Chapter 1 : Part 4

A Sundog Moment
by Sharon Baldacci

(Page 4 of 6)

"I didn't want to worry you, Elizabeth, until we knew for sure. Remember, you weren't in any shape to . . . discuss this." He squeezed her hand, his face anxious.

Elizabeth's attention riveted on the doctor. "So . . . now do we know-for sure? Do you know, Michael?" Again this was directed at her husband, but he kept his eyes averted while he frowned.

"Gordon told me last night, Elizabeth. You were asleep and I wasn't about to wake you. I was going to tell you this morning, but, well, there wasn't time. Gordon can explain it better than I. And then you can get mad at him; you know, the bearer of bad news and all." He was so nervous he hardly knew what he was saying. His hoped-for levity fell flat as a burst water balloon; he suddenly felt clammy, every bit of him dreading what was to come. Then he heard Elizabeth's voice, felt her hand leave his.

"I would never get angry at you, Michael, for telling me the truth." The words were quiet, but he heard the reproach and was momentarily surprised. What had he done wrong?

"Gordon, if it's not a brain tumor, what is it?"

With a neutral voice he gave her the clinical details.

"Multiple sclerosis, probably the milder form, which is relapsing/ remitting. You've responded well to the treatment . . ." He continued talking, giving her an overview and then a detailed clinical description of the disease. Most of it she couldn't understand.

As she tried to listen intently to everything he said, one word bolted from the rest and she repeated it in disbelief.

"Incurable?" In others' lives, she knew there were some things medicine couldn't cure, but now that it was personal, she couldn't believe it.

"Yes. However, there is every reason to be optimistic. Research is coming up with more and more information. It's merely a matter of time before we have a cure. Or at the least better treatment. There are already some therapies currently available that may slow down the progression. So again, there is every reason to hope."

The next question was asked with the confident expectation of someone who has been healthy all her life. It demanded a suitable answer. "What can I do to keep this from ever happening again?"

She watched him shake his head. "I don't know how to answer that definitively, Elizabeth. You may never have another attack, or exacerbation, again. We don't know what triggers an episode, though there are theories. As far as what to do, continue maintaining a good, healthy lifestyle with moderate exercise, and keep stress to a minimum."

Incredulous, she could find no words to say, but it was Michael's voice that spoke for her. "Come on, Gordon, surely there has to be something!" Michael interjected. "Someone, somewhere in the world must be doing something-" He stopped as the doctor slowly shook his head. "Money is not a problem; I can mortgage the business or sell it if the insurance won't pay. There has to be something more . . . anything?" Michael insisted.

Gordon held up a hand, keeping his face devoid of emotion. At this moment he wasn't a friend, he was the doctor. "There is nothing that has been scientifically proven. There are therapies people have used in other parts of the world that do not have the backing of any qualitative double-blind studies that any scientist in our country would accept. And as for throwing money at this disease, there are plenty of people out there who would be delighted to take your cash, Michael, but you would do just as well to flush it down the toilet. Same difference. Believe me. I wouldn't tell you this if it weren't true."

They listened as Gordon went on to say hopeful things about research, but the only thing they heard was the sadness in his voice.

Finally, Elizabeth couldn't bear to hear anymore. She wanted to get away from this place; she wanted to put it behind her, and the sooner that happened, the better.

"Gordon," she interrupted, "when can I go home?"

"Another six days or so. You have to be weaned off these drugs slowly, they are very potent. Once we do that, you'll be discharged. In the meantime, I've called the local MS chapter and asked them to send some literature to you. I also want you to see the neurologist I've consulted about your case. In about a month, he'll be able to check for any residual neurological weaknesses and also monitor you over time. Any questions?"

There were none. Dr. Jones left with a perfunctory smile and a last bit of encouragement. With the shutting of the door there was an echo of another door slamming shut, the one defining a prior life set apart from this uncertain present. Today would forever be tagged with the identity of before and after diagnosis. Elizabeth almost heard it, but when she caught sight of Michael's stunned face, her only thoughts were to make it better. To fix it and put a smile back on his face.

Copyright © 2004 by Sharon Baldacci

About the Author

Sharon Baldacci was diagnosed with MS twenty-one years ago. An award-winning journalist, she lives in Virginia with her husband and two sons.