Today, in the middle of the week of my beloved grandmother’s death, when I’m trying to rearrange my life so I can fly out to attend her funeral in Detroit amidst kicking off projects and rolling out PR plans and giving speeches about the future of technology and creativity and “innovating in the open”…
Today – I’m supposed to start a new medication for Multiple Sclerosis. For the first time in ten years.
No more shots: just a pill.
A pill I’m supposed to take twice a day, from now until… The next time I suffer a relapse like the one I’m coming out of now, I guess.
But this is only a half dose, for the first seven days. Or maybe longer.
I just learned that I get to make that call: when they up me to “full steam.” I was filled in by Wendy, my dedicated agent at the specialty pharmacy.
Wendy very carefully explained to me (a few different times now, but it seems I really only absorbed it this last time) that this “simple pill” is “most likely” going to cause me to puke my guts out and have “possibly” near-constant diarrhea “until I adjust to it.” I might also have mild anaphylactic-like flushing, difficulty breathing, feel faint, etc., every time I take it (twice a day).
Let’s just sidestep this PML business for a moment, because I was finally beginning to accept that risk (or, just give up on understanding it, maybe, out of sheer exhaustion?)… What’s a FULL DOSE going to do? How long is all this toilet-hugging going to last?
They’re not sure.
Is there a chance I won’t adjust to the “simple pill?”
How will I know?
Well, I guess I’ll just have gotten entirely too familiar with the toilet to continue on any farther.
I’m starting this crap when I get back from Grandma’s funeral.
Being sicker than death is no way to enjoy the funeral of someone you loved dearly.