The days stretched into weeks. Doubt set in about the possible diagnosis of MS. The MRI was faulty. It was in a trailer out back of the hospital. How good can that be? I’ve convinced myself that the highly technical instrument showed its frailty through the crashing and banging of construction that was just out the front door.
I continued on with my daily activities and managed to convince myself that there has got to be a mistake in the mention that I have MS. I showed up daily for my shifts. I worked out every day. Walked my daughter to school and took the dog for walks. I was a busy guy.
My legs are still numb. There is that little voice in my head saying “what if?”
Because of that “what if” I was determined to make some changes. First thing I’m going to change is my diet. I eat very well, but I figured I can do better. Dairy has been a staple of my diet since I was a child growing up in Saskatchewan. I drank plenty of milk as a child, and, as an adult, it’s nothing to drink several litres a day. Milk is now out. I speculate the relevancy of milk – humans are the only mammals on earth that drink the milk of another species, and continue to drink milk past infancy. The only question I had for myself now is “what will I dip fresh homemade cookies in?”
However, cutting back dairy, I will have to draw the line at cheese – I’ll just cut back a bit. I enjoy a good slice of Havarti.
I did a bit of research on a caveman-type diet and adjusted accordingly. Now I just have to wait for positive results. It’s also time for this numbness to go away.
My initial MRI was in late April. It’s now early June and I make the journey to Vancouver to keep my appointment with Dr. Hashimoto. I’ve read good things about the doctor and learned that he is the go-to guy for MS in British Columbia and one of the top specialists in the country. I’ll be in good hands with him.
His office is in an office building close to Vancouver General Hospital. I drive around the area, find a parking spot, and make my way in. While I am nervous about the appointment, I am sure that he’s going to reach the conclusion that I don’t have MS. If he requests another MRI in a more stable environment I will gladly oblige.
I find his office and make way in. It reminded me of the office my doctor in Regina had in the 70s. The décor was older and simple. It felt comfortable. I announce myself to the lady at the front desk. She tells me the doc will be right with me and to have a seat. I’m the only other person in the room. My nervousness subsided with the familiarity of this strange place.
I waited just a few minutes before I was summoned to see the pre-eminent Dr. Hashimoto.
I walked in and immediately surveyed the room. It’s a habit to survey the room for any threats. It was a smaller office with walls adorned with scholarly degrees and a few pictures. There were plenty of medical and neurological books to fill the room. Behind the desk, facing the wall, sat a smaller grey-haired man I estimated to be in his early 60s. He turned to look at me, his eyes assessing me.
“Hi, I’m Colin Brandt,” I introduce myself.
“Hi,” he said. Then he looked at me and said something quite unexpected. “You’re a police officer? I thought you’d be bigger.”
Now, I’m just shy of six foot and weigh about 190 pounds. Not big like some who I’ve worked and trained with. I can also be a bit of a sharp-tongued smart-ass. I looked at him, smiled, bit my lip, and told him that I was police officer. My training kicked in. What I was thinking, and wanting to say, was ‑ “you’re a doctor? I thought you’d be smarter.”
We spoke a bit about what I was experiencing. He had previously viewed my MRI results, and the notes made by the attending neurologist. He told me he wanted to examine me so had me enter an examination room where he put me through a battery of neurological tests. He was extremely thorough.
We then went back to his office to finish the consultation. He asked me about my medical history. I told him everything I could remember. There was not much to tell. I had a lot of allergies as a child, which, for the most part, have grown out of. I told him of the six-month ordeal with mono, but, my medical history is unremarkable.
After hearing me out, he told me that, from the MRI scans and his examination, he can conclude that I have MS.
I thanked him for his time, shook his hand, and, with numb legs, exited the building.
On The Road With MS 