every one who reads everything it is that I write, who listens to my griping, my groaning, and my whining, I have nothing but words of thanks. I’m not asking for money for me; I’m asking for money on behalf of the 75,000 Canadians suffering from this disease. If you feel so inclined, follow the link below, and please make a donation. No amount is too small, and conversely, no amount is too large either!

http://bit.ly/xXaJRV

MS has taken much from me, potentially even more from my family – as the one suffering from the disease, I gain first-hand experience about what it is that life under the exhausting weight of the disease is like. My family and friends are innocent bystanders, unable to do much, aside from keeping my spirits high (which they excel at, I must say). I know I ask every year, but I ask for reason; I want nothing more than to see this disease become a thing of the past, to see a future free of MS and its crippling effects on people and families. So please give. I implore you.

Yours in health,

-A.D.

A Conversation Worth Having

And so it goes… it started with a moderately benign question, then turned to yet another outpouring of my heart onto paper, or buttons to the screen on my Blackberry, as it were.

How do you stay positive dude? I keep getting more and more bad news, I don’t know how to deal anymore I can’t even be happy for others…

I suppose that’s a difficult question for anyone to answer. Anyone, that is, except for me. I know precisely how I remain positive, why despite being confined to (though never defined by) my wheelchair, I never lose the smile on my face, even though I recently got into an argument with my floor, and wouldn’t you know it, the floor won. In the words of Katt Williams (I warn you now, this is not safe for work and contains explicit language, but is entertaining no less), “life is short. You’ve got to take care of your star player!”

I am the writer, director, and producer of my adult life. I am my own star player. So to answer the question, I laid out why, shedding a few tears along the way. As if effortlessly, the realization became clear to me: honestly, I do it for my family. I have no intent on giving up. That’s the cowards way out – and ‘Momma didn’t raise no cowards…’

I love my nephew so much. He is the newest addition to my life, and I am doing everything in my power to be there for him. I want to be around when he scores his first goal. I want to be there when he graduates from school. I want to be the best “Uncle Andy” that I can be; he deserves no less. And he’s just part of the equation. I have people who keep me going – Rachel, Julia, Joanna, my Mother, my Grandmother, my Aunts & Uncles, Oli, Matthew, Mark, and baby Gabriel. MS took my Dad from me, from my whole family really; I wouldn’t dream of letting it take ME too. So I fight. Everyday, no matter what. I fight for THEM. This is a beautifully fabricated perpetual motion machine – they tell me how much I inspire them, which in turn inspires me to keep doing whatever it is I do.

Some things need to be shared. This is one of them. I guess I’ll have to come up with something original to put in everyone’s Christmas cards this year, as this diatribe is going to get eaten up, no doubt.

Remember to chase what’s important. It’s that simple.

-A.D.

Life Free From Straws

To cut, or not to cut. That is the question. Whether ’tis nobler to leave my brain intact and as is, or to suffer the potential slings and arrows that may come with neurosurgery.

Enough paraphrasing; Shakespeare did it better anyway. I don’t know what to do. I have a follow up appointment on Monday with Dr. Sadikot, a neurosurgeon with whom I opened discussions concerning deep brain stimulation (DBS). For anyone who missed it you can read about it here, but the long and short of it is simple. They install pacemaker-like device in my back, near my shoulder blade. From this device, an electrode runs into my cerebellum. My cerebellum; a part of my brain that plays a heavy hand in motor control, as well as some cognitive functions. I have a sneaking suspicion that major portions of my personality reside therein as well. According to an arguably reliable source, DBS comes complete with potential side effects – “Reports in the literature describe the possibility of apathy, hallucinations, compulsive gambling, hypersexuality  (this one might not be so bad), cognitive dysfunction, and depression.” I’m citing this from Wikipedia, so who knows. But, the Wikipedia article actually cited a credible source when making these remarks (Burn D, Troster A (2004). “Neuropsychiatric Complications of Medical and Surgical Therapies for Parkinson’s Disease”. Journal of Geriatric Psychiatry and Neurology 17 (3): 172–180. ). Though I am neither a geriatric nor a Parkinson’s patient, I see no reason why the side effects wouldn’t apply to me as well. All these are questions for my neurosurgeon.

