Healing multiple sclerosis: personal experience.Part 1 Bashny.Net

The beginning of the story.

Sooner or later the person begins to ask the eternal question. Why do I live? As I live, and the only true way I spend the time allotted me on earth? If I'm happy?

Flickering in hectic offices, among the lights of the metropolis, walking on the sidewalk home, and feeling in a purse or breast pocket of his jacket monthly salary what do you think?

2 August 2001.





 

I'm lying on the couch in his Moscow apartment and think about what I have nothing else to live for. A strange weakness, despair and lack of any desires. A desperate dull and gray. Wherever I was, in transport, on vacation, in the evening, day, morning, I ask myself the same question "is this life?"

That's all she is able to offer me?

 

Constant despondency and satiety my companions in 23 years.

I remember very well the time. I have a "perfect" salary for my age and profession, appropriate to her "leisure". By education I am a marketer. And I know I'm a good marketer, perhaps better than most. Brand Manager, Creator, a management consultant. I already know a certain number of tools to manipulate, know how to form thought processes in the minds of people who know their reflexes, stimuli, you know the dream of people falling asleep, and feel what they dream of tomorrow... Dreams of the masses is predictable and formulaic, they depend on people like me.

Two weeks ago, I was married to a loved one.

Over the past two weeks we managed to go on a honeymoon to Greece and get a lot of positive emotions.

I'm young, beautiful, successful, all my dreams, that stirred the imagination in adolescence is reached, so what do I feel? Happiness?

Perhaps, happiness in personal life became a familiar background feeling of some fullness. But at the same time I feel a deep sadness and wanting to die. I see my future life at a glance, some imaginative scenes, and for this most wonderful future life I'm too lazy even to lift a finger. I threatened the lives of millions, and I walked up to its beginning.

Came fully armed with maximum number of points, tomorrow all should spin out (at best case scenario a couple of years I will have a separate kopeck piece in Moscow, under adverse in 3-4 years, then I'll have two children. A boy and a girl. On weekends we will be together to go shopping and once a year on the coast, I will collect them in a garden, to swaddle, to buy toys and books with hedgehogs and bunnies, to smear zelenkoj knees, check homework.

Cellulite, new clothes, "a successful career", personal cars, talk with friends and obsasyvanie idle gossip, perhaps a lover. And nothing more.

I am horrified by this prospect. I am 23 years old. I have a full set of unexpected scrap of romantic illusions and complexes of adolescence, a solid library of books read, the maximalism peculiar to the age, and a critical look at things.

Outside, the day tends to evening and the sun is to the horizon.

Rustling its stale and dusty foliage of the tired old man-August, I lie on the couch and spend analysis already lived through and that still have to live, feeling one tired.

I close my eyes and listening to the internal darkness and emptiness, quietly and without emotion, as if stating a well-known fact say:

— I don't want to live.

August 15, 2001.

 

I go to the office, to my left stands empty brown Desk, on which lay a thick book, with an inscription marked on the spine "Blah blah blah in neurology", obviously designed to instill confidence in the patient to respectability and education of a doctor.

And here he is. In view of 24-27 years. My age. Well all now I will begin to heal, pessimistic I think to myself, noticing on the table any attributes inherent in my opinion "competent medic" but a couple of pens, and the infamous hammer.

— Denis Vasilyevich, seem to be embarrassed young man, obviously under my scrutiny. It must be his first day at work, I decide resignedly, sitting down on a chair and telling about his misadventures.

— Undress, forced nonchalant tone interrupts the flow of my thoughts, Denis Vasilievich, and take a seat on the couch.

— How to strip? – I'm surprised.

— Have you never been to see neurologist? Can keep your underwear on, he adds,... looking back.

Then follows inspection, during which I prick with a needle, beaten with a hammer on the knees, touch the test tubes with hot and cold water to the skin of the hands and feet.

Generally, by the way, if you've never been to see neurologist, be sure to go get a lot of new sensations. Dr. fun chatting spend 40 minutes of my examination...

— Most likely, a pinched vertebrae, optimistic declares the doctor, describing an impressive list of necessary examinations.

