Water Therapy

Yes, that baby is me! To this day, each time I am at the ocean, on the lake or river, or even just near a pond, I feel absolutely giddy and gleeful. 

This weekend, at the outdoor pool, as I splashed, floated, swam leisurely around the pool under the hot, cloudless sky, the blues I had been experiencing throughout the weekend--a deep variegated cobalt, indigo, dark blue sadness, lifted. 

Floating in the pool gave me visceral reminder of just how good I feel in water. Moreover, since MS is a disease that is managed, but certainly not cured, all of the literature I have read stresses the importance of regular exercise to help manage the disease and the depression that often accompanies chronic illness. So, this weekend in the pool, I made several summer-time resolutions, which will serve me in good stead regardless of whether I ultimately have MS or not. I decided to sign up for the water aerobics class and to register for swimming lessons, too. 

On Monday, I pushed through all of my internal reservations, and participated in my first water running class. Much to my surprise and delight, I. loved. it. Since, I don't even run for the bus, I had imagined the class would be dreadful and tedious. To my utter delight, I couldn't have been more wrong. In the water, I am weightless, buoyed up by the water and because class is held in the deep pool, my feet didn't even touch bottom. Instead, I pumped my arms and my legs in a running motion first more slowly for several pool-lengths of warm up and then fast, faster, fastest for an energizing workout. The height of the class were interval training and a series of relay races. I certainly got a work out. Yet, because of the games, it was more playful and interactive than just a regular water aerobics class. 

The water aerobics class I took on Wednesday, was a challenging workout, too. My muscles have that pleasant ache that confirm that I have indeed worked out and the past few nights I have been sleeping solidly for the first time in weeks. My next step is to advance my swimming skills by taking individual lessons in in order to learn not only how to crawl, butterfly, but also how to execute that sweet underwater turn that allows a swimmer to reverse and complete a lap. 

Still, it is important for me, and, for that matter anyone with a chronic illness, to remember that managing a (potential) disease, is not curing it. On Tuesday, for example, even after the elation the night before of water running, my blues returned and lingered throughout the day. I let it lay there. I was tender with myself throughout my sadness. I did not push myself to just get over it or berate myself for feeling better the night before and now feeling sad again. Instead, I acknowledged the depth of my sadness and yet tried my best to maintain my work schedule. 

I appreciated The National MS Society reminder that "wellness is a dynamic state of physical, emotional, spiritual, and social well-being that can be achieved even in the presence of a chronic illness or disability." For example, in response to my sadness, by Tuesday evening, I had had a good cry, shared openly with a friend about my sadness, and had a deeply satisfying phone conversation with a long-last friend. By the end of Tuesday, my sadness had again eased and lifted. 

Over the last few weeks as I have gotten more in touch with my emotions--after an initial period of pure jubilation over regaining my mobility-- I have been immensely angry, sad, grieved, and heartbroken over this possibility. What helps me most, in the face of the reality of these feelings and experiences, is to reach out. And, because I value conversation--a genuine give and take--and because I gain so much by the sharing and building community in the face of the toughest parts of life,  I'll invite the other person into the conversation by asking questions such as: Have you ever experienced this kind of sadness? How did you cope? 

A burdened shared is a burdened halved. True, indeed. 

 

The Waiting Period

Originally, I had decided to stash the potential of an MS diagnosis in  a folder labeled "August 12th," the date of my next neurology appointment. "Why panic?" I asked myself.  "When I don't know for sure yet?" 

Yet, of course, the limbo of waiting for a potentially life-altering diagnosis is, in itself, scary and terrifying. 

In fact, since there is no single test for MS and, by definition, it requires two episodes to be officially diagnosed, almost all people eventually diagnosed with MS go through a waiting period. Fortunately, unlike years ago when people sometimes waited years, often suffering increasingly debilitating attacks before being officially diagnosed, currently there are clear diagnostic standards, the McDonald criteria, that neurologists rely on to make a diagnosis. So, the next step is to wait to see if I have a second attack. It's certainly possible to only have one attack, called Clinically Isolated Syndrome, without ever developing full-blown MS. 

And hence, my dilemma, to what extent do I acknowledge and address an illness that I might not even have? Yet, if I do have it, wouldn't I want to use this time to "prepare"?

As I have grappled with these questions, I was reminded of an anecdote from the feminist therapist and author Harriet Lerner. On a team-building white water rafting trip, Lerner, who was terrified, repeatedly voiced her anxiety until she realized it was not only escalating her own anxiety and interfering with her ability to work with her team, but raising her team's anxieties, too. So, she pulled aside one of her very good friends, and shared exactly how petrified she really was.  She even gave him instructions on what to do and who to contact (her husband and two sons) in case of her death. Once she had addressed her fear and anxiety, Lerner was able to make a conscious decision to tap into her competence during the remainder of the trip and therefore was able to become a fully functioning, skillful member of her team. Brilliant, sanity-saving strategy, indeed!

For my part, during this emotionally and spiritually turbulent time, I have decided to follow Lerner's lead. I have shared with good friends and God, too, exactly how afraid I really am, and, truthfully, also how angry and at times sad I am, and I will continue to do so as necessary. At the same time, I am tapping into my core competence, to handle this potential diagnosis. On a practical level, this has meant copying my house key and giving it to friends, programming my Dr.'s information into my phone, and doing a little bit of reading (but not too much) on MS. As a dear friend, whose daughter suffers from MS, advised me, "Be informed, but not alarmed". 

Additionally, I have made an intention to enjoy my summer--I live in a visually stunning area--a small town surrounded by dark green mountains--and I simply do not want to miss out on all that the summer here has to offer: back yard barbecues, visits to the outdoor pool, summer bike rides, the Farmer's Market, and late summer nights. So, while I wait, I plan to dig into my summer with gusto.