He did have me go in for preadmission, where I was given a strange device that looks like it’s meant to measure my lung capacity (pictured here) as well as a bottle of DEXIDEN 4 DETERGENT, a detersive skin cleanser (though it looks as if it would be related to or have the same root as the word ‘detergent’, even I had to look up the definition of this one; it means having cleansing power). I was given a list of instructions to follow for the day of my surgery (it basically says to wash myself from head to toe with that fancy pants DEXIDEN 4 cleanser). But I don’t know… particularly after reading that “…because the brain can shift slightly during surgery, there is the possibility that the electrodes can become displaced or dislodged. This may cause more profound complications such as personality changes…

I can deal with puking from chemo. I can deal with it cutting a week out of my month while I recuperate. But I’ve spent 28 years getting to know the person I am, through my ups and downs, and at the end of the day, I kind of like him. I’ve been most recently referred to as “trustworthy” by a close friend (I have it in writing, so there’s no taking that back, my dear!). It took me a long time, but I think I stopped being an asshole somewhere around my diagnosis, circa 2007. Just how much do I love myself? Would I be willing to let the person I am be altered for a life free of the cerebellar tremor? The most crippling symptom… the one that prevents me from being able to cook or eat a bowl of soup, the one that makes it nearly impossible to shave with a manual razor (I pull this one off by holding the razor in my right hand and holding my right forearm with my left hand – I cut myself far less often than you would imagine, but shaving has gone from a 5 to 10 minute thing into a 20 to 30 minute thing). Everything I drink is done with a straw, be it hot coffee, my favourite wine(s), or the glass of Goose on the rocks that I miss being able to hold steady in my hand. It’s the one symptom that I can’t disguise. The one that makes me look truly handicapped, in my opinion, even more than the wheelchair. The chair is something I perceive as nothing more than a tool to help me get from point A to point B, no different than a bicycle or a pair of rollerblades. I can’t count the number of people who giggle when I say “I had my winter tires put on” and then proceed to say that they should do the same on their vehicle.

I’m moaning. But I know. I know that I would do anything, anything at all to eradicate this symptom, regardless of the side effects. Amazing how desperation can be such a strong motivator…

So cut away, I say. Cut away…

I’ll do my best to keep everyone appraised of the dates for the surgery as they become available, though it’s sure not to be tomorrow. My understanding is that I need to have been out of chemo for at least one to two months prior to undergoing any surgical procedure. If nothing else, it puts a hold on the chemo. The eternal optimist in me always has to find that stupid silver lining.

Hopefully, that part will never disappear.

-A.D.

Autumn! Yes!

Yes, Ruth, I’m still alive!

Again, some time since my last post. I think I’ve been lacking inspiration. Or I want to write a book, making me wonder why I continue to give it away for free – this is the lousiest of excuses, as anyone who knows me would easily conclude that I have enough to say  to ‘simul-blog’ while  preparing a manuscript. The #1 reason though, and I can say it with some certainty, is that I’ve been on summer vacation. Like, days of yore summer vacation. It’s been nice. I’ve been enjoying myself. I was able to attend 2 weddings of good friends of mine, friends I have known since I was 13. I’ve caught up with so many people that time invariably separated me from; more reason to see little ‘blips’ of just how good my life is. Despite my MS and its complications, I continue to draw on the strength of those around me. I continue to find enjoyment in simple things. I continue to live my life, everyday.

So what’s new? A precariously dangerous process that happens to so many undergoing a treatment as aggressive as chemotherapy is afoot; serious weight loss. Coupled with the severity of my tremor and the weakness and ataxia in my core muscles, not only am I not eating (well), but meal preparation has become a chore I can no longer perform adequately. I am, of course, working to find a solution to this problem, one that won’t put any undue ‘labour’ in the hands of the people I love – my mother, my grandmother, my brother-in-law, my sisters, et al.

I’ve got to make a phone call on Monday for pre-op screening at the Montreal Neurological Hospital (MNH), per Dr. Sadikot, the neurosurgeon I had met with to discuss “Deep-Brain Stimulation” (DBS). I’m a wee-bit confused, as my understanding of where we left that whole idea was stonewalled – DBS and chemotherapy are kind of like oil and water, and I would need ‘normal’ hematological results, for my leukocytes and erythrocytes to be within a certain range. Still, I will call Monday and get it sorted.

