“Don’t you have a lot of other things to catch up on first?”
And there it is, what my mom is really trying to say. She doesn’t think this is worth my time because she thinks Ellie won’t be in the picture for long. My parents have been perfectly pleasant aroundEllie, but definitely nowhere near as welcoming or inviting as I know they can be.
“This is what’s important to me,” I say. “She is.”
“Well, you know, once you’re away at college—”
“I don’t know when that will be.”
Mom purses her lips. She returns to her book.
But I hate that my mom just touched on the insecurities I’m feeling, except not the way she’s thinking. I don’t thinkI’mgood enough for Ellie.
Ellie was mesmerizing in that video last night. Hands flying, carefree smile, having the time of her life. I watched it several times while glued to the couch, crushed by heavy fatigue. Not just tired, but like my limbs were pressed down by hundred-pound weights I couldn’t shrug off. There was no way I would’ve had the energy to dance with her even if I’d managed to get up and leave the house.
And then it hit me.
I want Ellie to go do anything and everything. She’ll want to go out, and there’ll be days when I can’t. I shouldn’t hold her back.
I won’t let myself.
Never knowing how I’ll feel when I wake up each morning can also lead to some surprises, because today is the first day in a long time that I truly feel like myself again. The treatment is already making a difference. I feel so shockingly myself again that I could almost forget how bad things had gotten.
It’s the day before Thanksgiving, and my last neurology appointment of the year. Once it’s established that the treatment is working well for me, I won’t need to go as frequently. It’s an early appointment—8:30 a.m.—but I’m up hours before.
Walking down into the kitchen, it dawns on me what I want to do. “I think I’ll go for a jog,” I announce to my mom as I grab a banana from the counter.
She’s immediately torn with indecision. Would I be safest stuck here on the couch, or will getting my blood pumping be good for my brain? “I’ll go with you,” she finally says.
“Okay, yeah.” I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit nervous about what would happen if I tripped and fell out on the street on my own. A lot of confidence left to regain.
We get changed and laced up, then start with a warm-up walk around the block. I’ve never gone running with my mom before. Usually we wouldn’t match pace, but as we pick up the speed this morning, I’m happy to take it easy. I won’t be breaking my PR anytime soon, but damn, it feels good to be running again.
I’m back, baby!
It’s not until I return to the kitchen, sipping on a green smoothie, that the fatigue creeps in. And when I take a seat on the couch, no surprise:twitch, twitch, twitch. This is how I live now.
On the way to the doctor, Mom reminds me of all the things she wants me to ask. “Remember, it depletes your immune response, so you need to be careful with infections now. And—”
“I know, Mom,” I say, holding up the folded piece of paper she handed me before we got in the car. “I’ve got your list of questions.”
At the neurologist’s office, the nurse must think I seem more animated.
“You’re looking well,” she tells me as she takes my blood pressure. “Treatment can really boost you up.”
My mom, sitting on the chair beside me, doesn’t say anything. She might not like my decision, but it’s just that—mydecision.
Anything to keep this disease from progressing,I think again. The look on my face must have shifted from my previously lighthearted state.
“Am I remembering correctly you said you’d be going back to school soon?” the nurse asks. “I’m sure it’s hard getting back into things. Have you given any thought to attending an MS support group meeting? They’re a helpful community to have.”
“Okay, maybe I will.”
When we get home, I’m supposed to go hang out with Ellie, even though we didn’t have solid plans. Not one to ghost, I send her a text.
JACKSON:
Hey, sorry, not feeling up for it today.
