The Speed of Light

by Elissa Grossell Dickey

It’s taken months for the puzzle to come together—a gauntlet of tests and appointments aimed at ruling things out, an MRI that revealed a lesion on my spine.

Happy holidays to me. Potentially life-altering diagnosis the day after Christmas.

Curse this long, twisting road of medical uncertainty. With all my appointments, every test to rule something out, someone else has inevitably found out what is going on—that the big, bad thing we’ve feared I have is multiple sclerosis.

besides my awkward explanation at work of why I needed time off, I haven’t actually told very many people about what I’m going through—I’m not sure how to explain it, to make someone else understand something I’m struggling to comprehend myself.

I know now that it was nothing more than a fairy tale. And there’s no room in my life for fairy tales anymore.

It’s a truth universally acknowledged that no matter how hot you think you look before going out, you will get knocked down a peg upon arrival.

But with MS, there are no guarantees. And dammit, I just want to feel normal for as long as I possibly can.

Snowflakes rush by, a force of white against the black sky. Like stars. Like we’re flying at light speed.