“The Road to You” MS group I have been attending continues to be the most interesting Wednesday I have every month. I’d like to be taking a more active role in the group, and while Tristan, the group’s co-founding member, recognizes my desire to step it up, neither of us have come up with a direction in which to deploy me. I have faith we’ll find something suitable for me.

The interesting thing about regular attendance to the group has been the renewed zeal I have to continue fighting my ‘Everyday Battles’. It’s not nice to see anyone have to struggle with a disease as potentially crippling as MS; it’s a disease that does as much damage psychologically as it does physically. Because it *might* really mess you up. Or not. And it’s being physically crippled that messes with your psyche. This vicious circle funnels downward like water down a drain, but knowing I’m not alone makes for still waters, so to speak. That camaraderie burgeoning amongst  the group members is nice to see. I look forward to both continuing to take part and seeing my role within expand.

Weather’s turning – it’s my time to shine! Autumn has always been my favourite time of year. It is remarkably beautiful in both the urban landscape of the city and the unspoiled landscape of the Laurentians.

Enjoy the ‘comfortable’ weather!

-A.D.

That episode of The Simpsons where Homer was interviewed on “Rock Bottom”? (S06E09)

Did you watch it? If not, please take a moment of your time and watch.

http://bit.ly/ljuz66 <– advance to time index 11:05, and enjoy.

What did you take from those 2:30? That it’s difficult for me to make a sandwich, that I said the words “loosey-goosey-willy-nilly”, and that I am happy CCSVI Trials are coming to Canada, though I’m a little worried that I may not meet the inclusion criteria (e.g.: the trial group will be made up solely of Relapsing Remitting—RRMS– patients, and my diagnosis will have been changed to Secondary Progressive—SPMS– by that time). Where it strays off the trodden-path is that this trial doesn’t involve a drug and is not being funded by big Pharma. This is unknown territory for me, which is only now bringing me to the realization that my recorded comments vis-a-vis being the “magic level of handicapped” may have been kind of irrelevant.

The CBC contacted me via e-mail the night before they ‘filmtroviewed’ me. I had to be up early the next morning so that a jovial and friendly nurse could practice her ‘pokey-stabby’ (thanks again for that one, Cat) and fill a little cylindrical container with blood, ensuring that the right balance between immuno-surpression and overall health is being achieved; nobody’s trying to kill me – though that is sometimes how it feels as I’m retching over my toilet, doing my best to avoid splashing vomit on the toilet rim, streamlining clean-up into a flush and brushing my teeth (and palate…and cheeks… and gums…and tongue). The intention is instead to dampen my immune system in an attempt to hit the “off” switch on my disease. But flipping that switch comes at a price; and yes, I ask myself everyday whether I should keep it up, or whether I should just give my body a break. I am coming up on year 3 – it sure feels like it may be time.

On point – I didn’t take much time to prepare, but did think the breadth of knowledge that I have been amassing with varying levels of intensity for my whole life (seriously – my Dad has MS. remember?) would carry me through without problem. From the feedback I’ve received (though all from people I’m close to), I did ok. Right until I said that block of four words that have now been immortalized by the CBC, that I received a string of ball-busting text-messages regarding, and that my brother-in-law will never let me forget.

“Loosey-goosey-willy-nilly”. The way it was portrayed in the interview makes it sound like I was making disparaging remarks in regards to Costa Rica (and therefore Passport Medical, the medical tourism company that arranged my trip -and yes, it was expensive, but they provided a service: a surgery somehow paradoxically performed on a daily basis yet not available domestically to me). In the end, my family, my friends, and I decided to go for it – I said yes and everyone I know, a bunch of people I didn’t know until we shook hands at one of the fund-raising events hosted by my friends and family showed their agreement and support as well by helping me to afford the burdensome cost the trip would incur. Despite any misgivings I may have had about venoplasty as a treatment for MS, I recognized the limited options I had remaining and chose to give ‘er (as we say out West), going in with no expectations and a lot of hope. My experience was non-miraculous. Medically, you would call it “unremarkable”. But at least I tried.  Upon my return home, three months post-op, what I feared would happen happened; my general practitioner (GP), who I had ensured would agree with what I was doing before I went down so that I at least had a professional to assist with follow-up care, has done everything I’ve asked him to, but is limited as to how far he can actually take it. He’s great at writing papers for referrals to imaging labs so that I can have follow-up scans done, but the Québec College of Physicians has instructed any and all imaging labs to disregard requests for scans from MS patients pertaining to CCSVI. To this day, seven months postop, I still have yet to have follow-up Doppler ultrasound done. There could be a clot floating around in one of my jugulars, but because I traveled abroad, or maybe because there’s not enough empirical data on the procedure I had done, or perhaps just as I have really shitty luck – all four imaging labs I contacted in Québec refused to provide the scan I needed.