— Walk a couple of weeks to get a massage and everything goes, but make sure that this examination, it is called MRI (Magnetic Resonance Imaging) insists the doctor, handing me the direction. We need to eliminate all other options.

Goodbye Denis grins, and I'm completely relieved and charmed new acquaintances. Feel all I have to say is not important, the week before inspection I have no sensitivity on the skin of the feet. Nothing, of course, life does not stop, but the feeling is not pleasant.

I optimistically begin to go for a massage and it seems the third session you begin to understand masochists, experiencing pleasure from pain.

 

17 August 2001.

Sitting in the waiting room. In the queue for an MRI. Sitting next to a woman with a man, about fifty, lean in something grey, grey unwashed hair in a bun, she monotonously repeats the same phrase, "I'm afraid", it's like a continuous howl "ябоюсьябоюсьябоюсьябоюсьябоюсьябоюсьябоюсьябоюсь abuseabuse...". She holds right hand in his left, and swinging back and forth, as if cradling by a small child.

Next to her sits a tired battered man in a rumpled brown suit, with pants that are clearly shorter best long-look black at half-mast socks and dusty shoes. His face crumpled as the suit. It is evident that he suffers the pain of sitting next to a man, this incessant single minute flour and compassion struggle with fatigue and irritation. Sometimes he feebly tries to interrupt her like soft, some sort of soothing words, and then the woman in gray burst into hysterical remarks, "they will take away my hand, it's cancer, they will take away my hand, like I'm without hands" and sobs... then they go out and she returns again to his Sexton "ябоюсьябоюсьябоюсьябоюсьябоюсьябоюсьябоюсьябоюсь abuse...".

I sit next to them on a white leather sofa, so that her brown skirt for the hem of my garment.

Around us go clean doctors wear caps and Shoe covers, sterile plants for the production of some high-purity aluminum. See the corner of my eye for the old couple and almost physically feel the animal terror of a man who is going to "take the arm". The first time I see such with my own eyes.

I'm unprepared and don't know how to react. Frantically trying to understand the existence of this casual women can't. My imagination and brain refuse to try on the skin of a hunted man. It smells awful, sticky gray with fear, pain, despair and suffering. "Ябоюсьябоюсьябоюсьябоюсьябоюсьябоюсьябоюсьябоюсь busabusss...".

How long this torture?

Suddenly from behind the door comes a woman doctor. With a mixture of disgust and pity looks at the elderly woman, reads her direction and says they need to go to another room. The man hurriedly picked up, looking the doctor in the eye, and then something dropping, picks up his wife and leads to the exit.

Female doctor, kindly and with obvious relief looks at me, takes direction, fast reads and leads into a room with oblong white unit offers off, locks up my phone, bag and clothes in the safe. Habitual movements puts me in a long, tight tube of the MRI, locks the neck and shoulders.

Remember white smooth plastic of the ceiling, and heard the shrill sounds of resonance, as if plagued by some giant cybernetically prehistoric animal.

I'm scared.

The closed space and the stage, not coming out of the head. "Busabusss..." rings in my ears.

I feel that one more minute and I will cover a wave of animal panic. Close my eyes and try to calm your breath, imagine a secluded cabin high in the mountains, overgrown with moss, yellow grass, spruce, add in a picture of rain drops on the branches and the sun.

Almost calm down.

Finally it all ends. I roll out of pipe and I have to remove the plastic retaining collar. Smiling faintly, trying for the eyes doctor read the diagnosis.

She answered, evasively interested in the name and place of work of my doctors, the preliminary diagnosis and completes a strange question...

— Have you ever been diagnosed with MS?

I answer that the first time I heard this combination of letters from her, and no Association I did not have. She looks at me incredulously, again interested in the symptoms, then shakes his head and drops:

Wait. Once the results are ready, will call you. I again settled on the same sofa. After some time there comes another kopeck piece. She absently looks around and asks is there with me family.

Already realizing that the shit has hit the fan, I look her in the eye, smile and ask

— No, what?

She sighs, hiding her eyes, and invites you to enter the office.

The Cabinet is more like a mission Control Center, in the shadows of the mysterious pomigivayut some blue bulbs, and buttons. The room has several computers behind them sit four in white, like a robot Werther.

