CONQUERING MULTIPLE SCLEROSIS  - A Story of Courage and Determination
In early 2004 Carmel L. Egan was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, a serious autoimmune disease for which western medicine believes there is currently no cure. Her doctor strongly recommended she immediately commence daily injections of an immunosuppressive substance for the rest of her life, and told her to “hope for a cure”.   However Carmel knew she had a choice - to accept the diagnosis and advice of her doctor, or trust that there was another answer available and that she would find it.   In an amazing series of synchronistic events, Carmel was led to a treatment protocol that offered the potential to arrest the progress of the disease and facilitate a reversal of her symptoms, which included impaired vision, and loss of mobility, balance and co-ordination. Her belief in her body’s ability to heal itself was pivotal to the events that followed.   This is Carmel ’s adventure with MS.   ‘This story is relevant not only to people diagnosed with MS and their family and friends, but also to anyone who finds themselves in any situation in life where they feel trapped and powerless, but must make a choice even though the outcome may be uncertain. It is about faith, courage, trust and taking a leap into the unknown.’   Carmel L. Egan, Author	In Store Price: $AU19.95  Online Price:   $AU18.95 ISBN: 1-9210-0590-4 Format: Paperback Number of pages: 123 Genre: Non Fiction
Author:   Carmel L. Egan Publisher: Zeus Publications Date Published: 2005 Language: English

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Episode 1 - adventure n., an undertaking of uncertain outcome.    

Today, March 29^th 2004 I was told that I have Multiple Sclerosis. As I listened to the neurologist explain the diagnosis, I found my mind wandering off to thoughts of how I ‘should’ react to this news. Any minute you’re going to cry.  No tears. Oh – well in a moment you should start to get a sick, sinking feeling in your stomach. No sinking feeling. Well, you should probably be feeling angry and asking ‘why me?’ Nope. Just an overwhelming sense that I do not need to do those things. That it’s all right. I will understand in time.

The doctor was adamant that I commence treatment almost immediately. This consists of daily or second-daily self-administered injections of an immunosuppressive substance.  It is expected that this would alter my immune system in a way that would cause it to stop attacking my body.  As MS is an autoimmune disease, this was a highly recommended course of action. I immediately felt resistance to the notion of suppressing my immune system; the thought kept coming to mind that the act of suppressing the immune system was akin to shooting the barking watchdog. I am certain that the watchdog is barking for a reason, and feel obliged to discover what that reason is. My body is screaming at me that something is not right. I have decided to find out what, and to put it right.  

It is my belief that, on some level other than Conscious, I created this. I chose it. For now, I do not need to know why I chose it. It will be made clear in the fullness of time.  All I need do is deal with it day by day, and Trust.  

I will explore ways to support myself not only emotionally, but physically as well.  After all, this is a physical thing. I must support myself mentally, emotionally, physically and spiritually.  

I embrace the challenge. I believe that in time I will look back, with the benefit of hindsight, and understand exactly what all this is about.  

So begins the adventure.  

Episode 2 - Going Back  

I am standing on a precipice; the point at which I must make a choice.

What next?

Allow me to explain how I got here. Or, I should say, allow me to relate to you the story of my life up to this point, for it is precisely the events of my life that led me here. After all, is it not the events of each of our lives that have led us to the point at which we presently find ourselves? So, in order to move forward, I feel I must first go back.  

I was born in Western Australia , the year 1966, into a family that was to eventually number seven. With an elder brother and sister, and younger brother and sister I slotted neatly into the position of middle child. My childhood memories are of typical big happy family things. Of course, a child only knows life from his or her own point of view, and from where I sat it was pretty good. Most of the time. There were the usual challenges and disagreements that occur between siblings (read ‘fights!’) culminating with me being in prime position for the inevitable ‘middle child syndrome’.   

Much has been written about the relevance of the position of a child, relative to siblings, in the family unit. I do not claim to be an authority on the subject and speak only from personal experience. My main recollection of altercations between us children is that they always seemed to involve me. It probably was not that way in reality, but a child’s perception sticks, no matter how relevant or correct. I did not realise how powerful an impact this had on me until my early thirties, when a crisis occurred in the relationship between my sisters and me.

