The Fingolimod Miracle

New treatments for multiple sclerosis (otherwise known as new hopes) seem to be emerging from the forest of research like deer and badgers before a wind driven late summer blaze.

We read now (in Multiple Sclerosis Central) of Fingolimod offering the greatest hope (don't they all?), in that it reduces the risk of relapse by 50 percent--a mind boggling 20% gain over Copaxone and the interferons.

The miracles just keep marching on.

Is there a catch? Well sure, but nothing in life is 100% safe, right? Would you rather do nothing at all? How stupid are you willing to be?

Well okay, here's the thing, if you must know. First off, the product causes lymphopenia. What's that? Decreased lymphocytes. What's a lymphocyte? Well, who cares. Who needs 'em, right? They can probably be replaced by the consumption of broccoli or something.

Oh, also fingolimod causes bradycardia, at least with the first dose. Not might, but does. So spend the night in the hospital. Big deal.

Thirdly, the product can affect the electrical impulses within the heart. This is a chronic condition known as Wenchebach's atrioventricular block syndrome.

Hmm. That actually sounds kind of serious.

Still and all, it reduces the chance of MS relapse by 50%, making it the best available treatment for MS. Ain't nothing in life that comes without risk.

One more thing though. Patients using Fingolimod are more likely to experience serious opportunistic infections. And, uh . . . Fingolimod may predispose the user to various malignancies.

Malignancies? Gosh I hate that word. The M word.

But hold on a sec. MS itself does not cause malignancies of any type, and so . . . um . . . why again should I hop on the Fingolimod wagon?

An Argument

I am having an argument with my body, and this morning my body has the upper hand (which is a polite way of saying that it's kicking my ass . . . which, of course, is it's own ass).

The reader may already be aware of my "bad box of Avonex" issue, the ensuing extremis of the flu-like symptoms I suffered from said bad box, and my growing feeling in the wake of all this that continuing to inject Avonex might be a downright stupid thing to do.

Two weeks without Avonex, and I have felt great. I haven't felt better in years. Two years and seven months, to be precise.

Until this morning.

This is the argument that my body makes, a rather pointed argument, an argument of stiff limbs and phantom pains. It is an argument forcefully made. Like a headlock. Like a fist in the face. My body does not pussy foot around. It goes straight for the solar plexus. Yes, my body has got me by the balls.

After slapping me around for awhile, all the way from the bedroom to the kitchen and back again, it pauses to state its point a bit more gently (i.e., I laid back down on the bed).

This, my friend, is why you are taking the Avonex. Remember? It could be worse, you know? Do you want me to make it worse?

Well, then again, maybe I just slept wrong, I say. It's just a matter of shaking the kinks out.

You think?

It could be.

Are you willing to take that chance? Could be, you say? What would you guess the percentage on that is? What are the odds on that horse, Dude? And what about that demyelination on your brain and spine. Just a once in a lifetime accident, you think?

Could be, yeah, I answer, unable to come up with a better response. After all, my legs are hurting, my hips are hurting, my neck is hurting, and I feel dizzy and disoriented.

Dude, you're pathetic, by body says.

Well, there's no need to get snippy.

Oh really! No need to get snippy? So here's what you're saying, right--you're saying that just because you're too much of a wimp to take a few flu-like symptoms, I'm left with running the risk of ending up crippled, rolling around in a wheelchair, depending on people to do every damn thing for me.

No, that's not what I'm saying.

Maybe it's not what you want to be saying, but it is what you're saying, it's exactly what you're saying.

But that's not what I want. All I want is for us to be in agreement on this thing.

SO SHUT THE HELL UP AND TAKE THE DAMN SHOT!

And so it goes.

Yesterday I received my two replacement doses of Avonex. Are they good ones? Are they bad ones? I don't know yet. I am supposed to take a shot this evening, yet I still just do not know. I guess I'll wobble around and think about it for awhile, stumble over to Starbucks for a coffee.

Did you hear something? A whisper just then . . .

**stumbling beats paralysis, Dude, seven days a week**

Not a Cure for the Common Cold

It so happens that I came down with a cold yesterday. I had hoped to avoid this, despite the sneezing, coughing, hacking, drooling presence of my infected family members. My neurologist, after all, had told me that people with MS are less like to contract common illnesses since our immune systems are overactive, attacking not only the things that are not supposed to be swimming around in our bodies, but the things that are as well.

So, the first thing my wife asked, upon seeing that I had come down with the cold, was whether I had taken my shot. What has this to do with anything? Does she imagine that the interferon will kill the cold virus? Best thing for that cold is a stiff shot of poison! If interferon was a cure for the cold, surely they'd have lemon flavored lozenges available, or some kind of stuff you spray up your nose.

Yeah, I took my shot, all right. That's why I'm feeling like the walking dead. Little does she know, apparently, that my shot makes the cold worse than it would have been if left to itself.

The next morning our friend Albert calls.

"Man, you sound lousy," he says. "Did you take your shot?"

The shot again. What's up with the shot?

"Oh, I thought it kept you from getting colds and stuff," he explains. "I'm sure your wife told me that."

I figure next time he feels a cold coming on, I'll loan him a pre-filled syringe. Bottoms up, Buddy.