I've Been Diagnosed with Mild Neurocognitive Disorder Secondary to Multiple Sclerosis
You learn so many fun new words when you have a chronic illness
Hello friends,
This past week I took a three-hour neurological exam to officially determine whether I have any cognitive impairment. I haven’t had my follow-up yet, but my digital chart was updated. I now have a diagnosis of mild neurocognitive disorder as a result of MS.
When I saw that update, I felt like I did when I first received my MS diagnosis. Part of me is relieved to have confirmation of my symptoms. My neurologist referred me for this testing in the first place to help my case when I apply for disability income. I knew MS had changed me, but now I have a paper that proves it, and I feel a little less shame about applying for disability in the first place. On the other hand, I’m thirty-one years old and have the cognitive dysfunction of someone twice my age. What’s that going to mean for me when I’m sixty-one?
I don’t work anymore because I am physically and mentally unable to do so. That doesn’t make it any easier to introduce myself to new people or catch up with old friends. Most people understand my situation, and my anxiety conjures up much of that prejudice. But the underlying feeling persists that I’m not quite worthy of living in this society. And even when I convince myself that that’s not the case, I have a deep fear of being unable to support myself financially. I worry about the day when I don’t have family to help me stay on my feet.
Anxiety is a tricky little bugger. What starts as concern about my cognitive function transitions into shame about my lack of work, which then becomes terror that one day I will fall into poverty. And I have to laugh. That’s not a metaphor, either. I didn’t start writing this essay with mirth in my heart. But when I wrote that down just now, all I could do was laugh.
My worst fear used to be ending up alone. That was before my brain turned on itself, before we experienced a generational pandemic, before I learned how to be present. I don’t fear being alone anymore. Maybe in ten years, I’ll be disgustingly rich and won’t be worried about money anymore. Or, possibly, my MS will worsen, and my life will become even more of a shitshow. Perhaps I’ll get hit by a car and die. Then I won’t have anxiety about anything, so that’s a plus. Now I’m laughing about all the ridiculous ways I might accidentally die while trying to figure out my life. But it’s all good because now I have evidence of the fact that I am indeed demented. Remember that next time one of these letters ends oddly and abruptly.
Until next time,
Yardena
Weekend Potpourri
Currently on repeat
This is one of the best interviews ever. I love this man. Please watch this.
Thanks for reading. This edition of Letters on Being is free, but if you feel like giving me a little extra support, please consider upgrading to a paid subscription. In the meantime, how’s your brain function?
No words obviously, but much love, and you made me laugh which was fun to break up the moments of my anxiety while reading along!