Life Interrupted

By Teisha Rose

Teisha Rose was just twenty-two and on a fast track to corporate success when her life was interrupted by a huge and unexpected hurdle. For the next four years she grieved for her lost dreams, caught in an avalanche of endless hospital ordeals and gruelling rehabilitation. Her devastating physical condition came to dominate her identity … until she decided to turn her hurdle into hope.
Teisha committed herself to finding joy where it seemed impossible. Turning an existence of debilitating lows into a life of exhilarating highs, she left her homeland to travel the world. She left creature comforts to help orphans overseas. She left corporate life to become a social worker among the homeless and lonely. She found new gifts, new perspectives, new homes, new friends and in an amazing set of circumstances she found love.
Teisha’s extraordinary story will break your heart, inspire you, enthral you and thrill you. Yet Life Interrupted is more than a life story. In the second part of her book, Teisha uses her unique discoveries to help you find your way through whatever might have interrupted your own dreams. Your challenges need not be as tragic as Teisha Rose– few people’s are – but like her, you can find your way past your hurdle to a new life full of hope.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vivid Publishing
• Release date: Feb 12, 2015
• ISBN: 9781925209921

Teisha Rose

After her last MS relapse in 2012, Teisha began reflecting on her most recent experience. She realised that the way she felt and responded to MS and life today, was unrecognisable compared to years earlier. And this is what inspired Teisha to write a book for the first time. Teisha wanted to share her story and the insights she has gained, to impart confidence that moving beyond the darkness of a hurdle is possible.

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Author

INTRODUCTION

In 1997 my life changed forever. I was only twenty-two when an unexpected hurdle forced its way into my life unannounced and unwelcome. I didn’t understand what was happening. In the context of my life it just didn’t make sense. I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis.

On hearing the doctor’s words I could never have imagined how my life was going to change. For years, MS created a rollercoaster of an existence. In Part I: An Unexpected Hurdle I take you on this ride, sharing with you the debilitating lows but also celebrating the exhilarating highs.

Part II: Moving Beyond a Hurdle – My Insights, then takes this story further. Reflecting on my journey, I recognised that I have navigated through six stages since being diagnosed with MS. But I wanted to write more than a narrative of what happened to me. In Part II, I explore how I have been able to move beyond the hurdle of MS, and why my life has changed so drastically over the years. My journey from hurdle to hope is one of insights, lessons learnt and a life changed.

PART I: AN UNEXPECTED HURDLE

All my dreams did come true, just not in the way I imagined.

Unexpected, Uninvited, Unwelcome!

Multiple Sclerosis. I was blindsided by its arrival during a time in my life which should have been carefree and not dominated by the uncertainty of a disease.

Poor health had never been a reality nor even a consideration. No one in my immediate family had experienced any significant illnesses let alone a chronic neurological disease. Growing up I had always experienced excellent health, rarely had a day off school. Only six months previously I had even opted out of the hospital coverage in my private health insurance policy. What was the point? I was never sick. I didn’t even have a local doctor to discuss my diagnosis with.

MS wasn’t part of my life plan. I had worked so hard at high school, my life had been consumed by study. I attended an academically selective school and the emphasis on succeeding, striving for excellence was unavoidable. And at times stressful. Without question, university was a natural progression. I pushed myself even more to complete two degrees in business and psychology. I enjoyed both, and found the combination was a work out for both sides of my brain.

Already I was living on automatic pilot. Desperate to get on with my life, I didn’t even contemplate a gap year. The planned next chapter was a career. For months I submitted countless applications for graduate positions throughout Australia. In between assignments and exams I attended assessments and interviews. Finally the letter I was waiting for. A position on a graduate program at a large corporation in my hometown, Melbourne.

I was elated. But mostly I was relieved. I had committed so much time and energy to school and university, determined to achieve good results, and motivated to create opportunities for my future. And now they had arrived.

I felt a sense of accomplishment for having achieved the goals I had been working towards ever since I could remember. For the first time, I was beginning to really enjoy life. I wasn’t sitting up late at night completing assignments, studying for exams, or trying to fit in part-time work. Instead, life in my twenties was filled with weekends away, dinners with friends, and shopping sprees. I was feeling carefree, without a worry in the world.

I couldn’t contain my excitement about starting this new chapter in my life. Study had been such a hard never-ending slog. Now I was working in the buzz of the CBD, my world was opening up. Even getting dressed up in nice clothes every morning was energising. Life was quickly becoming unrecognisable to that of a uni student. Best of all I had finally kissed goodbye the struggles of a student income. I was loving the novelty of having money to spend on myself.