The incident led me to realise there was a recurring pattern of behaviour and responses that often manifested when we were together. It affected the dynamics between us, ending in arguments, which left me feeling ‘left out’ or backed into a corner by the other two. It was in the aftermath of this crisis, this enormous war of words and emotions that I finally came to understand what was going on. After which came the realisation that I had the ability to change the pattern. That in our interactions, when things looked like getting tense, I had a choice. I could choose to allow the ingrained patterns of thoughts and emotion-led responses to continue, or I could choose something else.  That I had the ability to control my emotions and responses. This was an empowering awareness, and since then I have chosen to choose something else, and peace reigns supreme between us. Oh, to have had that wisdom as a child! But I digress.  

My parents did an incredible job of managing their brood and our lives. They were loving and supportive - quite strict when it came to manners and respect - and very involved. The close family relationship we now share as adults is testament to their efforts. They both worked for as many years as I can remember, and still somehow managed to provide an atmosphere of them never being absent from the family. Mum had jobs, which tied in with school hours, and Dad was very present upon his return home from work in the evenings. One of my fondest childhood memories is that Dad would come in the door from work, seek Mum out (not hard to find, she was usually in the kitchen!) and give her a warm hug. I have a wonderful visual image of this scene. Then he would turn his attention to the children, greeting us all.  

By the time I was ten, we had made two interstate moves. We always lived in places that had plenty of outdoor space and in towns that afforded growing children plenty of opportunities to get out and about in safety. Our weekends and holidays were filled with family gatherings, picnics, and camping trips. Visits to our grandparents were always greatly anticipated, especially stays over school holidays when we could watch their television - a real treat. In our teenage years we had a group of family friends with whom we shared many wonderful camping trips and picnics. Lots of adults and lots more kids, and plenty of experiences and activities to keep us all occupied and amused.

I was ten when we moved to Cairns in 1976. I lived there for thirteen years and it was an ideal time to be growing up in that city. We arrived before the tourist boom period, which saw major growth and many changes. The lifestyle in the tropical climate was casual and relaxed and the year-round warm weather was ideal for pursuing outdoor activities. As flatness of the landscape in and around the city made it ideal for bicycling, we each had a bike and rode to school, work, and whatever social activity was happening for us, and there was always something happening.  Life was busy, fun, and wonderful.

Episode 3 - Flying Without Wings    

I developed a passion for horses. Goodness knows where it came from, but I was becoming increasingly aware of a deep desire to be with them. My heart stirred at the sight of them, the wonderfully earthy smell when I pressed my nose into the base of their necks, the sound of hoof beats on firm ground, and the warm feel of their skin under my hand. I longed for one of my own, and made the most of every available opportunity to be with or ride someone else’s equine friend. I would see horses in paddocks and think the owners so lucky to have them.

At around twelve years of age I started regularly riding a very big horse belonging to a friend of a friend. His name was Colonial Son, and he was way too big for me, but that did not stop me! I became very adept at scrambling onto his back any which way, and he always accommodated me by not moving around too much. I only ever rode him bareback, and enjoyed many hours with him and my friends on their horses, riding around the hills and cane fields of the outer suburbs of Cairns .

My friends tagged me ‘canter happy’ because I would ride Colonial at a canter at every chance. Any bit of grass stretching for a few metres was the only invitation I needed to urge my willing boy into a canter. He was an ex-pacer, and as such had a very ungainly, bouncy trot. I couldn’t count the number of times I fell off when trotting blissfully along some track or other. Slowly, this pimple on a pumpkin would bounce, bounce and then embark on an unstoppable slide towards the rapidly-coming-up-to-meet-me ground! My gentle giant would immediately stop and look down as if to say “what are you doing down there?” and then stand patiently while I scrambled back on.

