Mental Health | Growth Mindset
2025: Redefining Myself
The journey to owning my disability
The first 5 years after I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis (MS) involved a lot of denial. Year after year, I would tell myself this story:
“I can’t possibly have MS, it’s a white person's disease. I probably spent too much time partying. Too many cigarettes. Not enough sleep. Once I sleep more, and smoke fewer cigs, I’ll be right back to normal.”
I spent half a decade where trying to convince myself that I didn’t have an incurable disease.
I told myself that I didn’t need to go on treatment. I didn’t have MS. Despite that denial, because I am a reader I read all of the information about the available disease-modifying therapies (DMT) and scoffed.
“ONLY 30% reduction in relapses? What about the 70%? This means they won’t work. And WTF, all of the side effects include fatigue. MS itself has a lot of fatigue. So what is the point of stabbing myself with needles? Besides, I don’t have MS.”
2012 was the year I realized I needed to crawl out of my denial cave. Every year since 2007 I had the unwelcome anniversary of an MS flare. One time I lost control of the lower part of my mouth. Another flare involved having a numb tongue.
That was entertaining because I would challenge other people to spice-eating contests. Nobody knew I cheated on those, and I won.
Stopping an MS flare meant I would need to take steroids by mouth. The steroids weren’t the fun sports kind. 3 to 4 days of 10 disgusting-tasting pills twice a day with a horrendous aftertaste. Prednisone.
After 5 years of taking Prednisone for flares, I convinced myself that I needed to get over my fear of needles. I chose the medication that I wouldn’t need to inject myself with constantly. Avonex was the once-weekly event that I would need to do.
Fast forward to 2022. Another flare. Only that one wasn’t horrible. I didn’t need to take the disgusting steroids. I had to let the flare end, and my neurologist said if I wanted to he could dispense a few days of steroids.
During that flare, I accidentally trained my first service dog. Only I didn’t realize what I did. I thought I was teaching pet manners to a client’s dog, Bob. He had been pulling hard on his leash for a long time.
For my own safety, one symptom from the 2022 MS flare was foot drop. Foot drop describes when I can’t lift the upper part of my foot properly. Having foot drop made me wobbly while I was standing.
Adding a large dog with extensive experience pulling on his leash would be disastrous. That meant I needed to teach Bob to walk beside me on a slack leash — the classic loose-leash walk, one of the classic pet manners behaviors.
I thought I was teaching Bob manners. I needed to walk him on his leash and remain safe. I wasn’t looking to introduce an old dog to do service work.
This was another period of denial. More telling myself stories. “You have MS. But you’re not really disabled. You don’t need a mobility device. You’re just clumsy. You do not need a service dog.”
A service dog is an animal with advanced training, taught to do something to reduce the effect of a handler’s disability. Bob, my pet-sitting charge learning to walk on a loose leash for me was exactly that. I had taught him to walk on a loose leash so that my MS symptoms would have minimal impact on my well-being.
Last year, I had another pet-sitting charge, Don-Don the Doodle. My condition did not improve between 2022 and 2024. I didn’t expect it to. I realized Don would need to learn the same behavior as Bob. Don too would be walking on a slack leash next to me.
Embracing my disability has helped me learn that no matter what behavior I teach any dog, they are being taught to do something that will minimize the impact MS has on my life.
Acknowledging my disability from MS means intentionally teaching my pet dogs to climb onto my lap when cued has made them service dogs. The dogs lying down on my thighs are doing deep pressure therapy (DPT).
DPT decreases the effect of MS on my body because the dogs’ warmth and weight treat my autonomic dysfunction. Symptoms of autonomic dysfunction that I have experienced are familiar:
- Balance problems
- “Brain fog,” forgetfulness
- Trouble focusing
I still have balance problems. Yet the fact that I can remember to write and focus tells me that accepting my disability has given me a new leash on life — no pun intended. I am disabled, and I have service dogs.
