The Day My Life Split in Two: The Official Diagnosis Part 2

Living with Chronic Illness & Autoimmune Conditions

Diagnosed in a Trailer

The nearest hospital was Fisherman’s Community Hospital in the Keys. It had been half-destroyed by a hurricane the year before. We pulled up to the "ER entrance," which was literally a portable trailer in a construction site. I was terrified. How are they going to find out what’s wrong with me in a trailer?

On the drive there, I did what we all do: I Googled my symptoms. "Multiple Sclerosis" was the first result. I scrolled right past it. That’s not it, I thought.

Inside the portable, a young doctor performed a physical exam, testing my fading strength and coordination. He stared at me for what felt like an eternity with a stoic face.

"I know you know," I finally said. "Just tell me."

"I can’t officially diagnose you without an MRI," he replied quietly, "but I believe it is MS."

My stomach dropped to the floor. My heart shattered. I looked at my husband; his eyes were already watering. We had to get home. Immediately.

The Longest Drive of My Life

The next morning, I went for an MRI back home. Before I even made it back to the house, my primary doctor called me three times.

"Bridget, I just received your MRI. You need to get to the ER. You either have a large brain tumor or a rare form of MS."

We rushed to a hospital in Clearwater. Because of COVID-19 protocols, they wouldn't let my husband inside. I spiraled into a full-fledged panic attack. I was alone, facing a potential brain tumor or a life-changing disease, and I couldn't even hold my husband's hand. He sat in the parking lot for six hours while I was admitted.

4th of July in August 

I spent three of the longest nights of my life in that hospital. I cried, and the nurses who aren't supposed to, cried with me. It was my first time being away from my daughter, I was being pumped with 1,000mg of IV steroids, and I was alone, again.

The nurses kept asking if I felt better. I didn’t. My mobility was actually getting worse. Finally, on the third day, the official MRI results came back: MS. Eight lesions on my brain lit up like the 4th of July. The largest one sat right on my brainstem.

I chose to finish my 10-day steroid treatment at home. But even after the IVs, my symptoms stayed. My left arm and hand had zero mobility, and I was struggling with "drop foot" in my left leg.

A Glimmer of Hope

Eventually, I found my way to the MS & Neuromuscular Center. Walking into that first appointment with Dr. Jean-Raphael Schneider alone, again, because of COVID…felt like walking toward a death sentence.

My husband and sister-in-law were on speakerphone, taking notes on things I couldn't even process. But Dr. Schneider was different. He was calm. He was confident. He looked at me and assured me I would get better.

He started me on a treatment called Ocrevus. It wasn't an overnight fix, but slowly, one day at a time, my symptoms finally started to improve over the next year. The "death sentence" was actually just the beginning of a new, different life, a very different life.