Part Three

Finding Tools to Help Me Succeed

So far, I have told you about some of the medications and therapies I’ve pursued. But that’s not all that gave me assistance as time went along. I also have a scooter, which was a very scary idea at first. I thought if I used a scooter, I would forever be attached to it and that my “new normal” would be a label that included the term “disabled.” I was, therefore, quite reluctant to get into the seat of the scooter.

What I can tell you is that my scooter was purchased by eleven lovely friends who wanted to help me defray the cost and also, I think, to metaphorically “hold me up” in the scooter seat. It worked. Instead of seeing my scooter as the enemy, I saw it as a tool of love. It was a life-changing time for me because the scooter gave me back my independence and motivation—I could even drive a van after a scooter lift was installed.

I also became involved with Freeport Hospital, the rehabilitation campus of Grand River Hospital, and their augmentative devices department. If I needed it, I could get tools that would speak for me and computers that would type for me. In addition, there was help if I was unable to see—books could be read to me.

What all of that told me was that if I needed it, help was there. I could pursue my dream of teaching. And so, I began teaching part-time at the university, just to see if I could do it. Of course, it was a shock to students to see me looking healthy in class one day and using a scooter another, but they quickly learned to adapt to my changing body. I also learned to share my story with them so that they would be more comfortable when I came into the classroom with a mobility device. It was a scary and invigorating place to be. 

MS and Remission

One thing that I have so far neglected to talk about is the fact that MS can go into remission. Multiple sclerosis is thought to be an autoimmune disorder. In autoimmune diseases, immune factors attack the body’s own cells. In the case of MS, the immune system attacks the tissues that make up myelin. The damage to myelin, and nerve fibers (axon), is caused by overactivated T cells. T cells are a type of white blood cells called lymphocytes. In my case, blood tests always show a very high white blood cell count. So high that any new doctor invariably wants to put me on antibiotics, and I have to convince them that I didn’t have an infection. That was my “normal.”

In the first twenty years I had MS, I had not once been in clinical remission and the disease had been very active in my body. But at around the twenty-year mark my family doctor asked me to see a new neurologist; she had heard this specialist speak at an event and thought I’d like her and be able to trust her. And, as my family doctor rightly pointed out, I had had amazing recovery after experiencing so many symptoms over the past twenty years, but the long-term effects were likely to become more challenging if I didn’t at least try to stop the progression of the disease. I had refused all such offers up to that point because I had bad luck with neurologists. But I trusted my doctor, so I agreed to go.

When I met this neurologist, I was immediately impressed with the fact that she was a human being and she treated her patients as human beings as well. I will admit that a good bedside manner is not terribly important to me, but it was such a relief to find someone who was positive, strong, interested in the latest research, but not a risk-taker with the lives of her patients. I will admit that a good bedside manner is not terribly important to me, but it was such a relief to find someone who was positive, strong, interested in the latest research, but not a risk taker with the lives of her patients. I did trust her and she quickly put me on an injection drug called beta interferon. The medication is believed to work by suppressing the inflammatory factors in the immune system that are associated with the attack on myelin. In other words, the drug would suppress my immune system and hopefully bring my white blood cell count to normal levels. And surprisingly, it did just that. Within four months of regular injections, I was, for the first time, in clinical remission. I couldn’t believe it. That was in April of 2008. It was then that I knew I would pursue my goal of teaching at a post-secondary level.

In early January 2010, I successfully defended my PhD dissertation and officially became a “doctor.” I cannot explain what a victory that was for me, but suffice it to say, I knew I could do anything. The next day I was exhilarated that my dream had come true, but I found myself staring at my computer and asking out loud, “now what?” I had fulfilled my dream and I didn’t know how to take the next step.

Almost immediately, the phone rang, and I had a phone call from the chair of liberal studies at Conestoga College. He told me that he was looking for someone to immediately fill a vacancy teaching Canadian history at the college. In fact, the semester had already started, and the students had missed two classes already. He asked if I was interested. What a question!

Without a second’s hesitation I said “yes.” I had only a couple of days to prepare, but I wasn’t alarmed. I knew my topic, I had taught before, and I was eager to prove that this would be the job for me. And once again I had to say to myself, “If I never try, I’ll never know.”

It quickly became apparent that Conestoga College was a terrific fit for me. My boss had a talent for giving his faculty assignments that would keep them interested and I was no exception. I began branching out and teaching new courses. I even began developing my own courses that focused on my unique academic training. One of my favourite experiences was developing and teaching a course called The History of Art. In that course, I could include not just my knowledge of history and archaeology, but also my experience as an art gallery owner. I was thrilled and delighted with the opportunities I was being given.

Where I Am Today

In 2011, I was still in solid remission, and I knew that the college was looking for a full-time history professor. I was momentarily in a dilemma. Should I apply? What if I was in an MS attack? Would my students suffer for it? How would I manage MS in the classroom? In reality it was a very quick decision. I had been in MS attacks before when I’d been teaching part-time and I managed to teach with help from various aids. I knew that I could do it. I wouldn’t have applied if I didn’t think that. And yes, I got the job. I have since been working full-time and loving every minute of it. I have often thought of that neurologist who told me I’d never work again because no one would hire me. I wish he had added, “Unless they know you and your work.”

This brings me to today and while I am not currently in remission, MS has mostly subsided. To look at me, you would never know that I have MS. I usually walk normally, talk normally, and generally feel pretty great.

I know I have MS every day, but I take various medications that keep me going and help with the pain and spasticity. It impacts my ability to socialize at night because I take most of my medications with dinner (and I can’t drive afterwards). But life is sweet. I have seen that the light, the spark that started so many years ago, has turned into a burning flame. I am thankful every day to be alive and to be so full of hope for my future and for the future of those living with multiple sclerosis.

In the end, I have realized that my life is about hope as a verb and not as a noun. Hope is an action I must do, not a thing I just have. Hope is about trying to see beyond what the doctors and specialists say about my life. What matters is that we all find ways to live our lives to the fullest, whatever that means for us individually. Perhaps what I need to say, more than anything else, is that to hope isn’t about being blind to the world, or about being uninterested in how we got here. The ability to hope is hard-won and is drives us forward against all odds. To hope is about resilience no matter the cost and it is about looking for light when hope is all you have left.