It is always a little awkward telling someone you have multiple sclerosis. For me, it starts with an internal debate of whether or not it is necessary for a person to know. Some of the factors I consider are why I would want that person to know, how often I see the person, and how I think the person will react to and handle the news.

In some aspects, my work environment has been paramount in my decision to disclose my diagnosis. I work closely with orthopedic surgeons who can spot a limp from the other side of the building. The first doctor to ask me why I was limping actually gave me a sense of relief. He happened to fall behind me in the hallway as I was leading him to an exam room. It was a busy day and my legs did not stand a chance. I clenched my teeth as I struggled to walk normally. I failed. I hear his voice, “You look like you are limping”. I turn my head enough to make eye contact. Whatever he saw in my eyes prompted him to lower his voice, “Are you in pain?” I have known him for years and I know he genuinely cares about helping others. He was concerned for my well-being. We slowed our pace and I told him I had MS. His expression changed from curiosity to a mix of surprise and concern. A slew of questions followed. He was dumbfounded.

I knew when I told him that the rumor mill would carry the news through their department. I knew others on staff had seen me physically struggling on busier days but they were all too worried about overstepping a boundary to ask why. This way they would have their answer. I made sure to tell him that my diagnosis was not a secret, I had simply chosen not to announce it.

The next surgeon caught me more off guard than I did him. I walked into his work area to ask a question. Less than three steps through the door in his direction and he leans back in his chair and asks about my limp. I hesitated. As I said, he caught me off guard. I had no idea I was limping. It was early in the day. I actually felt pretty good. So much went through my mind at that moment. I had obviously developed a limp significant enough for everyone to easily notice, everyone except me. My limp had become a part of my life so much so that I no longer knew it was there.

I gathered myself as I approached him. As I got closer, he asked the all too familiar question, “Are you in pain?”. I shook my head and simply said I was okay. I was too taken aback by him noticing a limp I did not even know how to have a conversation about it at the moment. He pressed on. He wanted to be reassured that I was not hurting. I leaned in and told him, “I have MS”. Profuse apologies followed. He felt he had overstepped a boundary. He was shrinking into his chair. I assured him he was okay in asking and that my diagnosis was not a secret. I did not have to tell him. I chose to. Once again, I saw the shock of having worked with me for so long and not knowing I had MS.

The third work incident was when I encountered another surgeon in the hallway. They all seem to have the same spiel. Again I hear the familiar, “You are limping. Are you okay?’ This particular day I did not feel like talking about it. I simply smiled. I thanked him for checking on me but that there was nothing he could do to help.

When we recently had a new doctor return from a leave of absence, I decided I wanted to disclose my diagnosis sooner than later. I work more closely with him, so I knew he would notice something was off quicker than others had. He is also quite outspoken. I did not prefer for him to ask loudly in a crowded hallway what was wrong with me.

I found the opportunity yesterday. We sat across from each other and I asked if he had heard about my diagnosis since he had been back. He had not. I told him I had MS. His response was as expected. He gave the most animated, “Oh my God! Noooooo!” We then went through the usual questions. He wanted to know how long, what type, symptoms, etc. Our conversation was a reminder that I am quickly approaching my two-year anniversary with the disease. We discussed medications and how quickly my disease was progressing. The conversation then naturally turned toward mental health. I told him I was in therapy. I also told him I was medicated and things were slowly working out. Then he said something that I am still turning over in my mind.

He told me most of us walk around like superheroes. We act bulletproof. We are not afraid of anything happening to us. We simply do not expect it to. He asked if I ever expected I would have MS. Of course not, I said. He then went on to say that when something does happen, like an MS diagnosis, we become aware that we are not a superhero and we lose that part of our identity. He said, “You find out you are no longer a superhero. So, who are you, then? Now is the time to search and find out who you really are and who you want to become from here.”

It was something I needed to hear. I made a recent post about how people with a chronic illness or cancer view themselves as warriors fighting a battle. It is a comparison I have never been able to relate to. What he said was the antithesis of the warrior view. I embraced it. Of all the things that MS took from me, my identity is one of the most missed. I am no longer the person I used to be. To move on, I need to figure out who I am now and who I want to be.