I thought I had a shin splint.
It was July 2009.
I was running, training for the New York City Marathon, when my right leg went numb.
Just like that, out of the blue.
I could still feel it enough to know it hurt, though.
I stopped and stretched, but when the pain didn’t go away, I hailed a cab home.
For the next two weeks, I iced my leg and took a break from running.
The MRI came back negative.
A pinched nerve, my doctor guessed next, and he referred me to a neurologist to investigate.
Worst case, Lou Gehrig’s disease or a brain tumor."
I felt as if I couldn’t breathe, like the air had been sucked out of the room.
When I got outside, I called my best friend, Lauren, and we met for a manicure.
Not much comfort at all.
I cried through each one.
To say I hate needles is an understatement.
But worse than the needles was the not knowing.
I stopped runningdoctor’s ordersand started giving up on my life.
I felt no happiness.
I had no fun.
I rarely went out, and when I did, I got sloshed.
I just wanted to numb my emotions.
I was on my way to work one November morning when I got the call.
“We think it’s MS,” my doctor said.
“Come in to discuss treatment.”
I hung up without asking a single question.
I thought, OK, now I know.
I went straight to Starbucks, where I called Lauren and told her to meet me.
When she saw me, we both burst into tears.
“Let’s call my mom,” she said.
We were like two little girls, hoping her mom would know how to make it better.
My own mother isn’t in my life.
She left when I was 13.
My sister and I talk often, but she’s busy raising three kids in Chicago.
And my father, who was my role model, died when I was 28.
He would’ve been the first one I called; he would have known just what to say.
Some people talk to God when things like this happen; I talk to my late father.
I ask him to give me signs or tell me what to do.
Without him by my side, I had to figure it all out on my own.
Its cause is unknown.
There is no cure.
Early signs include numbness, blurry or double vision, loss of balance and fatigue.
Eventually, I could become paralyzed or (though rare) blind or mentally incapacitated.
I try not to think about thatliving in fear is no way to live.
I have the most common kind of MS, called relapsing-remitting.
I’ve had only one official attack, a few weeks postdiagnosis.
I woke up one morning, swung my legs out of bed and couldn’t walk.
My right leg was stiff, painful.
Was this the beginning?
Would my leg stay like this forever?
I couldn’t escape the shots!
A giddy nurse wearing bad perfume showed up at my apartment to show me how to inject my belly.
By the time I managed to, I was sobbing.
I couldn’t believe this was my reality.
It was a lonely time in my life.
The idea of dating filled me with fear and heartache.
Who would love me?
I was damaged goods.
And when do you tell someone you have MS?
On the first date?
I told him, and he disappeared, never responding.
Then, about a year ago, I met Jason.
I thought he knew about my MS, because we had some friends in common.
“Why are you going?”
“You don’t know?”
I watched him read every word.
And then I watched the tears start streaming down his face.
“Does this change things?”
And every year, I get an MRI.
In fact, that’sallI think for the 40-minute duration.
But when the test ends, I go back to my life, where I feel totally normal.
That means exercising more faithfully, eating right and eliminating negative people from my life.
I also value my friendships more than ever.
I would do anything for them.
When I find myself getting really worked up, I take a deeper breath than I used to.
When I was little, my dad used to tell us bedtime stories about his childhood in Tanzania.
For my birthday, Jason surprised me with two tickets to Africa.
I know the trek will help restore my faith in my body.