Page 38 of Ms. Lead

“Sure,” he shrugs a shoulder, and the smile grows. I like how this is starting.

“Alright. First question, when were you diagnosed, and what were your initial symptoms?”

“A year ago, my right foot had pins and needles that weren’t going away.”

Okay. Good start. But now, it’s going to get harder.

“You’ve said you can’t or won’t have children because of your MS, yet it’s not hereditary, so why do you feel that way?”

He shifts a little, the question obviously hitting a sore nerve.

“It’s not hereditary in a strict sense, but the risk increases quite a bit with a parent with it. Plus, there are other things that I think about, like holding a baby. You may have noticed that I didn’t hold baby Grace last weekend. I couldn’t take the chance that my arm wouldn’t suddenly go numb, and I’d drop her. That would be disastrous. Who knows how this will progress and what participation I could safely have with a child? I don’t want to take that risk. I wouldn’t want to harm my own child.”

My heart lurches as he talks, and I can see the pain it causes him to share these thoughts.

“Has that happened? Your arms suddenly going numb out of nowhere? Or are there signs beforehand?”

“No, it hasn’t. But I don’t want to risk it either.” And the defensiveness has started.

Not what I wanted to happen.

I just nod my understanding. He’s made choices for his life that, after my research, make sense but, at the same time, are very extreme. It’s going to be difficult to express that idea to him without making him defensive.

I take a sip of my wine, giving us a second to recuperate. We have all night for this if we need it.

“I haven’t come by these life choices easily, Bianca. Or quickly.” He obviously read my thoughts, and runs his hands through his scruff, trying to calm himself. “You have to understand, I grieve every day for the person I was going to be without MS. I’m not suggesting it’s healthy, but it’s hard not to. When I say this is as good as it gets, I literally mean it. I will not be better than this.”

His pain at this admission is undeniable, and I just want to hold him and never let go. That he’s chosen to go through all of this alone is unfathomable. I’m surprised he’s not in worse shape, actually.

“You doing okay?” I ask softly after a pause, wanting to make sure he’s still willing to submit himself to my questioning.

He takes a deep breath, exhales it loudly, and nods. Bracing himself for whatever is next.

“Yes. I’m fine. Go on.”

“So, extremely awkward question now.” I can feel my blush spread on my cheeks, which gets him to arch a brow in interest. Crap. “I noticed you were able to get…excited. Is that a problem for you?”

The arched brow transforms briefly into a wicked grin that could set my underwear on fire, but then morphs into a scowl.

“It’s not…yet. But it most likely will be...eventually.” His face reddens, and his voice trails off. He looks away quickly, embarrassed.

I had thought that would be his answer since that’s what I’d read. Though everything is so individualized, I need to ask these things. These issues appear to be the most important ones to him and what he has based his whole life philosophy on since his diagnosis.

“So, what exactly was your plan? Just waste away by yourself and never know love?”

That question surprises him, and he studies me for a minute before answering.

“You make it sound awful, but yes. That is, was my plan. I don’t know how past tense it is yet.”

That surprises me now. Is he still unsure about me? Uncertain of how I’ll respond to all of this?

“We’ve made it to my last question.” There is enough information available to me or anyone else who wants to know it out there. I just wanted to know his experience and what is forming his thought processes now.

His shoulders relax slightly, and he nods. “Go for it.”

“Do you still not want me in your life?”

His eyes close, and his head falls back to the top of the couch. This time he squeezes my fingers to the point that I might lose feeling in them shortly.

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