My Mother Drove Home What Kind of Parent I Want to Be

I felt like a burden to my mom while I was in the midst of a multiple sclerosis (MS) flare. Her actions showed me I wasn’t.

I’m 40 years old, but one day, not long ago, my mother picked me up and drove me 11 miles to the hospital for lab work.

When we arrived, I decided to postpone my blood draw, and she turned the car around, no questions asked. As a mother myself, I think of this day often.

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Flares are debilitating

That day, I was in the midst of an exacerbation of my MS symptoms. I was overwhelmingly weak and struggling to move. And it was distressing to me.

I’d felt well long enough that I believed a flare of this magnitude only existed in my past. I’d expressed appreciation for my physical improvement to family and friends — even to the world through my writing. For the first time since I had become a mother 11 years earlier, I was parenting my children independently — and it was the best feeling in the world.

But there I was, struggling to drive, walk, and stand all over again. The nightmare from my past — one of debilitation resulting from 13 years spent undiagnosed and untreated — was here in my present, and just as I did then, I was relying on my mother for help.

For those of us with chronic illness, flares can be confusing and alarming, especially when you live with multiple autoimmune conditions, like me. Lab work, however, can be useful in determining which condition might be causing my flares.

I’d waffled back and forth over having labs completed that day or waiting until an upcoming appointment with my neurologist. I knew she’d likely order labs, as well, so having them drawn twice when I could wait and go once didn’t make sense — on the other hand, it meant quicker results.

No perfect answer

Being chronically ill often means making choices that don’t have a perfect answer. We’re forced to make decisions that may seem inconsequential to healthy people but feel overwhelming to us. It’s exhausting to constantly be managing our healthcare, making decisions regarding treatment, and then questioning those choices — but that is life with chronic illness.

“Maybe I should wait,” I uttered in the parking lot of the hospital.

“Should I turn around?” my mother asked calmly.

It seemed silly that I was still undecided, even after our drive. In the realm of choices I’ll make in my life, this one wouldn’t alter my life drastically.

But it had been a stressful few weeks, as symptoms returned with intensity while I attempted to continue being the mother I wanted to be. I was living in fear of what this flare meant for my future. I’d been poked and prodded for 13 years as I searched for a diagnosis, and for the last 5 years, my life revolved around twice-yearly intravenous treatments and labs in between.

To me, this wasn’t just a simple blood draw — it was another invasion of my personal space piled on top of all the others.

Feeling like a burden

As I saw the hospital in front of me, I wanted to choose the easier route — the one that meant I’d wait for results but only be poked with a needle once. I was exhausted from being a patient, and I simply wanted to escape.

Living with a disability, I was used to feeling like a burden. My family picks up the slack when I lack the energy to do things on my own. Everyone’s life changes when my MS flares.

“Yes, I’m sorry. Let’s turn around,” I finally decided.

I was consumed with guilt because I’d wasted my mother’s time. In that moment, I felt like a burden. But her reaction taught me everything.

I’m only human

My mother turned the car around and continued talking as if nothing had happened. We’d simply gone for a car ride together, enjoyed one another’s company, and now we were on our way home.

It didn’t matter that she’d changed her plans or woke earlier to be there for me when I needed her. She wasn’t upset that we’d driven 11 miles for no reason at all. Her reaction reminded me that I’m allowed to change my mind and to be confused — because I’m human.

My children are human, too

Sometimes, my chronic illness indirectly teaches me how to be a better person. I hope I can be as understanding with my own children as my mother is with me.

I’ll remember that day if my 9-year-old calls from a sleepover at midnight saying he’d rather sleep in his own bed — or if he chooses to trade in his violin for a guitar after only a year.

I’ll think of that car ride if my 12-year-old retracts his early admission application to college and alters his plan months before his high school graduation.

Whatever happens from here on out, I’ll remember that my children are only human, choices can be temporary, and it’s my job to love them unconditionally — even if I’ve gone out of my way for no reason.

I want to be a parent who is patient, understanding, and welcoming of imperfection. Because that’s the kind of parent my mother was for me amid my MS flare, and I’ll never forget how loved it made me feel.