Prologue Don't cry because it's over.
Smile because it happened.
Dr.
Seuss My husband and I arrived in Cairo the day 62 tourists were massacred in Luxor.
We were on our honeymoon.
Most countries sent a few 747s to evacuate their nationals.
For some reason,
The United States did not.
When I called the embassy the next day,
I was told not to consider traveling into Upper Egypt.
That was all they recommended.
And I really wasn't going to have any of that.
I had wanted to explore the Valley of the Kings my whole life,
So we were going to forge ahead no matter who or what got in our way.
The next morning,
I woke up with numbness in my left hand.
I thought I had just slept on it funny,
But it continued to get worse.
After 10 days in Egypt,
I was numb down my whole left side,
Was having trouble holding my head up,
And was finding it difficult to walk.
We cut our honeymoon short.
As soon as we landed in Los Angeles,
We went straight to the acute care department of the local university hospital.
After being admitted for a few tests,
I was told I had demyelinating disease.
Whatever that was.
A few years later,
I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis.
By the time we returned home from Cairo,
I was having trouble moving properly.
I couldn't feed myself or feel my feet on the ground or my head on the pillow.
The steroids I had been prescribed resulted in horrendous nightmares and side effects.
It was often easier to stay up all night watching documentaries on the atrocities at Auschwitz than to try and sleep.
The medicine made me very agitated,
And my cheeks blew up like those of a little chipmunk.
I grew a moustache,
And the lining of my mouth sloughed off.
On the bright side,
The obsessive-compulsive traits associated with these steroids allowed me to get all my wedding notes done,
And my Christmas shopping finished with plenty of time to spare.
I was a newlywed,
And this was supposed to be the happiest time in my life.
But instead,
I felt terrible.
I was scared and confused.
Illness is an odd thing,
Especially when the disease strikes a relatively young person.
I was 27.
Many are faced with their own mortality earlier than they would like.
Some of my friends had trouble knowing how to be there for me,
And others just couldn't be.
It's all very awkward.
This was my first major flare-up,
And after coming home from the hospital,
I had to take time off work.
I was working in the admissions office of one of the largest,
Most elite universities in California,
The University of Southern California,
USC.
It was December,
And the first large wave of student applications had just come in.
People at work had been worried when they found out we had arrived in Egypt the day of the massacre,
And were even more concerned when they heard I was sick.
We had very few answers at the time,
So people really did not know what to do.
But then I got a call from the Grand Poobah at work,
A wonderful man by the name of Joe Allen.
He was a vice provost of the university,
And hundreds of employees answered to him.
I had always liked and respected him greatly.
Joe insisted on coming to see me.
His persistence amazed me,
As I felt that I was such a small cog in the workings of the university.
We sat and chatted for four hours.
He didn't try to force me to be cheerful,
Or talk me into making choices then and there.
He simply gave me the space I needed to talk about what was happening to me as much or as little as I wanted to do.
I remember wondering why he was staying so long,
Worrying that I was keeping him from his important work.
It was a Friday afternoon,
And I knew that everyone at the university had had a very tough week.
Maybe he needed this quiet and thought-collecting time as much as I needed his care and presence.
By the time my visitor left,
I was utterly exhausted.
But something inside of me had changed.
There was a settled peace within me.
I reflected on our conversation and the time we had spent together,
And I can still clearly remember thinking,
I must be worth something if he came to visit and stayed with me that long.
That afternoon changed my life.
Joe had given me an amazing gift.
The permission to think I might just be worth something.
And I needed that more than anything in the world.
It felt good,
It felt kind,
And it felt empowering.
I became aware of a new resolve.
Not to let my currently difficult situation take over.
Not to live as a victim.
To live the way I wanted,
And not how others wanted me to.
Not only that,
But he had given me permission to start looking at what I wanted in life.
I hold on to that to this day.
Really,
All Joe had done was visit me over a cup of tea.
Yet this had made all the difference.
Three years later,
Joe had a stroke,
And died at the age of 53.
Anytime I tell this story,
Think of him,
Or think about where my whole journey began,
I am brought to tears.
