One of my favorite artworks is by Jack Vettriano. It's of a solitary woman dressed in black sitting quietly in a barely furnished apartment. Perhaps preparing to move either into or out of it but not ready to make any firm decision just yet. Watching forever for something or someone- caught in a moment of either joyous expectation or forlorn waiting sadness- or perhaps just quiet acceptance.

I remember as a child I used to wish to be older. I was never satisfied with my current age. I was always moving towards something rarely thinking about the things that I was leaving behind so caught in constant anticipation for what was to come.

At some point I realized that my intense ability to deal with crisis was somewhat unusual. That when most people were faced with crisis they went into a state of inability to act. When bad things happened I found that I could help- that I knew somehow what to do. I was never afraid to go into the crisis. It never occurred to me to be afraid. It is not something that I feel proud of particularly I think I'm lucky that I can use it help other people.

My life seemed so complete.

It was February 27, 2003. I was dreaming. I dreamt I came downstairs and there was a man. He was sitting in the family room on my sofa drinking coffee and watching the TV news. I stopped in my tracks and asked him "Why are you here?" He stood up and I saw he was in uniform he nodded towards the TV, "We've gone to war" he told me. I was not shocked it seemed inevitable by that time but I was concerned, "Are you going?" I asked him. He turned and looked at me sadly, "No" he said softly and held up the remote control pointing it at me, "but you are." He pressed the remote and everything went to black. 

I awakened in the middle of the night unsettled. I went to the window and looked out onto the street below where snow had fallen white and shimmering under the streetlights. 

I had forgotten the dream entirely until much later when it became obvious that the dream was an ominous premonition of things to come. It was meant to prepare me because on March 15 my war started.

It was not with the fire of mortar rounds or the blasting of bombs. It was quiet imperceptible in it's coming but it hit me like a grenade blast on a mundane Saturday morning. It was just as in the dream when he held up the remote and pointed it at me- turning it off- the world had gone black. The darkness became a reality.

I don't believe that everything happens for a reason. I really don't. I think we have to find reason in things that are unjust in order to stay sane. Sometimes life just happens to us- it changes us in ways that we never believed it could. We sit in a moment where everything seems to have so radically changed that our world is not the same world it was a moment before and will never be again.

People used to ask me if I believed your life flashed before your eyes when you died. I did not. I do know that your life flashes before your eyes when you sit in the neurologist's office and he sadly tells you that you have an incurable demylienating disease. 
It is a debilitating incurable disease.

. I got ready to leave I asked the doctor, "Is there anything I can do?" He patted me kindly and said, "Go home, love your daughter, live your life as best as you can."

The shock takes a long time to wear off. And then there is the denial and anger. And the grief- you grieve. I remember riding home from the doctor and driving into town. 

It's then that your life flashes before your eyes it's there in every building you pass where you harbor a memory. A whisper of your presence that is preserved in your mind- the church where my best friend had just gotten married, where my daughter was baptized, the old pharmacy where I worked in high school, the Mexican restaurant on the edge of town that is now an office building where I worked in college and had many fun nights hanging out after hours, the park where I used to run and now take my daughter to play in the summer, the pool where I spent endless summer days as a child and then many a winter day sledding down the big hill behind it building snowmen and making angels. The apartment building on Winter St. where I spent some of the best moments of my life. The school that I was passing on my way into work on 9/11 when I heard the news on the radio. 

You grieve and so does everyone else in your life. Some of my friends came to me immediately, Rich, my knight in shining armor, sat on the couch with me and hugged me tightly, "This sucks" he said. He knows, he has relapsing remitting MS. I remember how devastated I was when he was diagnosed. Some friends go away. They don't mean to they just can't handle it- it's too much.

Then everyone finds out. The community response was wonderful, overwhelming, kind and comforting. People want to tell you all the good stories but there are a lot of bad ones too. The type of disease I have is not one of the good stories that people tell you about - it's the type they keep to themselves.

One of the weirdest things is that I don't really look sick. I mean, if you see me walk or notice that I can't really see anything then it's more obvious. But mostly people tell me I look great. Which I find amusing. They always want to know how I lost weight- what my big secret is. At 117 lbs and with a 5'8" frame I am shocked at how the public is drawn to the stereo typical thin model type. I had a woman say to me, "You look like a model! You don't have cancer do you?" It's amazing what people will say to you.

I coped by joking. When I constantly drop things, forget things, walk into things, when I needed to use a cane for the first time- when I was too blind to see the TV- I always tried to find a way to lighten the moment. I picked out a new wife for my husband. Whenever he would get mad at me I would remind him that he didn't have to put up with me for much longer anyway. I told my financial advisor that I had stopped worrying about my 401K. I wish I would have taken out life insurance. Sometimes people got angry with me- "it wasn't funny". I told them, "if I don't laugh I will cry- I chose to laugh." It wasn't so much that I was brave but in reality I felt that should I ever start crying I would never stop.

Sometimes you have to cry.

Mostly, I get afraid. Afraid of being a burden, of not pulling my weight. Of never being "normal" again. Of never dancing, running, walking or even seeing a movie. I dream all the time of running and dancing on the beach.

My parents run the business. I've come to realize how unnecessary I actually was- they seem quite capable of running it without it me. Mostly, I just feel guilty because I'm not doing anything of worth. It's a hollow empty feeling for me- the woman who had not had a day off this year. I work because it means something to me- I want to be able to go back.

In the meantime, I spend a lot of time thinking of the things I've left that I wish I hadn't and things that I've embraced that I wish I would have turned my back on. The one thing I have done right is my daughter. And I fear that she will never know me- not the me that was before but the me that may come- the crippled debilitated person that she must take care of- which makes me sick to even think of. 

Sometimes I forget things. There are blank spaces. I try to fill them in but it's not always possible. I remember things I'd rather not and forget things I think I should remember. My brain continues to develop active lesion areas. I've begun drug therapy. 

It's ironic that most of my stories that have been published have been inspirational in nature. They are meant to be healing mechanisms in the face of grief, trial and loss. They are meant to give hope. I've already been asked to write something about my situation. I told them that it would be entitled simply "It Bites." I'm not there yet- I'm not ready to be the poster girl. I'm still too angry. 

So, here I sit waiting for something or someone. Like the woman in the picture I am caught in a moment that does not encompass a past or a future. I wish I could say I will win- I don't know that I will. But still, in the face of this- in all this I can't stop believing that the light is out there shining. I may be blind but I can still feel the warmth of it on my face.