I was also relishing the challenges of a new career. My mind was active, keen to absorb every new experience. Eager to learn and develop in this new corporate environment. Although my first job wasn’t particularly demanding, and at times monotonous, I didn’t mind. I had an unwavering focus, wanting to perform well and demonstrate my potential to management. It was the same logical approach I adopted at school and uni. But this time I wasn’t rewarded by good grades, it was even better, I received a promotion. I remember thinking—this career thing is easy. Work hard, develop new skills, be rewarded by more opportunities, and earn more money.

The benefit of starting my career in such a large company was the many and varied opportunities available. There were always new jobs to apply for and training courses to attend. Succession plans were in vogue, so if you worked hard and displayed initiative, there was a clear path ahead. And as always, I loved having a plan. As I began getting into the rhythm of work, my mind was racing with all that lay before me.

I started setting clear goals for my career and life. First was study. Although I was enjoying the break, formal learning had always been part of my life. I was already starting to investigate postgraduate qualifications. I knew that further study would definitely enhance my career trajectory.

Then there were financial goals, the lure of saving money for a secure future. Always fairly conservative at heart, I didn’t want to waste all of my generous income on shopping sprees. Buying my own home in the next five years was a definite goal.

Travelling was also part of my day dreaming. Holidays had always been a part of my life. When I was growing up, we always spent Christmas holidays by the beach. In my late teens, my closest childhood friend Kelli and I shared a passion for travelling, mapping out adventures for our summer breaks. One summer we flew into Brisbane, and gradually made our way up to coast to the Whitsundays. Even then I loved the freedom, meeting overseas backpackers, and finding new places to explore.

The year before, I’d even ventured overseas for the first time. To celebrate finishing my degrees, a new boyfriend and I travelled around America. From San Francisco, the Grand Canyon to New York City, I was absolutely taken by the experience. Although committing to a career, I knew that now I had the taste for it, overseas holidays were definitely going to be part of my future.

Life was great. I was thoroughly enjoying my job and spending more time with my boyfriend and friends. I had huge expectations and excitement for my future. I just knew where I was and the path I was on would set my career and life up forever.

Yet only nine months after commencing my job, life as I knew it was never going to be the same. At the beginning of the week I had woken up energised to go to work, filled with dreams and hopes for the future. But a few days later, I lay in a hospital bed listening to a doctor announce that I had MS. I just didn’t get it. The news was incomprehensible. In the context of my life it just didn’t make sense. Why now? Life was just beginning. It felt like a cruel joke. But unfortunately it wasn’t.

Over the last couple of years at uni, I had experienced pins and needles down my legs. I made an appointment with a physio, but the symptoms were put down to a bulged disc in my lower back. After a few treatments and some taping on my back, the sensation disappeared. It was strange though, as every six months or so the symptoms would re-emerge. But each time the physio, not surprisingly, thought it was a pinched nerve, taped my back, and again, it went away.

Just before my diagnosis the tingling started moving up my torso. It was this change in direction that prompted my physio to refer me to a neurologist. Despite the referral, I never contemplated that anything was seriously wrong with me. Within a week I received a call from the doctor’s rooms advising that I was to be admitted to hospital for a couple of days. The neurologist ordered some tests in an effort to determine what was causing the change in sensation.

Lying in hospital felt surreal. Everyone around me looked so sick. No one was up to talking, their eyes were closed, they were medicated and caught up in their own struggles. I felt like an imposter. I was convinced that I didn’t belong. Surely if anything sinister was happening with my body, I would know.

The only time I felt physically sick was when the neurologist told me that the results of the lumbar puncture (although that wasn’t particularly fun) and MRI confirmed that I had MS. The discussion was very clinical. The doctor stood at the end of my bed explaining that there were two types of MS, progressive and relapsing-remitting. Apparently I had the latter. This meant while I may struggle with physical movement or experience reduced sensation at times (a relapse), I would return to normal functioning within a few weeks or months (remit). Almost in passing he mentioned that the disease may progress. But I was encouraged not to worry about this yet, it could be years before I would be confronted with secondary-progressive MS.

The options available for treating MS were to be discussed at a follow-up appointment in the neurological department. Brochures from MS Australia for those recently diagnosed were placed on my tray. I was encouraged to take these home for further reading.

During this entire process I didn’t have any questions. My knowledge of MS was extremely limited. I’d only ever heard about the disease during primary school, when I participated in the MS read-a-thon. With only a child-like understanding of this disease, I measured the significance of my diagnosis by the words and images in the brochures I was given. But also on what the doctor said and how the message was delivered. Did his voice indicate he was worried about my prognosis? And what about his body language—was he looking me in the eye or avoiding eye contact?

After the doctor delivered the news, there was nothing further to discuss. The doctor and nurse left the ward, and my boyfriend and I remained sitting on the bed. That was it. All of the sudden an enormous unanticipated hurdle had forced its way into my life, and I wasn’t sure how to respond.

