It has been many week since my last update, months even! And yet, the training for the Newport Marathon continues. We are waning now, finishing up these 17 weeks with a fun run next week for just one hour, along with a team picture and maybe even a trip to the local coffee shop (just like EWEB!) I have learned again that I start too soon, that I can be paced to go much farther than I ever would give myself credit for, and that the support of those around me is invaluable.
Now, if I might add a bit from the disease front, I should like to say that I have my annual MRI tomorrow. This comes in the midst of my training and is filled with the same trepidation that I often have when facing this procedure. It seems I am not fond of the IV and the tube and the combination of both. I find small comfort in the iPod that will champion me through, as it has in the past, and also on many of my solo runs. What an odd device to rely upon with such earnest! But I digress.
The point of my bringing up the annual MRI and the MS is to say that I am once again faced with the fear that I will have results that are not in my favor. But, of course, I always do this. I always have this feeling of impending doom. Here is the other shoe dropping, like a anvil on the cartoon head of my very fortunate prognosis. This fear if not unfounded, and also has another layer. I have been having severe allergies this year with our tree pollen. I had ended up at urgent care at one point, shifting at the last minute to the doctor's office. A call to the neurologist had me recounting the symptoms, all the while afraid to tell him that I had been over doing it in with the training. When we did finally talk about it, I was surprised at the conversation.
"Are you afraid that I am going to tell you not to run the marathon?" He asked.
I hesitated before answering, but I had built a level of trust with this doctor over the years and so I thought I'd better just speak plainly. "Yes." I said, the answer echoing off the walls of the hall outside the office where I worked. I didn't want anyone to hear my conversation. Eveyone at work knows about the MS, but the talk with the doctor was private. Besides, if he was about to tell me that I couldn't run the marathon, I'm not sure I could have kept it together.
"I'm not going to tell you that," his voice eased and I released my breath at his words. Thank God, I thought. He continued, "I think it's great that you are doing this. This is not something that many of my patients could do, let alone are doing. It's okay. Keep training." He went on to talk with me about the upcoming appointment and then he dropped the real bomb: "I'm retiring at the end of June."
This was not good news to me. I'll tell you why. This is the doctor that took me off of the injections. He even said that if I had been his patient when I was first diagnosed, I might have never been put on medication in the first place. I panicked. But, being the wonderful doctor that he is, he reassured me. "Don't worry. We'll talk about your care when you come in and I will make sure you are in great hands."
Another great release of breath. Would I be okay? I would have to trust him and trust that I would be taken care of by something greater than us both.
So, there I was this morning running with perfect conditions, low 60s, light off/on rain, being perfectly paced by Jeff McKay, an easy 10:15 for 10 miles out and around the beautiful Willamette River with friends and conversation, well fueled, rested and prepared. Our longest training run behind us. Only the fun run and the marathon before us on the horizon (besides my sols and tapers I would do on my own). And there and then I thought to myself, yes, I do have MS. I cannot change that fact. But what has it been about if I have not been able to do something about how I have lived my life since I got that diagnosis so many years ago. And look at me, I have done something about it. I continue to do something --many things-- each and every day. And now I am gearing up for a third marathon, countless other runs under my belt, optimisms abounding regardless of my fears. And the helpers I have met along the way have been invaluable, not just those next to me on the running path but also those whom I have met along my life's paths.
Thank you Dr. David Lippincott for pacing me through through the treatment of this disease, for your constant confidence and your wonderful care over the years. I credit much of my positive attitude to your support and holistic practice of medicine. You have made a fine career of treating people, not disease, and I wish you the very best in your best years to come.