“Well,” the neurologist continues, “as part of the examination, we’ll first need to do additional bloodwork to make sure he’s eligible to take certain DMTs and isn’t at high risk for something like PML, which is a rare brain infection. Once we’ve gathered all this information, then he’ll be able to choose a treatment option.”
“Is there a holistic approach? Or a specific diet that could help?” Mom asks, though I know she won’t like the answer. Yoga can’t fix everything.
“In my professional opinion, I recommend getting started on a DMT as soon as possible. With something like this, every day counts. Diet is something that certainly can help how well a patient feels on a day-to-day basis, but food does not cause this disease, nor can we reliably expect it to cure it.”
But all I see my mom scribble down on her notes isdiet certainly helps.
“Do you have any questions for me, Jackson?” the doctor asks. “I know this is a lot, and I promise we’ll go through things more closely at our later appointment. For now, let’s focus on getting you back home.”
I’m sitting up quietly, letting one of the most important discussions of my life go on basically without me. If anything, I havetoo manyquestions. The only one at the tip of my tongue, however, is “Will I be able to play soccer again?”
The neurologist looks at me, his expression softening. “I typically advise patients to do their best to stay active. You may find yourself needing to make adjustments when it comes to heat management and fatigue.”
“All right.” But what exactly does that entail? “I’m just tired of being lazy. Even before this got this bad, I hated not being able to do anything because of the dizziness.”
“Please remember you do need rest. It’s not being lazy. Your body is hard at work recovering and taking care of itself. The best thing you can do is not actively fight against that process.”
“Okay.”
Mom writesrestin her notes and underlines it three times. She’s never going to let me leave the house again, is she?
“There’s a lot to know about the disease and what we have left to learn. I’m sure you’ll google to learn more,” the doctor suggests, but then side-eyes my mom. “Within reason. I recommend the MS Society to find reliable resources.”
“Okay,” I say again.
The neurologist says his goodbyes and flags down the nurse to get things in motion for the multiday steroid course. My parents and I sit in silence, processing everything. We don’t really know anyone with MS. Mom and Dad take health seriously, so I’m hoping this doesn’t come as too much of a disappointment to them. But that’s something to stress about another day. Right now, I’m just feeling a bit…relieved?
Rather than being swallowed up by fear or anxiety, I feel light. Because I have answers now. Even if there’s still a lot unknown aboutMS, now I generally have an understanding of what’s going on with my body.
Something Ellie once said comes back to my mind.Anyone can become disabled at any time.
She was right. I’d originally doubted how straightforwardly she’d said it, but now I’m also finding comfort in her clarity. I didn’t do anything to cause this. It’s not some personal failing of mine. It’s just…anytime. And I’m anyone.
My mom is already several web pages deep into the internet rabbit hole. “I just don’t know if we should risk those side effects,” she says of the treatment options. “That brain infection, I know they say it’s rare, but—”
“The doctor hasn’t even officially discussed treatments yet.” Dad puts a stop to this. “Jackson’s got to stop this relapse first, and then all those other preliminary examinations, and then we can worry about what treatment he’ll choose.”
“What used to happen to people before the injectments?” I ask, annoyed that I’m still stumbling over words. My brain is smashing two different ideas together at once. “I mean treatments, like injections. It doesn’t fix it, just manages it?”
“Well,” my dad says slowly, “the disease progressed. And then”—he pauses, his voice lowering to almost a whisper—“they died.”
That word hangs heavy in the air.
“Maybe they just didn’t eat correctly, then,” Mom says after a while, still not willing to trust the medications yet.
Dad shakes his head. “Do you really think they didn’t try anything they could?”
I know I will.
Chapter Thirty-five
Ellie
That weekend, myparents both leave together to go pick up Madison for fall break. It’s not lost on me that only my dad drove to bring me home from Brandview. They’d gotten into a routine over the years of Mom driving me there and Dad bringing me back. That didn’t change for the final ride. But Madison’s been away for like two months and it’s a whole production to go get her.
While they’re gone, I use the time to clear off Madison’s bed, which I’ve been using to arrange and pack my things. The closet is still stuffed with her belongings, so I shove my suitcases along the wall and hope it doesn’t look too obvious that I’m getting ready to take them somewhere.
By the time my parents get back from Indiana with my sister, Madison has already told them all about her time at college, so no one bothers to recap for me when we sit down for dinner.