What could I say anyway? The doctor was only there a few minutes. Given that I wasn’t expecting to be diagnosed with a disease I didn’t have any questions prepared. So as he spoke I just lay in the hospital bed nodding where appropriate and trying to absorb the news.

I think I was in shock. I wasn’t an outwardly emotional person, and I definitely didn’t want to make a fuss. I wanted to hold it together and not worry my boyfriend or family unnecessarily. Maybe things wouldn’t be too bad. At least I had the better type of MS, relapsing-remitting. And even if it was to progress it sounded like that could be years away.

The actual diagnosis was an outer body experience. I felt detached. An observer watching on, as somebody told me that I had an incurable disease, which was going to be a part of my life forever. At that moment I could never have imagined how my life was going to change. But what unnerved me was this new belief that I was no longer in control of my destiny. I thought that I was now at the mercy of an external force. This disease that I knew virtually nothing about was going to dictate my future.

On returning home, the two days I had just spent in hospital and the news I received felt unreal. It was difficult to process. At this stage MS was quite abstract as I was feeling healthy. My torso was still a little bit numb but the loss of sensation had no impact on my everyday life. I wasn’t upset about how my life was currently being affected by MS. But I did begin to worry about my future.

As a twenty-two year old you shouldn’t be forced to contemplate how life and your health will be in ten, twenty or thirty years’ time. But such thoughts were now unavoidable. Being diagnosed with MS created a level of fear and uncertainty in my life that I had never experienced before.

For the first time in my life I became despondent. My zest for making plans, which had always provided motivation in my daily life, was now constrained. What was the point of continuing dreaming about all that lay in front of me, when I had no idea if my life would mimic the images in the brochures? Now that I had MS I questioned how I could ever fully commit to my career, contemplate buying a house or even plan an overseas trip. I figured such thoughts were now futile, even tormenting, given I didn’t know if or when I was going to end up in a wheelchair.

The following week I returned to work, not telling anyone of my diagnosis. I figured there was no point. I was feeling well and no one could tell that my body was now officially harbouring a disease. I was afraid that if management found out I had MS then that would be the end of any succession plan, any opportunities for career development and new responsibilities. While I was feeling well it just wasn’t worth the risk.

Somehow at work I managed to maintain focus, but when at home I was struggling. In bed at night my mind was no longer racing with the dreams I’d been energised by only a few weeks ago. I desperately tried to fight the overwhelming fears I had for the future. I’d always had goals and plans for each stage of my life, but now my next chapter was unknown.

My stomach was constantly churning and when alone I couldn’t escape the anxiety. I kept reliving the feelings of total helplessness and confusion I experienced when diagnosed with MS. During this very clinical process I lost my voice. When I heard the doctor’s words, my world no longer made sense. I was puzzled by the news, and without a fight, surrendered any control I had over my future.

After many sleepless nights I decided that I needed to reassert some control over my life. I had just been told by a doctor, who I didn’t really know and that didn’t know me, that my life was to change. Through our conversation it wasn’t clear how it was just a given that it would. I decided that I needed some concrete answers. If the doctor was right and MS was going to be part of my life forever I was convinced that I needed to get to know my new found enemy. Or was it a companion?

MS became a new research project and I returned to student mode. I was determined to learn all I could about this disease. I thought that by gaining information I would feel less vulnerable and exposed in the medical world, and at least I could ask doctors constructive questions. I also thought I would be more prepared for how my life was going to change. If I was to experience a relapse I wanted to understand what was happening to my body and what medical intervention was trying to achieve.

On reflection, it’s interesting to notice that at this stage my focus was purely external. I wanted to learn from others how MS was going to impact my life. Not once did I consider what influence I could have on this journey.

Learning and researching information on MS did help me become more involved and more aware of what was happening to my body. However, there was a reason I hated science and biology at school. I found the medical literature really difficult to absorb and digest. Very quickly I suffered information overload.

I also hadn’t anticipated the emotional toll of researching a topic I had a vested interest in. MS is often associated with walking sticks, wheelchairs and incontinence. These images began infiltrating my mind and became difficult to erase. Such pictures only succeeded in reinforcing my fears. They kept me awake at night and didn’t create a positive future to aspire to.

I decided to close the books, stop reading and continue on with my life as it was before being diagnosed. Given that I still looked and felt healthy I found it easy and comforting to focus on my career and enjoy life again. For now, MS was relegated to a bad dream.

And So it Begins

The images I had internalised about MS, the fears I had tried so desperately to allay, suddenly became a part of my reality only six months after diagnosis. Up until this moment I had only experienced sensory changes. Although a little uncomfortable, the tingling didn’t have any impact on my everyday life or functioning.

When researching MS I had read about people struggling with mobility. It had been a common theme throughout all the literature, with images of people