Some MS stories begin quietly. Mine began in the middle of a church service. There was no warning. No gradual build-up. One moment I was sitting in church. The next, a sudden wave of nausea rose without explanation. I excused myself and went to the bathroom. That was when the vomiting began. When My Body Collapsed The vomiting did not stop. What began in a church bathroom continued throughout the day. It would pause briefly, raising hope, then begin again. By evening, nothing stayed down — not even pap and vegetables. I did not sleep that night. The following morning, I went to my GP. I was treated with intravenous Vitamin B and electrolytes, but the vomiting persisted. When there was still no improvement, I was referred to hospital and admitted. Only then was the vomiting finally brought under control. But new questions began to surface. A neurologist ordered further tests, including a lumbar puncture. The results pointed to something I had never heard of before. Multiple Sclerosis. The diagnosis felt distant. Unreal. My mother was not fully satisfied. She wanted certainty. She sought a second opinion from Professor Gerish Modi. Additional investigations followed, including an MRI, which confirmed the diagnosis. Five days of Solu-Medrol infusions were administered. I was in my final year at the University of the Witwatersrand, studying Accounting. Illness had not been part of my plan. Still, I completed my degree. Life, for a time, continued. The Relapse Years I was initially diagnosed with Relapsing-Remitting Multiple Sclerosis (RRMS). Then the relapses became more frequent. Hospital admissions increased. Stability became temporary. In 2015, I started Rebif. When relapses continued and progression became more concerning, I consulted Dr Taniel Townsend in 2018. My treatment was escalated to Tysabri, known locally as Tuvigen. But despite escalation to high-efficacy therapy, my disease did not stabilise. Within a year, my mobility began to change significantly. Over time, the pattern of relapses shifted into something more relentless — progression. My diagnosis evolved into Secondary Progressive Multiple Sclerosis (SPMS). The decline was no longer episodic. It was steady. In 2015, I could walk independently. By 2017, I needed a cane. Eventually, a walker became necessary. Mobility was not my only loss. Chronic back pain, permanent foot drop, muscle tone spasms in my right leg, and severe fatigue became daily companions. Pain often disrupted my sleep. My independence narrowed quietly, year by year. The changes were not only medical. They were visible. The Breaking Point By October 2019, after repeated hospitalisations and mounting physical decline, I was medically boarded. I remember the crushing thought clearly: This is it. My life is over. The independence I had worked for — academically and professionally — felt like it was dissolving. The future I had carefully built seemed erased. There was a moment when the weight of progression felt unbearable — when living in a body that no longer obeyed felt harder than continuing. But I survived that moment. And that matters. Searching for Another Way Traditional disease-modifying therapies had not stopped the progression. By 2023, my mother and I began searching for alternatives. We discovered HSCT — Hematopoietic Stem Cell Transplantation. But I was no longer an early-stage RRMS patient. I was living with established progression and significant disability. Acceptance was uncertain. Financial barriers were real. Many consultations ended in no. Many closed doors. But we kept searching. Eventually, a yes came from Mark Brittain at Netcare Pretoria East Hospital. The process was not simple. HSCT required chemotherapy, immune suppression, stem cell harvesting, and profound physical endurance. It carried risk. It demanded resilience. But I chose to proceed. Not because it was easy. Because I was not finished fighting. Through My MS Lens Multiple Sclerosis changed my body. It altered my independence. It redirected my career. It reshaped my diagnosis from relapsing to progressive. It forced me to confront despair. But it did not end my life. I completed my degree despite diagnosis. I navigated escalating treatments. I endured progression. I faced the darkest thoughts and remained. I pursued one of the most aggressive therapies available when my options were narrowing. I do not offer easy advice. My journey is still unfolding. But one thing is clear. I chose to stay. I chose to keep searching. I chose to fight for another chance. I am still here. And sometimes, that is the most powerful message of all. 💛 If you'd like, I can now: Make it more emotionally raw Make it more clinical and editorial Tighten it for magazine submission Or help you choose a stronger title Tell me the tone you want.