Page 92 of Take a Moment

On Tuesday morning, my alarm goes off at seven a.m. as usual, but it’s far from a normal day. The first thing I notice is a slightly disoriented feeling. Still drowsy from waking, I’m momentarily confused, until I try to sit up and it’s like a car has parked on my torso. I gasp and strain but no matter how hard I try to force myself to sit up, my body will not cooperate. Exhausted and out of breath, I let my muscles relax and stare at the ceiling in consternation.

‘Shit,’ I cry out loud. ‘What’s going on?’

I lie there for another few moments, trying to tune in to what I’m feeling. I’m very weak and also clammy again, like yesterday. It’s like the car didn’t just park on top of me; it ran me over first – at high speed. With my attempts to sit up thwarted, I change tactics and attempt to exit the bed sideways. Putting everything I have into it, and using my body weight as a lever, I eventually manage to roll over on my side and slide out of the bed onto my knees. It’s as if I’ve attempted a marathon with zero training. I crouch there, panting heavily, sweat beads gathering on my forehead. My head swims and I have to grab at the bed frame to stop me from toppling over.

‘Oh, shit,’ I cry again. ‘Shit. Shit.Shit.’

I reach across and grab my phone from my bedside table. After I’ve caught my breath again, I google ‘MS relapse’. The list of symptoms in the top search result immediately confirms my worst fears. That’s what this is. I’m having another relapse. After months of hard work to get back on my feet and having a life again, I’m back to square one.

‘No,’ I wail. ‘This is not happening. I’ve got a project team meeting this morning. I need to be there.’

Clutching the bed frame, I attempt to stand up, but halfway to my feet I’m overbalancing again, my legs buckling from sheer exhaustion. I allow myself to fall forwards onto my bed. Then I use the last of my energy to pull my legs up, so I’m at least lying down again.

Shit, this is bad. What the hell am I going to do? One thing’s for sure, I’m not going to work today. I’m not going anywhere at all. I can’t even make it to my own kitchen.

As this thought crystallises, I realise that not getting to work should be the least of my worries. How am I going to drink? Eat? Go to the toilet? I’m in serious trouble here – exactly the kind of trouble my mother and sister predicted. I can’t call Matt; he doesn’t know about any of this and I’d be mortified if he found me in this state. There’s no way I’m calling my family and letting them gloat – because that’s what they’d focus on, not actually helping me. Sasha’s miles away, and anyway has to be at work herself. I realise I have no choice. I’m going to have to call a doctor. But first, there’s another call I need to make and I’m completely dreading it.

‘Morning, Alex.’ I hear Emmanuel’s kind and jolly voice in my ear after two rings. ‘Everything all right?’

I go to speak but nothing comes out. Shame and mortification settle over me like a thick woollen blanket.

‘Alex? Are you all right?’ Emmanuel’s voice changes to one of concern. ‘Talk to me.Canyou talk to me?’

Tears prick at my eyes as I realise I must say the words out loud. I can’t stay mute on a call. Emmanuel will end up calling the emergency services.

‘I… I’ve had a relapse.’

There’s a momentary silence as Emmanuel digests this. ‘Oh, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. Are you at home?’

‘Yes.’

‘In bed?’

‘Yes.’

‘OK, good. That’s where you need to stay. How bad is it – on a scale of one to ten?’

I consider playing it down, but where’s that going to get me? If this is anything like my last relapse, I’m going to have to fess up pretty quickly. And what scares me is that at this particular moment, it feels a lot worse.

‘It’s a ten.’

‘OK, sweetheart. First thing – I don’t want you to worry about work at all. We were prepared for this. We took you on knowing it would happen at some point.’

‘But it’s not “some point”. It’s too soon after my last one. I’ve only been with you a few months. Thought I’d get to a year, maybe even two, before this kind of setback.’ I flinch at how pathetic I sound.

‘And you may have that period of remission in the future, you know that. But we need to deal with what’s happening now. Alex, I know you’re on your own down here, so I hope you don’t mind if I ask you this: are you able to get out of bed?’

My throat tightens with emotion and the tears finally overflow, tracking their way down my cheeks. ‘No.’

‘OK, that means you need some help. Do you have anyone you can call? What about your boyfriend, Matt is it?’

Matt’s gorgeous face flits through my mind.

‘I can call the doctor,’ I say in a small voice.

There’s a pause. ‘He doesn’t know, does he?’

‘No.’

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