Can you do self-insemination at home ?
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By Jamie Peterson
Just like that, in a fleeting moment, my life took a turn I never anticipated. I found myself sitting in a doctor’s office, staring at two printed pages. What does this mean? How could this be happening? I’ve always been a picture of health, rarely even catching a cold. I have two little boys who depend on me. This can’t be real.
Two weeks prior, I returned from an exciting trip to Orlando with my boys, aged four and two. We’ve always enjoyed traveling together. The next morning, I woke up only to find my right eye clouded and hazy. I rubbed it, hoping for improvement. “It’s okay, it will be fine,” I reassured myself as I began our day.
Three days later, the haze persisted. I finally confessed to my husband that something felt off with my right eye. He insisted I see a doctor immediately. “No, it will be fine,” I replied. The following day, he checked in on me, and when I said it hadn’t improved, he made me book an appointment with an optometrist.
After a series of tests, the optometrist declared my vision was 20/20 but confirmed a significant loss in the lower half of my right eye. She couldn’t determine the cause, mentioning possibilities like a tumor or stroke, but found no evidence for either. She then referred me to an ophthalmologist.
The ophthalmologist conducted her own tests and couldn’t identify a problem either, despite confirming the vision loss. She ordered an MRI, and my heart sank. An MRI? I suffer from severe claustrophobia; I knew I couldn’t handle it.
Friends and family warned me that this could be serious, urging me to get a CT scan immediately. The next day, I went to the emergency room. While waiting for the results, I asked the doctor if he had encountered a similar case before. He responded that he had treated a young woman with the same symptoms a few months back, and it turned out to be a tumor. I fought back tears.
As I sat silently in the waiting room with my husband and cousin, a whirlwind of questions and fears raced through my mind. But nothing mattered more than my children. They were too young to lose their mother.
Suddenly, the doctor burst into the room, his voice filled with excitement: “You’re free to go, no tumor!” Thank you, God! But now what? The doctor insisted I still needed the MRI to determine what was wrong.
I scheduled the MRI, trembling the entire drive to the facility. After checking in, I was instructed to remove my jewelry and change into scrubs.
As they positioned me on the MRI machine, my heart raced, and tears streamed down my face. They handed me a panic button for emergencies. I took a deep breath and went in. I was shaking so much that they pulled me back out. I wasn’t ready.
They placed a helmet on me for the brain scan. As soon as it was secured, I began to cry; I felt suffocated! There was no way I could endure being inside that machine for two 45-minute sessions.
My doctor prescribed anti-anxiety medication to help me through the MRI, and I eventually managed to complete it. Then began the agonizing wait for results. When I finally spoke with my doctor, she reassured me it was likely nothing serious but promised to inform me as soon as she knew more.
Later, in her office, still grappling with my hazy vision, she handed me two sheets of paper. In bold letters, it read: MULTIPLE SCLEROSIS. What does that even mean? How could this happen? Surely there must be some mistake.
I asked the doctor if she could bring my father in. When he entered and saw my tear-streaked face, he immediately inquired, “What’s going on?” The doctor explained my diagnosis, and I couldn’t stop crying. None of us had much understanding of MS.
“Will I regain my eyesight?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Probably not,” my doctor replied. She arranged for me to visit one of the top neurologists at Cedars-Sinai later that same day.
On the drive home, my thoughts were consumed by my children. I desperately wanted to be there for them, to witness their growth. I knew little about Multiple Sclerosis, but it sounded like a life sentence to me.
When I met the neurologist, I couldn’t contain my tears. “I have two small children who need me,” I said. “You will be just fine,” she assured me in a soothing tone. She explained what MS is, the available treatments, and the steps I needed to take next.
“Will I get my eyesight back?” I pressed. “Yes, you will,” she responded confidently.
That evening, I returned home to a house full of family gathered to support me. Their warmth and love were uplifting, yet I needed time alone to process the whirlwind of events that had just unfolded.
For the following days, I stayed home, avoiding phone calls, focusing solely on my thoughts and my children. The in-home steroids gradually restored my vision. A spinal MRI, along with opinions from two more doctors, confirmed my diagnosis.
I began a monthly infusion of Tysabri, an immunosuppressive medication. The initial treatment terrified me, particularly because a side effect could lead to a rare brain infection upon testing positive for the John Cunningham virus. It was overwhelming to absorb so much information in such a short time. I stopped searching online about MS; it only heightened my anxiety.
As months passed, this new reality began to feel normal. I started traveling with my boys again and learned that while I might not control everything, I could control how I responded to it.
Less than two years later, I welcomed a healthy baby girl into my life. The future with MS remains uncertain, but for now, witnessing the joy in my children’s smiles makes life feel beautiful again. For more insights on navigating health challenges, consider checking out this resource.
Summary
The author recounts a life-altering experience that began with blurry vision, leading to a diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis (MS). Despite initial fears and uncertainty, she learns to manage her condition and finds joy in her family life again.