Five days before my daughter’s first birthday I woke up to a strange feeling. Pins and needles. My feet had fallen asleep. Or so I thought.
I shook them around a little but I didn’t get that feeling of blood rushing back into my extremities. I didn’t feel anything. And then I knew.
I stood up and the ground felt strange beneath my feet. Like there were 20 layers of fabric between my body and the floor.
I thought I could walk it off. Put a little Windex on it. And it would be fine.
But it didn’t go away as I paced around the house. And upon further investigation, it wasn’t just my feet. My entire lower body was numb.
Those first couple weeks I stumbled around the house, afraid to do anything that could possibly make it worse.
I called my doctor and heard what I expected. “It will just have to run its course.” Six weeks and I’d be back to normal.
But six weeks turned into six months. Then six months turned into a year. And now 15 months later, I have a new normal.
I’ve learned to adapt to my disease and have vowed to not let it control me. To not let it define me. Because I am more than a symptom. More than a just person living with MS.