Failing to deal: Deing diagnosed with a chronic disease

This blog is intended as a record of my experience. In the spirit of honesty, I didn’t take the diagnosis well that first day. Nor did others.
After leaving the hospital my mother and I wandered around Melbourne for a while, trying to enjoy the afternoon sun, trying to pretend everything was normal.
That didn’t last.
We claimed the corner table at a cosy little wine bar well before sunset. The bar staff had orders to keep the exceptional bottles of red coming.
While my mother called our relatives (all interstate and abroad at the time) in between bouts of crying, I ignored the text messages and phone calls flooding my phone, preferring to google assisted euthanasia and the cost of one-way flights to Sweden.
Less than graceful, to say the least.
So my dear friend, lets call him CJ in this blog, left work to babysit two hysterical females. For this, I will always be grateful.
I later found out that almost every relative that my mother had called that day had a similar reaction: She has MS. Her life is over. Lets get drunk.

***

After suffering through the well-deserved hangover, I pulled my shit together the next day and started thinking through the logistics of life insurance and disclosure obligations and all the rest of it.
But I wouldn’t be honest if I failed to mention this remarkable and family wide failure-to-deal-like-adults episode.

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