At first, I was a little upset with the CBC – I said many intelligent things, anyone who reads my blogs knows that I’m not lying. I said one thing that made me come off as a NASCAR fan, and what makes it into the piece? Oy…

I understand why it worked out that way. Nobody likes to feel like they’re in some sort of English class when they’re watching the news. I guess “Loosey-goosey-willy-nilly” gave it a little bit of flavour. Just to clarify though, that comment was in reference to the fact that ANYBODY could have the procedure done overseas, whereas in Canada, we are far more stringent in the selection process for procedures of this elk.

Just to contextualize for y’all… I was in no way making negative statements about my experience in Costa Rica, Passport Medical, or even the procedure itself. There is much that is yet to be discovered about virtually everything involved in the pathogenesis of MS. This is one road, one avenue, that I think needs further study, and less immediate dismissal by the medical community at large.

Keep cool, the summer heat has finally arrived!

-A.D.

I am really blogging about the weather. I know, I know…

Every year, Montreal and all its summer wonders (and there are many – the Grand Prix, the jazz fest, the comedy Fest, etc., etc., etc… if you’ve never spent a serious amount of time in Montreal, you’re missing out!) cycle in. My MS and I, however, have a tendency of shying away from the aforementioned. The heat and humidity really do a number on me. The closest thing I can use to exemplify precisely how they make me feel is like this – you know when you’re at the gym and you’re coming to the end of the reps in your set when you’re lifting weights? How you can feel your body weaken every time you lift once more, until you’re at the end of your set, and you can barely even lift your arm; it is more or less precisely like that in the heat. The hotter it is, the more weight I’ve been lifting, if you follow me. I want so badly to be able to enjoy the summer’s warm embrace that we Montrealers are gifted with for putting up with 8 months of the daily climatic round-robin we endure annually, with weather ranging from ‘feet’ of snow, lakes of rainfall, to freezing rain. For any of those who wondering, freezing rain is exactly what it sounds like; chunks of ice falling from the sky. This country kicks ass!

Alas, I get but 2 seasons a year that I enjoy. This may not be far from many others; a myriad of potential limitations are put on the population around me, in ways vastly different, perhaps even for some reading this very post. So, just know that if you fall into that category of heat intolerance, know that I feel your pain. It blows, I gotcha. The fun of my MS is that I’m fighting an uphill battle against a list of limiting factors, heat being but one. Wheelchair? No problem! Fatigue? Not the end of the world. But no Summer fun in Montreal?

Well then… (to my family, please don’t take this the wrong way…) what’s the point of even being here? I live in a city where I constantly feel disadvantaged because I don’t speak the language. I can string a sentence together, I understand more or less perfectly, but my vocabulary is limited, my accent is atrocious, and I often find myself stuck not being able to find the words that I need to finish whatever thought it is that entered into my head. The worst part? I could take a French class. I could perfect my French. But I’m so disinterested in doing that… I’d much rather work on obtaining my English masters. It leads me to think; if the city can’t inspire me to bolster a desire to learn the language, what is so great about it?

I’m a Westerner, pure and simple. Montreal is beautiful, but not for me.

Beyond my disease and the fingers of disability that it has grasped me with so furtively and with such inexorable strength, I’m beginning to feel loss. True loss. It’s part of life, safe to say. But sometimes, I can’t help but feel there is a disproportionate amount of “no” to all the “yes” life offers.

“No, I can’t go there.”

“No, I can’t do that.”

Far too many sentences that begin, end, and/or are made up with those words have left my mouth. So there you have it. I think it only a natural part of adjusting. I choose to identify obstacles, figure out how to get around/under/over/through/past them, and then file whatever it is I have to do under “yes” or “no”. Or perhaps under “yes, but…”

I’m going to write a book. I mean it. I think there’s some value in the things that I say, some of the blogs that I’ve chosen to share with no one in particular, yet, somehow, everyone who matters. While the capitalist in me would love to see some kind of profit from the endeavor, the realist in me is thinking “will it even work out so that I break even?”

