Updated: May 17, 2021
Originally Published: April 14, 2021
Courtesy of Clara Thompson
In a heartbeat, my life was turned upside down. Sitting in the doctor’s office, I was handed two sheets of paper that left me in shock. What could this mean? How could this happen? I’ve always been healthy, rarely even catching a cold. I’m a mother to two young boys who depend on me. This can’t be real.
Just two weeks prior, I returned from an exciting trip to Orlando with my four- and two-year-old sons. We always took these adventures together. The next morning, I woke up to find my right eye clouded. I rubbed it, hoping it would improve. “It’s nothing,” I reassured myself as I began our day.
Three days later, my vision hadn’t cleared. I finally confessed to my husband that something felt off with my right eye. He insisted I see a doctor immediately. “It’s probably nothing,” I insisted.
The following day, he asked if my vision had improved, and I had to admit it hadn’t. Reluctantly, I made an appointment with an optometrist. She ran a series of tests and declared my vision was 20/20, but I was missing vision in the lower half of my right eye, and the cause was a mystery. She mentioned serious possibilities like a tumor or stroke but found no evidence of either. Thus, I was referred to an ophthalmologist.
After a thorough examination, the ophthalmologist also confirmed my vision loss but couldn’t determine its cause. She ordered an MRI, and my heart sank. An MRI? I suffer from severe claustrophobia. I knew I couldn’t handle it.
Family and friends voiced their concerns, urging me to seek immediate help. The next day, I found myself in the emergency room. While waiting for a CT scan, I inquired if the doctor had encountered similar cases. He revealed that a young woman had presented with identical symptoms, and it was a tumor. I struggled to hold back tears as a flood of fears consumed me.
In the waiting room, silence enveloped me, my mind racing with countless scenarios. But above all, my children mattered most. They were just too young to lose their mother.
Then, the doctor burst into the room, his voice filled with relief: “You’re free to go; there’s no tumor!” Thank you, God! But what was next? He insisted I still needed the MRI to uncover the truth.
Scheduling the MRI made me tremble with anxiety. As I arrived, I was instructed to remove my jewelry and slip into hospital scrubs. When I was positioned on the MRI machine, my heart raced, and tears streamed down my face. They provided me with a panic button for emergencies. I took a deep breath and entered the machine, but instinctively, I panicked and called to be pulled out.
Finally, they placed a helmet on my head for the brain MRI. The moment it closed, I lost it. I felt trapped, overwhelmed by the thought of being confined for two long sessions. My doctor prescribed anti-anxiety medication, which helped me get through the next MRI.
Then came the agonizing waiting period. My doctor reassured me that it was likely nothing serious and promised to update me as soon as she received results. When I returned to her office, my vision still hazy, she handed me two sheets of paper. Bold letters at the top read: MULTIPLE SCLEROSIS. What does that even mean? This can’t be right.
“Could you please have my father come in?” I requested, my voice quivering.
When he entered and saw my tear-streaked face, he asked what was happening. The doctor explained my diagnosis. I couldn’t stop crying; none of us knew how to process this news. “Will I regain my eyesight?” I asked, desperate for hope. “Probably not,” she replied.
She arranged for me to visit a leading neurologist at Cedars-Sinai later that day. As I drove home, my thoughts were consumed with my children’s future. I wanted to be there for them, to witness their growth. I knew little about Multiple Sclerosis, but it felt like a death sentence.
Upon meeting the neurologist, my tears flowed freely. “I have two small children who need me,” I told her. “You will be just fine,” she reassured me gently. She explained MS, treatment options, and the next steps. “Will I get my eyesight back?” I asked, clinging to hope. “Yes, you will,” she assured me.
Returning home, I was met with a gathering of family, their warmth comforting yet overwhelming. I needed time alone to process everything that had transpired.
In the days that followed, I kept to myself, focusing on my thoughts and my children. The in-home steroids worked wonders, restoring my vision, while additional MRIs and consultations confirmed my diagnosis.
I began receiving a monthly infusion called Tysabri, an immunosuppressive medication. The first infusion was frightening; I was warned about severe side effects, including a rare brain infection linked to the JC virus that could be life-threatening.
It was a lot to absorb in such a short time. I stopped searching online for information about MS, as it only heightened my fears.
As months passed, I started to adapt to this new reality. I traveled with my boys once more and learned that while I can’t control everything, my responses are what truly matter.
Less than two years later, I welcomed a healthy baby girl into my life. The future remains uncertain with MS, but for now, gazing at my children’s joyful faces, I feel content once again.
This article was originally published on April 14, 2021.
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Summary
In this heartfelt narrative, Clara Thompson recounts her sudden experience with blurry vision, leading to a diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis. Facing fears and uncertainties, she prioritizes her two young boys while navigating treatment and adapting to her new reality. Through resilience and support, she finds hope and joy in her family once again.