Female doctor inviting me to go closer to the table, goes to wash hands.

Maybe she had a disease clean hands, remembering her disgust at the sight of old people, I think.

Come over here and invites the second doctor and I approach the illuminated glass wall on which hang pictures of my innards.

I don't think many had to see your brain and spine in the context of :) it Should be noted an impressive sight.

The doctor begins in a dull voice to dictate a description of my picture pechatalsya the student-Intern... multiple lesions of the white matter of the brain localized at the level of... diameter... cyst... partition... at the same time like in the lecture hall, I and the Intern show all this in the pictures with my name in the corner.

Trainee in surprise, and manic looked closely at me as a living allowance. I at this moment are in the strange boundary condition, as if it were all happening to me in my sleep. I see the whole scene as a whole, including ourselves, as the three-dimensional projection, fixing in mind all the details of what is happening, sounds, smells, air movement and white loafers sitting next to a girl.

At last carefully listing and recording all of the unique features, and as it turned out, my pretty spent by the moth brain she falls silent and everyone was looking at me. I feel a little bit more and from my eyes splashed with tears. STOP.

Smiling, slowly say:

— So... now tell me in human language what this means?

Let you explains this by your doctor, I cannot give you a diagnosis, she says somewhat defiantly, as if in self-defense.

— Nevertheless, you have private thoughts? Share.

— Most likely, it is multiple sclerosis — a degenerative neurological disease that leads to progressive disability and ultimately to death of the patient.

– Incurable disease — she said, gravely, after a pause.

— That is, what is this? Does not treated? Can be abroad?

At this stage of the development of modern medicine effective medication can dramatically change the position of the patient in this disease, is not found.

But you do not worry you are very lucky that you have discovered the disease at an early stage, say thank you to your doctor, and besides, now there are many ways to extend a full human existence in this disease,...

— Some patients even live for 10-15 years... with the enthusiasm of a student adds Intern from the corner of the room.

The doctor looks disapprovingly at him. I already don't listen to them... turn the pictures and leaving the office... hear the track.

— You are lucky... 10 years ago you would never had a chance, and now, science is moving forward at such a rapid pace...

Oh man lucky — I hear in my head, my own voice.

Subway and continue to be in a state of shock, although my eyes are dry, thoughts that revolve in my head with alarming rapidity, then freeze in a daze, at the same time, I continue with amazing clarity to capture, what is happening around.

Here in front of me, next to a young man is a girl. Looks about 18, big blue eyes, light brown long curls in fine hair, a pug nose freckles, in hands she holds a bouquet of cornflowers and inconsolably crying... tears rolling from her eyes. The young man smiles and something's trying to impress her, to somehow reassure her.

 

Depression.

My subsequent conversation with Dennis, is interrupted from time to time with my tears and snot, because I am well-versed in the Internet, and attended to already collect information about this mysterious disease.

However, between wiping my nose and appeals to calm down, he still manages to insert some life-affirming phrases zabavchik me:

• IT IS NOT FATAL. Though of course if in very unfavorable circumstances, the inflammation is in the respiratory center and the doctors don't have time, then this is the intensive care unit, and so no.
  
  
• The streets are falling bricks.
  
  
• "Incurable" in this case means only that the official medicine does not know exactly the causes of this disease, and therefore not able to treat. This does not mean that the treatment is impossible in principle, there are isolated cases of spontaneous recovery. I had no luck with a solution, and people who are engaged within their profession and should be treated, has not yet learned it to the end.
  
  
• Dementia judged by the results of the MRI so I do not threaten, at least now.
  
  

He reassured, supported and encouraged me by assigning adequate my condition treatment. And sent to the Institute of Neurology to confirm the diagnosis.

 

My attitude is I must say in connection with diagnosis, during these two weeks have greatly changed. If until recently the future I saw in candy jelly colors that evoke sadness and unwillingness to live, now it was changed to its opposite, but approximately with the same result.

Now, live I didn't want due to excessive "," the upcoming future.

At night I began to overcome nightmares, I woke up with the thought of dying right now. Dennis said that everything is my imagination and fears, gave this phenomenon a sonorous name of "panic attack" and encouraged to drink tincture of a peony.