I have a riveting, monumental story about a long life but not enough living. And in its pages, I will do my best to shine a spotlight on what life has thrown at me. I have a story to tell; it is as inspiring as it is heart-wrenching, it is capable of galvanizing just as quickly and equally as it can weaken you. It is a true story, the truest one I know. I can say with a modicum of certainty that it’s a good story. It’s worth your time – private industry-bred efficiency has left it so that I’ve learned not to waste my time; I wouldn’t think of asking you to waste yours.

It is, after all, important to have dreams, isn’t it?

Andrew of the Missing Blog Posts

I must begin this post with a round of apologies to all my stalwart readers – I have been missing for some time, ’tis true. Any who know me, however, will know that I have hardly been sitting idle. On the contrary; I had some fun early in May when my friend from South Africa was in town and staying with me between the 3rd and the 16th. We dated while she lived here between 1999 & 2000. I was just a boy of 16, but, to this day, I’ve yet to find anyone who can make me feel emotion across the spectrum, from the deepest love I’ve ever known to the most vociferous rage I’ve ever felt. Call me a hopeless romantic, but I think that measure, from one end to the other can be viewed as precisely how much I love this girl. It was an interesting 13 days. I more or less relived some of my favourite parts of my life thus far. But, on the 13th day, she left as planned and returned home. There is some chance she may be reading this, and if that is the case, I only have words of thanks to her for bringing some enjoyment back into my life, but not letting me get too carried away.

Since her departure, I’ve been hard at work taking care of ME (yup, that ‘ol story of me & my MS!). This time, though, some arguably interesting things have come to light. Any who follow my blog have heard me voice complaints about my symptomatic nemesis: the cerebellar tremor. It’s my nemesis for more than one reason – response to medications is sporadic, at best. More often, response to medication is nonexistent. It’s the symptom that I can’t disguise, no matter how hard I try. It’s with me, always. And so, being me, I have been focusing my efforts on finding some way to to treat this untreatable symptom. My research led me to read on and on about a treatment referred to as DBS – deep brain stimulation. And so, last week, I met with a neurosurgeon to discuss my viability as a candidate for such a procedure. And wouldn’t you know it…

Chemo and DBS do not mix. As a matter of fact, the neurosurgeon told me I would need “normal” hematological results for a solid month before they would even consider performing surgery. What this would entail is me stopping chemo for a period of no less than two months, and being monitored closely the following month to see if my leukocytes (white blood cells, or WCB’s) and my erythrocytes (red blood cells, or RBCs) show up with normal counts.

Can I afford to stop treatment for two months? I don’t know. What I do know, however, is that the thought of getting any worse than I am right now scares the living shit out of me. Enough so that, at this point in my disease, I’m not willing to take that risk.

All this blows my other option for treatment out of the water as well – some of you may have read of Gilenya, a once daily oral medication now on the market and approved by health Canada for MS… but only indicated for relapsing remitting MS. But my nemesis… it was my newest symptom, making its appearance in September 2010 (or thereabouts, I’m not quite sure exactly when it was), has not gone away, and only continues to worsen with time. What does that mean? Have I moved into a progressive stage in my disease? Should my diagnosis be changed from RRMS to SPMS (secondary progressive MS, for all you jargon haters)? That may wind up doing even more damage; most new medications are indicated for relapsing remitting, and aren’t really tested through randomized, controlled, blinded trials with people who are in a more progressive stage of the disease.

Awesome. And the disease has been so cooperative lately… I should’ve known it was going to throw me for a loop sooner rather than later. Such, as they say, is life. Mine just happens to be different. I’m not able to qualify it by calling it better or worse than anyone else’s, but anyone can see, clear as day, that it most certainly is different.

So no, this chapter of my life is simply being put on hold for the moment, and I am simply going to stay the course, wade through this chemotherapy and all the fun that comes with it. The saving grace of the last two months has been this: one of the nurses at the MS clinic approached me and told me about a group that she has started. A group of young people (aged 21 to 35), English speaking Montrealers suffering from MS. I think joining a group such as this would be good for me. Getting me out of my house, away from the front of this computer screen, and actually interacting with other human beings suffering through the same quagmire that I am… perhaps I can even be of help to someone, anyone.

