A week ago I was officially diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis.

The love that has poured in from family, friends, church, and coworkers has absolutely wrecked me (in the best way). It’s so much more than I could have ever asked for or feel like I deserve. So many of you are heartbroken because you know we’ve already walked through a whole lot (remember Hope at the Threshold?). In some ways it feels wildly unfair, but I also know that it could be so much worse.

My brain keeps time-traveling back to 2012 when SJ was diagnosed with profound deafness. You’re probably thinking, “Okay… MS and deafness? What do those even have in common?” One’s a disease, one’s a disability—totally different, right?

Well, kind of but for me there are a lot of similarities.

Both feel like a bomb just went off in your life the moment you hear the word. Both are pretty rare—roughly 3 in 1,000 odds. Both are lifelong. And for us? We had zero family history and basically zero real-life experience with either one.

They’re both nerve things, too. SJ’s is sensorineural hearing loss (the auditory nerve), mine is an autoimmune attack on my central nervous system.

Both things have come a long way in the past 40 years of medical advancements. Cochlear implants and disease-modifying therapies (DMTs) for MS both showed up on around the same time—the early 1990s. I’ve never seen the original cochlear implant in real life but I know from research they had a huge battery pack, wire dangling like a Walkman from the ‘80s. Fast-forward to 2025 and SJ’s implants are sleek, Bluetooth, rechargeable, incredible. I’ve watched that technology explode in just the 13 years since her surgery.

So when the MS community keeps telling me, “Treatment has come SO far in the last 20-30 years!” I understand that. Fifty years ago there were no DMTs and no cochlear implants. What used to steal decades of life or leave people unable to walk or hear is now… manageable. Treatable. Often livable in a really full way. I know it’s apples and oranges but it’s crazy how much science/medicine has advanced in my lifetime.

Last week J and I sat with some specialists picking a medication, and it felt a little like déjà vu.

In 2012 with SJ we had three cochlear implant brands to choose from:

Cochlear Nucleus (we picked that one), Med-El, and Advanced Bionics.

In 2025 with me three high-efficacy meds on the table:

Ocrevus, Kesimpta, Briumvi (that’s the one we landed on).

In both situations we prayed, did tons of research, talked with people who actually use the thing. In both cases the future looked exceedingly bright.

You know what I hear over and over from cochlear implant users AND from people on DMTs? Almost word-for-word the same testimonials:

“It’s life-changing.”

“Most people would never know unless I told them.”

“I live basically like everybody else.”

“Yeah, there are challenges, but I hardly think about it day-to-day.”

“You’re being diagnosed at the BEST time in history for this.”

“It’s hard at first, but just wait—it gets so much better.”

Just swap “cochlear implant” for “MS med” and it’s the exact same responses.

Of course, before you get to happy live-your-best-life part there is a lot of hard work to do. For SJ it was surgery and years of speech therapy to train her brain to listen with CIs and learn to speak. For me right now it’s debilitating symptoms, doctor appointments on repeat, and trying to find the treatment that actually makes me feel like a person again. People keep telling me there’s light at the end of the tunnel. Honestly, right now the tunnel is pitch-black and I can’t see a thing. I don’t know how long it is or when the light shows up.

When SJ was diagnosed there was this weird month of limbo between the first red flag and the official ABR test. I wrote a post back then titled “Nothing has changed but everything is different.” She was still the same smiley two-year-old running around—she had no clue our world was imploding. Physically she was unchanged; we just had new information.

This time, EVERYTHING HAS CHANGED. I can’t work right now. I can’t drive. Some days I can barely look at a screen (so the fact that I’m typing this today feels like a small miracle). Before diagnosis I had one weird symptom. Now I’m juggling six—coming and going whenever they feel like it. Some moments I feel almost normal. A lot of moments I’m face-to-face with MS in all its glory.

I thought about writing the big “here’s what MS is and how it looks for me” post, but… I’m just not there yet. I don’t know what “normal” is going to look like on the other side of this. I think it means infusions every six months and then getting back to counting steps, reuniting with my students, driving my kids around, planning birthday parties, and  living a really full life. I believe that with every fiber of my being, and I know God’s plans for me are still good.

But right now? We wait.

Wait on insurance appeals.

Wait to get the first infusion scheduled.

Wait to figure out why my optic nerves are mad at me.

Wait to see how my body responds to treatment.

Wait for life to feel like “mine” again.

My sister-in-law told me she kept waking up with this song on repeat in her head and felt like God wanted her to send it to me. It’s “Always On Time” by Elevation Worship & Bella Cordero. I’ve had it on loop for days. Something about the way it weaves Old and New Testament promises together—it’s ministering to me in the deepest way right now.

Here it is if you want to listen with me:

I don’t have a big update today, just a lot of real life and a heart that’s being held. I promise I’ll share more as soon as there’s more to share. Thank you for praying, for texting, for dropping off meals, for helping me make connections with other MS warriors. One thing I do know is that I am not alone.