(5/20/20)
MS has drastically changed how I approach romantic relationships. Prior to the diagnosis, I was extremely relationship-adverse! I did not want to commit to one man too early, so I avoided establishing titles and elaborating on specific boundaries. The more independent a man, the more independence it provided me. I vowed to myself never get married before 30, and had shamefully become an expert at ghosting a man, naively thinking it would avoid hurt feelings when he got too close and wanted something more.
I found THE first real-world potential candidate (We'll call him Jones) for a commitment at 24, but I would keep my feelings and thoughts hidden so not to be rejected by such a precious anomaly, lose the title of ‘single’, and much less his friendship. If necessary, I could always delay an engagement until at least 30. Right? No, idiota!, wrong! I negotiated with myself to tell him after I returned from my year abroad in South America; I would be older and wiser and more prepared to face an ‘mature’ relationship.
I accidentally called everything I tried to avoid directly to me at full speed...
We lost contact after diagnosis because I was literally too ill to communicate (dysarthria & blindness = NO phone calls (remember those?) + NO texts or emails) and he still does not know that he was my wishful, could-have-been. He donated once to the MS Society for the annual walk, but suddenly, (or maybe not so suddenly & I was just distracted) he had a girlfriend, followed by a shared home and children together.
I call him Jones, and I can find him fading away somewhere in the Neurological Escape Triangle between Wanderlust, Anguish, & Saudade, somewhere in the cartographic scrabble that is my present cognitive map of the universe. But, both he, and my clandestine Neurological Escape Triangle, deserve their own series of tales, so let’s get back to my current significant other, my wife MS Maldita.
I kept it secret from Jones too long to ever know if it really could have been, and at age 25 (although we'd probably been in the friend zone for a couple years already), Ms Maldita came into my life. Without warning, we rushed to the Los Angeles County Hospital and had a shotgun ceremony, against my will, that lasted 36, long, listless hours in the emergency room, before sharing our first MRI experience together, thereafter committing to each other for life.
Clingy? Is that what I used to call old boyfriends? It couldn’t have been as bad as I remember because Omnipresent is what I call Ms Maldita. Ms. (Mulitple Sclerosis) Maldita is my MS. I found myself saying maldita sea a lot more often after diagnosis, that it only seemed appropriate. It’s ridiculous, but separating MS from me as a woman was one of the most mentally freeing exercises I ever did. It made it possible not to blame myself for things out of my control without feeling too guilty, lazy, or incompetent.
Growing up in a Latin/o/a/x family in the United States adds a filter of complexity to how I process and approach the medical field.
The never ending struggle between my exterior California sensibility and the securely soldered internal scaffolding of the Mediterranean Old World superstitions & West African traditions that saturate Cuba, came to head when I was forced to negotiate illness against my will.
I knew that I would have to battle between these two sometimes opposing forces. I still do; everyday. I battle the urge to blame an hechizo or ojo de mal from another, every time my symptoms flare. I know better, and the idea only lasts a fleeting moment, but it always is what first instinctually comes to mind. I try not to call bad luck and spirits towards me by not giving them my attention, although I know they don’t exist. That is what being Cuban-American is: you might not practice Santeria, but you might keep an ojo de mal amulet in your pocket.