As always, here’s hoping. I know my hopes are still sky high.

4 Years & Counting…

Amazing how time flies – almost 4 years to the day since I was seated in a hospital wheelchair, Jami to my left, Dr. Patry across the room, scrolling through my first (and, sadly, far from my last) MRI, pausing here, pausing there, pointing out what were to be the building blocks for my diagnosis.

I knew it. I had known it for months; in December 2006, while home in Montreal from Calgary for the holidays, my suspicion had intensified to the point where I had my Mother go over the ‘discovery’ period my Father underwent prior to his diagnosis. This is when I first learned that the strange, electrical-impulse-like feelings running through my abdomen whenever I tucked my chin into my chest was a sure sign. I would later learn that this is called “Lhermitte’s syndrome“, though it is more commonly referred to (somewhat paradoxically) as “The MS Hug”. Sounds warm & friendly, as hugs generally are – but this hug was anything but. As is every other symptom brought on by this relentlessly insufferable disease, the way in which it manifests itself is different in every case; for some, it is extremely painful, for others it is simply awkwardly uncomfortable (as was the case for me, thankfully). It was at this moment, however, way back in December ’06 that I knew, unequivocally, that the same fate that had befallen my Father had made its way to me – that I had a new live-in roommate, one that paid neither rent, nor groceries, nor gas, nor hydro. A roommate that hindered as opposed to helped – it was just a question of how much and how quickly its ramifications would be felt.

And thus, denial set in. A denial that I held to so fastidiously that I waited for enough neurological damage to set in that to get to the Foothills Special Services building to obtain the results of that first MRI, my legs had completely given out, and for the bargain-basement price of $500, was the recipient of my first ride in an ambulance.

Lucky me…

3 months of daily physical therapy, from rolling, to crawling, to sliding, to stepping, and the rehabilitative team treating me had me up and walking again. I was discharged from Foothills on July 1st, 2007. At the time, I was employed under the “Sales” side of my company, Parker Hannifin (NYSE: PH – a worthwhile investment to add to your portfolio; they’ve paid dividends through something like 32 straight quarters) which allowed me the flexibility of performing my gradual return to work from my home office until I was transitioned back into the “Operations” side of the business – I was, once again, a ‘desk-jockey’.

And so it went – Parker did more than I could’ve ever expected them to, finding room for me back in our Montreal office, allowing me to retain both gainful employment and access to the comprehensive group benefits that I continue to enjoy to this day. I don’t pretend for a second to understand the legalities behind having an employee fall victim to something as atrocious as MS, a life-long, degenerative disease that doesn’t kill so much as it cripples, but I know that Parker has gone above and beyond in my case. For that, I feel that I owe a debt of gratitude so deep and so far-reaching that I will never be able to pay it back.

And that’s why, 4 years post-diagnosis, I’m still the happy-go-lucky guy that they scooped up almost 10 years ago. They put me where I needed to be to survive; with my family, the troupe of people without whom I’d most certainly be in a convalescent home somewhere, wasting away in infirmity, instead of continuing to live mostly independently. While my MS has taken my ability to walk, my continence, my abilities to type, write, cook, clean (to a Gabriel/Durso standard, at least), has impaired my vision, demolished my endurance, robbed me of any ability to travel with relative ease (sure looks depressing when it’s all listed like that!), but for everything that it has taken away, I can find something good that it has given me. Whether it’s a newfound patience that I enjoy in all parts of life, or whether it’s the understanding of what it is that my own father has been undergoing for the past 25 years, there is some good to be found. You just need to look

So as I head out to celebrate Easter with my family, I hope that you all enjoy the day, and are able to spend with your family, your loved ones, and the people that are important to you.

-A.D.

Perspectives

It really is all about perspectives. People read the stuff that I write, and they seem to think that it makes their problems, the frustrations that they have to deal with, by some strange measure of cosmic balance, inconsequential.

I’ve had people tell me that I’m braver and stronger than they are. To them, I say “I wish…” It’s entirely situational; I’ve explained, in the amalgamation of all these posts that I’ve put up into the blogosphere, that I am the unfortunate victim of a really lousy set of circumstances. I think we can all agree that this is a universal truth. But with that misfortune came something truly wonderful – I was given the opportunity to change my perspective. My perspectives. On virtually everything.

