“People are consistent. If you were funny before, you’ll be funny during and you’ll be funny after.”-Carl Reiner

I was diagnosed with Relapsing Remitting Multiple Sclerosis in February of 2002. I had also survived 9/11 a few months earlier. Suffice to say, it was not the best 5 months of my life.

As a way to combat how my wife and I were feeling after 9/11, we decided a nice vacation was in order. We booked 2 weeks in Europe, one in London and one in France. When I got off the plane in London I was unable to walk. This was most unusual, as I had walked onto the plane.

I’ll spare you the details of the trip. I’ll pass over the anxiety of finally hearing that diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis. We won’t mention, except in passing, the agonizing reading on the internet of all the “what may happens” and all the lovely symptoms. I’ll jump right to interferon. In 2002 there weren’t pills or infusions. You took your pick of injections. My doctor recommended BetaSeron. What did I know? Between when I started BetaSeron and 2005ish or so, I continued to have episodes.

Even worse than my Relapses though were the side effects of medication. Sweating like a liberal at a Trump rally every other day being the most minor. I remember how I would wake up craving salt and and water. Anything with salt and anything wet and cold. I also remember what it did to my mind.

I have a family pre-disposition to anxiety and depression. I may live in Northern California but I am still a NY Jew in many ways. MS increases your likelihood of depression. This is from the physical changes in your brain. In addition, you have a horrible chronic illness. When you add BetaSeron, it got rough. Side effects include depression and suicidal ideation are no pleasure cruise.

I remember walking along the tracks of the LIRR and thinking, “Newman, Do it. Jump. This sucks. Life Sucks. YOU SUCK. JUMP.”

I remember going back to TS Elliot and finally understanding the line “I will show you fear in a handful of dust”. Everything and anything would cause me anxiety.

One Sunday afternoon, the Racing Thoughts got even worse than usual. My mind was going to and fro. In the words of Justice Scalia, I was full of jiggery-pokery. I had made an appointment to see a Psychologist on Monday but I didn’t know if I could make it through Sunday. So, my amazing wife called the GP, got me my first ever Xanax and I coasted right into Monday.

My depression, my anxiety, my suicidal ideation, and my panic attacks lessened as I began to treat them. Yet, they were still a back drop to my life. Constant and there, they’d creep around the corner of my mind when I least expected.

During a job transition, we lost health insurance for a month. So, I took a break from the BetaSeron as at $2800 it wasn’t going to happen. Almost instantly, so much of my mental issues lessened. They weren’t gone by any stretch of the imagination but they were ever so much less. I let another month go by. And then another. And so on. Every so often, I would go back to the Neurologist. I’d get examined. I’d do an MRI. I would discuss the meds. I’d even go back on something — — but then I’d quit it as the side effects were to much.

I didn’t (and don’t) have much faith in Doctors, the fancy pants MS “Experts” or the rest of them. They never had anything new to tell me. Nothing that helped Jeff Newman treat his MS. It was more and more of the same. A great word that has gone out of fashion is “Blivet”. A blivet is 10 pounds of Horse Shit in a 5 pound bag.

I collected many blivets from the experts.

Plus the efficacy of the treatment is so intangible. I was doing OK. Sure, I had “minor” symptoms all the time. Bowel and Urinary urgency. Tingles and what not in my legs. Loss of fine motor control. If it got to hot or to cold, I wouldn’t feel like myself. The ever popular fatigue and focus issues were there. There was nothing that stopped me from accomplishing what I wanted to do.

Nothing severe enough to make me go, “Newman, you need some Meds!”

I had taken to lying to friends and family about taking care of myself. It was a mixture of shame and not wanting to explain why I chose this path. I hadn’t had a relapse in over 10 years. Explaining how messed my mind is not possible. Explaining “Green” to someone blind from birth would be easier. It’s not going to happen.

I went along and took it day to day.

I turned 42 in February. I am not sure why but I felt as if I needed to go back to a Neurologist. I knew there was no cure. I doubted anything they would say would change my opinions. But something compelled me to go and to see it through.

The MRI’s only good news was no active lesions. My cervical spine didn’t even have separate lesions like it used to. It was one long glow worm from top to bottom. The brain had a bunch. They sorta, kind of, felt something was going on in my thoracic spine. They wouldn’t commit to anything about that lesion.

Then, the doctor said something I hadn’t anticipated. He told me I was no longer relapsing-remitting. I was now secondary progressive. To say it threw me for a loop would be like saying the Pacific is wet or the Sahara is sandy.

He also said he would not ask me to go back on a Med. I had told him in our first meeting how they affected me and how I was very opposed to them. He said that if he felt I needed them he would do all in his power to convince me to go back on something. It wasn’t right for me, right now.

He wants me to lose weight and exercise. He explained how as we age the well of strength we pull from gets smaller and smaller. My well is already showing signs of depletion because of the MS. If I wanted anything left at 60, I better take care of myself now.

I am starting weight watchers (yet again) tomorrow. I will walk more and try and do more outdoor and athletic stuff.

Even if this Neuro is selling me a blivet, no one can argue that being at a healthy weight or exercising is a bad thing, right?

I am still adjusting to the news of Secondary Progressive. Easier than the initial Diagnosis but not a fun happy day, either.

As one of my tattoos says: “This Too Shall Pass”. I have great support in my wife and my son. I have amazing friends who I know are behind me. My current therapist is amazing. My head is in a better place then its been in some time.

Most of all, I am the same dude who woke up last week with a challenge called Relapsing- Remitting. So, we’re calling it Secondary Progressive now. I will still meet all my challenges the best I can. I will not allow anything to stop me accomplishing what I want. I may allow myself some more naps though.

There are worse places to be.