It felt like it would never get here and now that it has arrived, I’m anxious as hell. Tomorrow it begins. It being my latest DMD, my last ditch effort, my Hail Mary attempt to get this disease under control once and for all. Tomorrow is round 1 day 1 of my Lemtrada treatment.

I’ve been told not to worry. I’ve been told I’ve got this. I’ve been told everything is going to be fine! And I mostly believe it. My biggest concern tonight is how I’m going to stand being in that room for 5 days in a row for a solid 7 or 8 hours. I’ve not really thought much beyond that.

If anything, I’m hoping I get a little bump from the jolt of Solumedrol they will give me as pre-medication for the first three days. I usually respond really well to IV steroids so I’m hoping this will be no different. I’ve packed my lunch. Arranged transportation. Took three weeks off of work to have the treatment and then recover from the treatment. I’m probably most anxious about that!

I never really take time off from work. I’m always “on call” or one email away with this magical device I keep in my pocket that connects me to the world 24/7. We’re kicking off a big new account we just won late last week (yay us!) but I won’t be around for it. All of my co-workers, clients and bosses alike have told me the same thing: you focus on you. We’ll all be here when you get back! I suppose they’re right. I just don’t know how to do that so well. I guess it’s a common trait in the ad business to be the kind of person who suffers from chronic FOMO when it comes to work. We want to be in the meetings! We want to be in charge! We want to be in the thick of every conversation, leading every big project, solving all the biggest problems.

I’ll be trying not to lose my ever loving mind in the infusion room for 5 long days whilst my team is off making magic. I’m sincerely going to try and let them handle it. In this particular case there are more chiefs than you can shake a stick at on this particular new client kick off. I won’t be missed. Maybe that’s what scares me? Anyway. I’m going to do what they’ve all urged me to do and focus on my health (or lack thereof) and let the world go on without me for a while.

I’m very bad at this. You’re probably not one bit surprised.

While my colleagues will be off making things happen, I’ll be sitting in a room without windows hooked up to an IV having various substances infused into my bloodstream in the hopes of somehow, at the end of it all, getting this disease in check. Stability. That’s the goal. That’s the thing I’ve been living without. That’s the quest I’m on starting (again) tomorrow.

I’m anxious. I already said that, didn’t I? Right. I thought so.

This feels like the final frontier. The last straw. The shot in the dark. The Hail Mary shot from the 3 point line at the final buzzer. I am trying to force myself not to think of this as my last chance at some kind of new normal but that’s really hard to do. It’s hard to have such high hopes and such overwhelming pessimism happening in the same body all at one time. I keep telling myself this is just the next phase. The next new thing to try. Of course there aren’t many other things to try out there, today, but there will be new, new things coming some day. This might not be my last chance at all! Why does it feel so dramatic?

My lunch is packed. My clothes are clean (thanks to my sister who did my laundry this week). My audio books are downloaded and my roots are fleshly bleached! Wait. Doesn’t everyone get their roots done before Infusion Week?

A whole work week. Five. Freaking. Full. Days. Chair sitting and medicine taking. I can do this. I know I can. I just don’t much want to.