One day, I was standing at work, and I started feeling a little dizzy out of nowhere, making nothing of it, just continuing with my typical day, brushing it off as perhaps I stood up too fast or perhaps I haven’t eaten in a long time, trying to make nothing out of it. The disorientation did not go away, and a migraine shortly followed it. I left work early to get some sleep. I know what’s to follow. I’ve had many migraines before.
The next day, the same happened, but it felt more severe. The third day it hasn’t gone away, it comes and goes, but I am rapidly losing vision in my left eye. Life became fuzzy. I always had 19/20 vision, and now, I was on about 60% visibility.
This was strange.
On the fourth day, I contacted my mother about the situation, and she went into a panic.
Knowing what I was going through at the time and having all her medical experience and knowledge, she was afraid of a brain hemorrhage or, worse,
A possible brain tumor, an injury from exercising a lot, it could be absolutely anything and could be life-threatening.
I went to the hospital, had brain scans and many tests. The doctor on duty sent me home with some headache tablets and said I should go back if it didn’t improve in two days.
Two days later, I went back at lunchtime. I went from doctor to doctor, test to test, specialist to specialist, nobody could give me a definitive answer, but they were all looking very concerned. They finally sent me to their Head of Department, and she looked at all the results, asked me to sit in the chair opposite her. She looked into my eye with a device and magnifying lens. She leaned back in her chair and said she was admitting me immediately. I cannot go home today.
A series of actions followed, running between departments to get the documents and admission arranged. I phoned you, laughing, asked if I could tell you a joke, I was admitted immediately, you just asked how that was a joke, and you volunteered to help bring me clothes or whatever I needed.
You arranged dinner delivery at my apartment. I went to pack my bags after receiving my hospitalization ID bracelet. You took me back to the hospital after I processed and broke down, crying from the news I just got.
I cannot believe, living a reasonably healthy life and trying so hard to stay fit and being so young, here I was, looking and facing what could be a death sentence.
You took me back to the hospital, and I only saw you again the next day accompanied by her and some work colleagues after work. You’re walking proudly with your new trophy wife, hand in hand, swinging arms and giggles toward where I was standing, waiting for everyone just before I coincidentally had to go in for yet another radiation scan.
You didn’t come back again, and that was the last time you returned to the hospital to visit. I received a daily message to see how things were going, but I think it was more out of feeling obligated to ask because you may need me in the future, and you needed me still to be amicable.
I was living my worst nightmare.
So, there I was, in a hospital, in a foreign country, with limited communication ability. When learning a new language, if you do not know the words and know how to describe what you feel, you are pretty much in the dark about all the details, especially when the doctor is talking.
On most days in a native speaking country, we may not even understand the medical terminology.
The hospital staff settled me in for the night and checked up on me regularly. The nurses and doctors downloaded translation apps on their phones to communicate with me.
The following day, they were drawing blood again.
And this time, they had twenty tubes to fill.
The nurse completely drained my left arm vein and had to try again on the right arm.
I got sent to visionary tests to determine blind spots on the eye, and by looking at the eye web, I had 15% vision at that stage. Life was dark.
I was completely off balance and disoriented. The specialists added light reaction tests that flashed small strobe lights into my eye to see how fast I blink. The right eye was perfect, and the left eye never blinked.
I got sent for iodine tests, and they injected what looked like luminous green rocket fuel into my veins. CT scans. 4D scans, full-body scans, all to rule out any form of cancer, hemorrhages, blocked veins, injuries, and anything they could think of.
They still hadn’t started any form of treatment and stopped all medications to get to the bottom of it.
The following day, I got sent to another round of tests, and at this stage, I felt like a lab rat.
They had tested everything, including stool samples. I was lucky enough to sidestep the lumber punch, which was also on the cards.
The department chief asked to see me on the third day and give my diagnosis following a treatment plan.
They finally diagnosed me with optical neuritis. That means that the optic nerve is infected. What was also mentioned is it could mean that it’s the first sign of multiple sclerosis. MS affects the brain cord and spinal cord, which means that in the not-too-distant future, I will be in a wheelchair, unable to take care of myself and eventually die in the not much further future.
I was sitting in front of the specialist, and she suggested another range of deeper investigation into MS and causes. After an extensive series of questions, tests, and a file filled with all of my test results, they came back to me late that night. They said there was one final test they had to do, but they would start treatment the following morning regardless of the test results as these blood samples needed to be sent to a different province for testing.
They started me on IV steroids, four-hour sessions at a time. They performed tests twice a day to see if there was any improvement, and there was a slight improvement that I could start to see a flashlight being shone in my eye at three centimeters from the eyeball.
Eventually, I got discharged after a week and could go home. I begged the staff to let me go home because there was no work, no pay, and I had to go back to work.
The prognosis was this could be a permanent disability, only time would tell how my body reacted to the next six weeks of steroids, and then the treatment plan they assigned after that.
You dropped our furry daughter off at my apartment because you were going away for the weekend with Rachael.
I was so relieved to be back at home, regardless of my inability to see anything to the left of my nose, regardless of not being able to do so many things naturally that we take for granted daily.
The photos posted on social media clearly showed that I was most definitely not on your mind, she is all that fills the spaces between your ears at the moment, and your urges and cravings are only increasing for her.
Hand in hand, body to body, reaching the skies in your helicopter rides. Road tripping through the most exotic areas and living your dream life, lusted, in love.
Me, on my bed, playing with our daughter, and getting undivided and unconditional love and cuddles from Ms. Furry.
We walked to the beach, and she loved playing, running, and being outside with dad.
Three weeks later, I went for my weekly routine checkup. I was sitting in the doctor’s examination chair having my tests conducted, and although life was still very fuzzy, I had learned how to adapt my daily life to live as normally as possible. I started sharpening my observation skills, my listening skills, and feeling my way through every time I started walking somewhere.
The doctor started another test and this one is a color visionary test. The doctor was holding a color disk and shining a flashlight from behind, directly toward my eye. I could for the first time in weeks see green! It was the only color I could identify. I couldn’t help it. I cried like I haven’t ever cried before. I was overwhelmed with joy.