It was February 14, 2006 and I was sitting impatiently in an emergency room, watching the clock. I remember it was nearly 5:00 pm, I was 23 years old and worried my friends would make plans without me. However, I sat waiting for a neurologist awaiting results on why both of my legs were asleep for the past 5 hours.
Begging my mother to take me home, she pleaded with me to stay. My mother always had this "sixth sense" and "witchy feelings" about things. This incident was something my mother was genuinely worried about. The only thing on my mind was calling my on/off again boyfriend J and worrying why he hasn't called back, considering he knew I was in the hospital.
It seemed like 100 needles and a spinal tap later, I was admitted overnight. An over abundance of questions like,"do you do drugs?"
"No."
"Are you telling the truth?"
"Yes."
"All of your tests are clear. Are you sure it isn't drugs, Natalie?"
It really wasn't. At 23 years old, I drank as much as anyone else my age. I may have smoked pot 3 or 4 times at that point, but I was pretty much a clean, good girl.
It wasn't until the next night that I finally had my diagnosis. My MRI showed 2 lesions in my brain. The hallway was very quiet, visiting hours were over and it was 9:00 at night. My neurologist came into my room with a stone face and I knew it wasn't good. He pulled up a chair, took my hand and in his most serious doctor-like voice, he told me that I have Multiple Sclerosis. Now, at this point, he went on telling me what it was all about but I already knew. I had a cousin with MS who passed away from complications because of it.
I was completely frozen and disconnected from reality. My family was not around to comfort me, my doctor left as soon as the news broke and I was all alone. I picked up the room phone to call my on/off again boyfriend J, who, at this point, never called back. J's phone number was long-distance and the hospital phone would only let me dial out if I paid by credit card. Frantically, I called and called with no response, leaving messages to call back at my hospital line. I had spent close to 40 dollars trying to reach him. An hour later, he calls, sounding annoyed and bothered by my messages.
"What is it?!" J blurts.
"The doctor says I have Multiple Sclerosis."
"I can't talk right now. I'm on my cell phone and I'm driving. Let me call you back." Click.
After a few days, I notified friends of my condition. I had 3 visitors over the 3 weeks I was there. My friends were slowly pulling away, not sure how to handle my illness and what to say. I was officially out of order and no use to them anymore. A friend in a wheelchair is no friend at all.
One morning, a young girl from physical therapy came to work with me. She looks at me with doubtful eyes. "I don't think you have MS", she says. "I think your doctor is wrong. I've worked with patients that have MS and you clearly don't have MS."
After a conversation with my doctor about this, she was fired a day later.
I was later transferred to a facility for intensive physical therapy. My condition was worsening, the pins and needles feeling had moved to my torso. The nerves were so sensitive that a touch to the feet would send me into a great deal of pain.
My new hospital room was small, dirty and depressing. The walls were a dark blue and my roommate was a woman that just had her leg cut off. I could see her stitches and open wounds. She would vomit into the trash can every 10 minutes or so, while the room would stink to the point of my gagging. I could hear older people scream for help, whine for their deceased loved ones and cry. Realizing I might be the youngest person here, I felt more isolated than I have ever felt. My phone wouldn't ring. My friends had left. My parents were so upset, they couldn't give me eye contact. Father would find excuses to not visit. I sat in an old, squeaky wheelchair staring out the window, dreaming of what I could be doing in the outside world.
The next morning at 7 am, I was moved into the cafeteria for breakfast. Trying to maneuver my wheelchair down the hall, I realized I was exactly right. The majority of the patients here were above the age of 65. With the combination of not knowing how to use a wheelchair, being around sick older people and in total isolation, I broke down in front of everyone to see. I screamed like I had never screamed before. I wanted to be in my apartment, laughing with my friends. My heart broke into tiny pieces and my soul left me deserted as I knew my life as I knew it was over.
A doctor came to comfort me, with his arms around me, he whispers "Natalie, I know it's not easy. We have to get you used to using this wheelchair! It will be your friend for life!" as if he were coaching me through my own personal internal war. He actually thought I was upset because I couldn't use my wheelchair.
Wheelchair for life?
This was the first time I had heard the news. I would never walk again, he said. My wheelchair would be my best friend, he said.
I found out later from a nurse that the same doctor ordered that all sharp objects be removed from my room. Any shoe laces, any glass, anything I could harm myself with would be removed from my room and my roommate would have to leave. The hospital now thought of me as a suicidal risk. And I was.
A week went by without eating, without leaving the room or asking for help. I was so angry. I had never been that angry in my life. I was only 23 years old and this wasn't supposed to happen. The phone call from J was the last I heard from him. He never called back and never heard from him again. I heard from my family that my father moved me out of my apartment. My friends were not returning phone calls. Father still couldn't make eye contact with me and my mother could only look at me in pity. They all did; nurses, patients, therapists. I felt dead inside.
Screw this! I'll show them. I got into my wheelchair and practiced for hours. I tried with everything I had to move my legs every hour of the day.
I WAS going to walk again. I would make my doctors all liars. I would be alive again.
Though with cancer problems since childhood, this wouldn't be the first rodeo in the hospital.
