Thank you both for coming at such a short notice. I know youre going through a difficult time but weve had some developments. Im afraid I have good news and bad news. It has been three years since I heard the doctor say that and, ever since then, the sound of it continuously rings in my ears and resonates within every fiber of my being. It has been three years since my mother and I had been called to the neurologist’s office, only to find out that my mother’s recent tremors were more than just stress-induced. “You’ve been suffering from tremors and temporary paralysis,” the doctor had proceeded to explain calmly, his hands folded on his lap. “Your symptoms kept getting worse so we ran more tests. The bad news is that you have a severe form of Multiple Sclerosis. This means your nerve cells are damaged and that disrupts the ability of parts of your nervous system to communicate.” My mother furrowed her brow. “How do I make it better?” “I am going to put you on a treatment plan that will hopefully lessen your attacks.” His tone got softer as he continued, “However, there is no telling how fast the disease is going to progress. At this rate, you might suffer from severe disability in a few years. I am sorry to have to tell you this but it is crucial that you understand your condition early on.” I think the worst part of it all was watching the way my mother just stared ahead. I wanted her to react, to yell at him, to cry… I wanted her to express everything I was incapable of articulating. When I realized that she wasn’t going to say anything, I blurted out heatedly, “What could possibly be the good news?” The doctor leaned back in his chair. “You are.” “What?” “You are,” he repeated. “You’re the good news. There will be a time when she’ll need help undressing, eating, and even walking. There will be a time when we won’t be able to tell you what she needs but you’ll know anyway because you are going to become her everything. And when I say her everything, I mean it in every sense of the word.” I didn’t realize I was crying until my voice cracked when I yelled at him. “I’m 13! I don’t know how!” He just shook his head. “You know how.” My mother’s malignant form of multiple sclerosis, known as Marburg’s variant, led to her death a month ago. For three years, I was everything she needed. It is impossible to be as close to someone as I had been to her during her illness. She called me her “good news” over and over again even though I never thought I deserved it. She thought she was burdening me… Little did she know that I would have gladly spent the rest of my life being her everything if only she hadn’t left so soon. - Sana Kadan
Posted on: Tue, 30 Dec 2014 15:00:01 +0000
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