Time for an MS update. Last Friday I had my first Briumvi infusion. In my mind, I would get it and start feeling better immediately. I was wrong. I met with my neurologist today and learned that what I received was only 1/3 of the first round.

The first infusion is the smallest portion, allowing them to take it slow and see how my body responds. The next one, in a couple of weeks, will be a higher dose. That does make me nervous, but I can do it. In a strange way, I feel like natural birth prepared me for this season. When I was pregnant with Z, I devoured pregnancy books. I wanted to learn everything there was to know about having a natural birth. It became a passion. I learned how to prepare, relax, and push through (no pun intended). While infusion treatment for MS isn’t the same at all, many of the tools I gained 18 years ago still apply. I’ve been doing my best to research and prepare. I know how to breathe, how to calm my body, and most importantly, I know I can do hard things. This is temporary suffering, and I believe it will be worth it in the long run.

The first infusion itself went smoothly. I knew I had people praying and fasting around the clock for me, and I truly felt the presence of the Holy Spirit in the room. I also had an incredible medical team caring for me, and J was right by my side. I did experience the flu-like symptoms they warn about, but overall it was calm and uneventful.

Saturday was different. I woke up feeling like I’d been hit by a train. This was me after getting out of bed.

It felt just like the flu except just a warmth and no fever. I was managing okay until that evening, when the vertigo returned. I took a children’s chewable Dramamine, something I’ve taken before, but this time it immediately started burning my tongue. Panic set in as I double-checked the packaging and realized my tongue was swelling and becoming numb. I called the after-hours UC Health line, chugged water, and spoke with several nurses and a doctor who monitored me over the phone. Slowly, the irritation went down.

There’s no clear explanation for why I reacted that way to a mild medication I’ve used in the past. Because Briumvi is an anti-CD20 monoclonal antibody that depletes B cells, it shifts immune balance. This can potentially disrupt regulation and cause exaggerated hypersensitivity reactions to emerge. My med team will keep a close on it as I receive the next infusion. Thankfully it’s just a mild reaction and not an allergic one.

I tried to rally the next day and celebrate Christmas with my side of the family, but it wasn’t easy. I was juggling a variety of symptoms and slept in the guest room some of the time. I did love seeing my family, watching kids play, and even the snowfall helped lift my spirits.

By Sunday, I stayed home from church but was grateful I could watch the message, baptisms, and Z playing keys on the livestream. Later, we decided to watch a Christmas movie while wrapping presents.

I felt guilty that I couldn’t help wrap so J handed me the gift tags and asked if I could write the names. It was a small job, but I was just happy to contribute something.

As the movie played, I noticed the closed captions were suddenly hard to read. A blurry spot appeared. I glanced around, trying to decide if it was the TV or my eyes. It was my eyes. I tried to ignore it, but the blur turned into something that looked like pixelated TV static.

We paused the movie, and I tried to explain what I was seeing. Z was convinced I was escaping the Matrix, which honestly sounded pretty cool, but I decided it was time to call the after-hours doctor again.

While I waited for the call back, the “blind spot” grew larger. It was in both eyes. I was terrified and in tears. What I saw looked like a kaleidoscope in a crescent shape filled with bright, unnatural zigzag lights—taking up almost half of my vision.

This is what a migraine aura looks like.

When I finally spoke with the doctor, I struggled to describe it, but she immediately knew what was happening. I wasn’t having a reaction to the infusion, and I wasn’t going blind. I was experiencing a migraine aura. I told her I didn’t even have a headache, but she explained that an aura can occur with or without pain.

After about 40 minutes, it passed. Relief washed over me. I had to break the news to Z that it wasn’t, in fact, the Matrix. Still, the kids were excited to learn I had an “aura”—which, believe it or not, is the actual medical term. A visual aura is a temporary sensory disturbance that can include flashing lights, blind spots, or zigzag lines that move across your vision. It’s caused by a wave of electrical activity in the brain’s visual cortex and typically lasts less than an hour. It can anoccur without a headache, known as an acephalgic migraine. Wow, I am learning so many new medical terms and phenomena. I think I’m good now. No more please.

My next infusion is in ten days. I have more to share, but right now, I need a nap. I love you all. Thank you for walking with me through this, and please keep those prayers coming.