By the time my physician called to deliver the news, I had already spent enough time in an MRI tube to thoroughly mull over what living with multiple sclerosis (MS) might mean for me physically. What I hadn’t braced myself for was the impact an official diagnosis would have on my mental health.
Strangely, I found my pre-diagnosis life easier to deal with, physical frustrations and all. Yes, I was constantly dropping utensils, pens, my phone, and my keys. Yes, there was that multi-week stretch where I awoke each night to a burning sensation in my torso that no ice pack could cool. And yes, there was that time I fell onto my hands and knees in front of several coworkers and I hastily ripped off Jennifer Garner’s post-stumble-on-live-telecast quip: “Thank you! I do my own stunts!” The truth I wasn’t prepared to tell was that I had lost feeling in my feet.
For two years, I was told everything I was experiencing was in line with the early signs of MS. Being told that I actually have MS felt very different. Although the words were delivered softly and with compassion by my neurologist, they still sent me reeling.
I had done enough preliminary self-study to know that having MS means my immune system had launched an inflammatory response within my central nervous system and a specialized fatty tissue, called myelin, was the target. Myelin serves as a protective coating for the nerve cells, helping to ensure quick, clear communication between the body and brain, according to the National Multiple Sclerosis Society. When that coating is damaged, messages sent between the body and brain become jumbled, like a game of telephone.
The stress of receiving my diagnosis took over my mental and physical health.
In the two weeks after my diagnosis, my mind went to terrible places. I stressed about being able to perform at work. I obsessed over how my symptoms would impact my ability to play with my kids. I worried about how much all of this would worry my mom. I also began to notice that as my anxiety increased, my symptoms worsened—a notion confirmed by my care team. To quote my neurologist, Francesca Bagnato, MD, at Vanderbilt University, “Stress is not a friend to MS.” In that moment, proactive care of my mental health became a non-negotiable part of my care plan.
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But how do you find peace of mind when you know your brain has lesions in it? How do you find comfort in a body that you can’t count on every day? Three years post-diagnosis, the answer, at least for me, is that peace and comfort aren’t “found.” With the right tools, they are built.
I hope the following tips inspire you to build your own mental health toolkit. It might look different than mine or your best friend’s or your sister’s. That’s OK. These are just a jumping-off point. That said, here are five “tools” I use to protect my mental health while living with MS:
A hope tool that gives me, well, hope.
The purpose: to remind me that acceptance is not the same as resignation.
My hope tool: A copy of The Wahls Protocol, written by Terry Wahls, MD.
Source: SELF