I was overjoyed when, having been riding Colonial for about a year or more, I learned he was for sale. The friend of a friend had grown up and out of him, and as far as I was concerned, I was the perfect next thing for him. I am not sure how I was able to convince my parents to buy him for me, but they agreed, and for the princely sum of  $100 he was mine. Having paid for the horse, buying a saddle was out of the question, so my days of bareback riding continued. I did not give it a second thought - I felt like the luckiest person alive. He was mine!

I developed a friendship with Danielle in my first year of high school. She was horse-mad too, so we were perfect for each other. We spent every possible spare moment with our horses. It was almost as if nothing else existed.  We kept our horses together in a paddock near her house, and I would ride my bike over there to see Colonial as often as I could. It was a solid twenty-minute bike ride for me, up into a suburb in the hills surrounding Cairns .  Years later, my mother remarked to me how amazed she and Dad were at my dedication. No matter the weather, I would uncomplainingly hop on my bike and head for the hills, and my beloved Colonial.  

It was a most wonderfully free time for two teenaged girls and their adored horses. We would ride far and wide, exploring the back tracks, creeks and cane fields of the outlying areas surrounding Cairns . A favourite thrill was to gallop along the straight, even, vehicle tracks between the cane fields. Imagine the exhilaration of galloping along bareback, horses straining to keep ahead of each other, of dropping the reins onto our horses’ necks, spreading our arms wide and laughing with pure joy as the cane became a blur and we became as one with our horse.  For us, it was the closest thing to flying.

We sought out camping spots near creeks and in cane fields, and had many a camp in the most incredible places.  One of my parents, usually Mum, would drive out to the camping spot with our equipment and food, allowing us the freedom to ride our horses to the chosen site. They would then return at the end of the weekend to collect our gear. We revelled in the space, the experience of fending for ourselves, and the freedom of being alone with our horses.  

There was another activity that Danielle and I participated in, and that was shoplifting. I was a reluctant accomplice in this after school time-filler, but was never bold or brave enough at thirteen years of age to stand up for myself and opt out. Besides, the bounty was at times stunning. I have to say that Danielle was very good at what she did. As we would leave a department store she would often hand me a ‘gift’. “Here, I got this for you,” she would say as she passed me a freshly-lifted item. “Where did you get it?” I would ask, knowing that it probably had a lot to do with the store we had just left. I had been with her the whole time, and even I had not seen her take the items.  

It was not often that I would actually steal something. I found it too nerve-wracking and I always felt so conspicuous - as if there was a neon sign on my head saying, “I’m shoplifting, Store Detective.  Come and arrest me.” I am certainly not proud of what we did, nor am I trying to absolve myself of responsibility for my actions.  I am just telling it like it was.  

Danielle and I discovered a men’s clothing store in the city that stocked a great range of horse gear. Pigeonholes filled with bridles, halters, lead ropes and every type of grooming implement imaginable. We were never sure why a menswear store would stock such things, but there it was.  I cannot even recall how we discovered it - I do not imagine that two thirteen-year-old girls would have much cause to be in such a store. Anyway, the store was wide and deep, filled with clothes’ racks, glass cabinets and pigeonhole shelving along the walls. 

We would wander in after school, in uniform, and sit down behind one of the many glass-fronted cabinets, obscured from view of the staff. From there we would reach into the shelves and help ourselves to whatever took our fancy. We were not the slightest bit interested in men’s clothing, but soon our bags would be stuffed full of brand new horse gear. The garage-turned-tack room at Danielle’s house soon brimmed with gear hanging from nails around the walls. To this day I do not understand why Danielle’s mum did not figure out what was going on. We had more gear than we could use, but that was irrelevant to us. We were very pleased with our haul.  

Then we came unstuck. It started one day when the son of a family friend was visiting Danielle and I at her house. Perhaps we saw it as a perfect opportunity to brag, and we did. We proudly gave Dean a tour of our fantastic array of equipment. And when he asked us where we got it all from, we of course told him. Unbeknown to me, the wheels had started to turn in the powerful machine that is ‘A Turning Point in Life’ and I was about to learn one of the most important lessons of my Life.  

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