Onaya has impressed me, but mostly taste, resembling brandy, and not particularly helpful.

I seriously at that moment considered themselves lucky to survive until the new year.





Institute of Neurology.

At the Institute of Neurology in I quickly made a card and sent to wait in the waiting room, a doctor with the sonorous name.

Since the diagnosis I became very attentive to the signs and my own intuition. Probably, even this illusory and ephemeral the proximity of death stimulates its development. And now, walking through the echoing hallway of this institution, I felt that this is the first and last time I appear here. Then pushed away everything: walls, gray linoleum, doctors, Technicals. This whole body produce gray frightening and depressing. It seemed that you even for a moment to relax vigilance, and he peresevat, will not be slow to swallow and digest you in her dusty womb.

Even the flowers in this place seemed to feed on madness and suffering visitors. They left a painful impression cruel inferiority and ugliness.

In the doctor's office, I noticed one impressive instance. Amazing size of the flower, serissa his thick whitish stems, thorns and small leathery light green leaves. He is like a tangle of thick thorny cables, greedily stretched through the bars of the window to the tired rays of the setting autumn sun.

I was quickly examined, and quickly confirmed second diagnosis of Denis, on the basis of studying his own records, noting my good fortune. And he offered a quick statement on the free research ongoing in the Institute, one promising overseas drug called Rebif, a course which cost a few thousand dollars. And again quickly expelled back home, without going into details, and promised to call within the next months.

Leaving the establishment, I saw a boy of about fourteen, hobble beside his mother gait of a drunk, and leaning on a cane. This time, helpful and prepared information from a medical reference book, imagination allowed to imagine yourself in his place.

 

Year first.

The first year with RAM, or rather the last 5 months I was doing mainly to the fact that nonstop crying in the evenings in the pillow, visiting as if nothing had happened work, and without betraying their inner state to others. About the disease only knew my husband and my parents. To sum up the emotional background of the balances of this year, which began with a hectic wedding, the wedding and honeymoon, all that was after diagnosis, has become a solid uninterrupted even for a moment depression.

My physical condition thanks to the efforts of Denis and the reserves of strength in my body gradually returned to baseline. In fact, nothing in my life has not changed, except the clear conviction that I will live long, bad and in the end, in 10-15 years will die.

This knowledge probably made me "Wake up" some before others, and ask the questions that are starting to alarm many people at the end...

And why actually it all? Why was I given this life? What is its meaning? The goal?

The Outlook was due to my Orthodox upbringing, respectively, and the moral evaluation of submitted itself was dictated by Christian values, and norms of the modern Orthodox morality.

I quite actively took up the study of Orthodoxy. My reference books in this period were the Law of God, the gospel, the New and old Testament, the Breviary and the lives of the saints. I attended Orthodox Internet resources, forums, collecting information about everything that is connected with the ideological concept of Orthodoxy, it is the understanding of the disease, and with Orthodox medicine.

Confession and prayer have become my medicine. To their credit quite effective, this is the only thing that brings moral relief, and did not finally slip into despair.

In addition, due to acquired in childhood conception of faith, allowing for miracles, I was much easier to adapt to a new painful reality than many other people with no experience of faith.

The word "genuflection": "post", "the Jesus prayer", "the confession", a strange sound in the modern world of offices, advertising and money. Nevertheless, I was then able to combine these concepts in their daily lives.

The celebration of 2002 was a pleasant surprise for me. First I found that I was alive, second, and bearable function.

And most importantly I got my first goal is magnet — "survive", and the brain was again filled with lots of interesting questions. Traditional medicine, mysticism, spirituality, world religions, alternative medicine. Was no longer known in advance of the future, and impasse-sentence rational physicians. On the contrary many narrow winding paths ran in front of me in different directions.

The great commandment of the samurai "memento" was still not understood, but did not seem to me just a beautiful phrase, and the specter of death visited me regularly at night with clammy horror of panic attacks.

I stopped dreaming. Completely ceased. God was silent, and every night, I quietly immersed in darkness, unable to find in my memory by morning there is nothing but emptiness.published

 

 

P. S. And remember, only by changing their consumption — together we change the world! ©

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