So while I sit comfortably on the throne that so many have erected for me, I only hope that everyone understands that I never forget that other people have problems too. And those problems are just as real to them as mine are to me. Granted, we are comparative by nature; everyone likes to see how their shit looks under someone else’s flashlight. I’ve reached a point in my life where I can say, with a modicum of certainty, that it’s all brown, it all smells bad, and it all has the same sickening texture that you become familiar with as you try to clean it up – shit is shit, doesn’t matter whose light your looking at it under.

I don’t compare myself to you. That wouldn’t be fair to me, seeing as how the vast majority don’t have problems with their endurance, their vision, their manual dexterity, their mobility, their bowels, etc., etc., ad nauseam (as I’m so fond of saying). My question, therefore, is how is it fair for YOU to compare yourself to ME?

You’re not unfortunately fortunate enough to have the wonderfully broad, if not mildly localized, perspective that I enjoy. Who’s better off, I wonder?

Be fair to yourself…

-A.D.

School First!

It’s not just a lame excuse – in the last four or five weeks of my eight week English course, I’ve learnt that, despite what you may think, I really don’t know how to write formally. I know! It came as a shock to me too! Who knew that formal English writing was so very different than this loosey-goosey, creative drivel that I post for other people to read. I’m still doing well. Of the four assignments I’ve turned in so far, I’ve got an A-, a B, and an A+, and one as of yet unknown. But if I had to guess, I’d say somewhere between a B and a B+. While it may not seem that bad, for me, it’s not good enough. I’m back in school to get As. Anything less is unsatisfactory, especially considering I’m taking one class at a time, I’m doing it from home, at my own pace, and am mostly unfettered by external pressures like work. I guess my work has turned into managing my disease. And in all honesty, it really does feel full-time job some days.

To the point…

I struggled with this one, I really did. How could I, in good conscience, ask people for more money, after the unbelievable outpouring of generosity that everyone was so very helpful with last year in getting me down to Costa Rica for the unproven, experimental CCSVI treatment/venoplasty. As the date for the walk grows closer, I was struck with the realization that, for now at least, MS is for life. And until more research is done, it will continue to be so. That research is funded, in majority, by the generosity of people like YOU. My friends, my family, even people I don’t know all too well, you’re all going to have to bear the burden of being asked for money. Once a year. Until there is a cure.

So, as in years past, I humbly ask for “your two cents” – literally. As always, any donations upwards of $20 will be met with a tax receipt to help shave a couple dollars off your 2011 tax return. We are doing something a bit different this year, and are not walking as “The Bad Puns”, and have instead joined forces with a friend of mine, rapidly becoming a good friend, who, like me, is doing her best in an effort to reach the upper echelons of “corporate whoredom”. She successfully solicited corporate sponsorship for our team this year from Reebok, her employer. Respect.

Our team site can be found by clicking the link below, typing my name, then click either “Pledge Me” or “Pledge My Team”. Either works… it all goes to the same place.

click here for our team site!

Since I’ve been “Andrew of the Missing Blog Posts” lately, I suppose that at the same time as asking for money, I should let you all know what’s been up, and how I’m doing.

Just this week, I had one of the best experiences I’ve had since diagnosis; a holistic nutrition company that specializes in working with people with neurological disorders/diseases/problems (Neurotrition) has helped put together a menu, a menu based on my disease, as well as all the medication that I am taking, with the hope that doing the simplest thing, changing the way I eat, will have some beneficial impact on the condition of my health. I’ve given it drugs, pills, injectables, and most recently, have altered my venous system. But all of it to little amelioration in my overall health. And so, I figure, why not do the simplest thing: radically alter my diet. And radical it is… I’m going vegetarian. I’m going organic as often as possible. I’m even leaning into veganism. Me, a guy that used to live in a place nicknamed “Cowtown”, where I ate steak three times a week, and when I wasn’t eating fatty red meats, I was eating horribly processed, packaged meals. At the time, I figured “other people are doing it”. What never came to mind, was that those other people likely did not have a genetic predisposition to a monster of a disease like MS, something which I did.

All I can do is kick myself about it now… and do what I can to change my ways. So, stick around folks, let’s see what altering my intake brings.

As always, here’s hoping…

-A.D.