Baseball and my MS

It’s no real secret that I am a huge baseball fan. I’m in school to be a sports writer, and for Christmas the better half bought me Padres season tickets (not that I expected full season, but that’s what we have).

It was a strange coincidence that my first MS attack manifested while I was at the last game I would attend last season. It wasn’t the last game because I got sick, but it was the last game because that was what I had planned. It was a Friday game and the final home game would be played that Sunday. I attended a lot of games last season.

However, I just realized an even stranger coincidence. At least, I think it is. October 9 was the day I went to the ER where I was finally given some reprieve from the unending questions of why I was blind. Exactly six months later I will be at the Padres home opener for the 2013 season.

I couldn’t think of a better way to celebrate six full months of fighting this thing.

When I started my Rebif treatment I experienced side effects that wore me down and effectively left me couch-bound on every shot night. I was useless. I felt horrible that the better half and I had just started dating and we were spending the majority of our nights sitting on my couch while I was unable to move my body (how I WISH that were an exaggeration).

Finally, my doctor realized these side effects were not worth what the medicine was supposed to be doing. Research shows that taking 22mcg is equally as effective as taking 44mcg. He lowered my dosage because he felt that I still needed to live my life. I mean, jeez, I am only 27; I want to make as much as I can out of my useful years.

Once I began taking 22mcg I became a more productive member of the world (not that I had quit working or going to school, but that was about all I could do). The side effects were still harsh, but less so than prior. So I gave myself a deadline. My body would be allowed to react however it wishes until the home opener. I set this rule back in February, before I realized the six month coincidence.

It’s not necessarily fate or kismet, but it’s a happy coincidence for me. It seems that baseball¬†keeps appearing to be my¬†saving grace from something that, at the very least, nearly continuously occupies my mind.