What Now?

For months we have been waiting for the results of a national biopsy, which has come back with a diagnosis that at least half of us were hoping not to hear. It’s not definite yet, but we got a sneak peek at the test results, and it’s not good.

This moment is reminding me of when I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis 6 years ago (actual MS, not another political metaphor). After months of tests and uncertainty, my primary care doctor gave me the results by accident, unceremoniously, as she went through my chart at an unrelated annual check-up. “Oh, I see here you’re being tested for MS and it looks like they’re pretty sure you have it—is that right?”

I had been planning to see my neurologist 2 weeks later, to attend my appointment with my partner, to prepare to receive the news that we thought was coming, to be at a different hospital altogether when I learned. But instead, here I was—alone, unprepared, surprised, hurt, angry, terrified. I still had the same body I had when I entered the appointment, but more data. And it wasn't news I wanted to hear.

This moment today reminds me of that moment. It is a moment of certain uncertainty—we pretty much have the results, which came earlier than expected--and with them, the elimination of the parallel future timeline that we had hoped might be the path forward. I am feeling so many of the same feelings, caused by the breathtaking, unexpected surprise which throws my body into automatic, physical reaction (tears, leg muscles quivering, nausea, tunnel vision) and a desire to be alone in my grief. I actually long for connection, but I choose solitude because my emotional cup is full. I don’t want to have to manage the unpredictable grief, anxiety, and confusion that I may encounter with others.  

But my children are awake. It is time to go to work. Time to go out into the world, the very same world we went out into yesterday, but on a timeline and a path that many of us hadn’t expected, didn’t want, are afraid of.

Here are some of the things that helped me last time I sat at such a crossroads:

1.    Beware the self-fulfilling prophecy of depression.

MS is linked to high rates of depression. But MS itself doesn’t cause depression. After being diagnosed, people fear that their lives will change drastically, that they won’t be able to continue to do the things they love to do. That fear and anxiety changes their lives, leads them to stop doing the things that they love…inducing depression. The MS doesn’t stop them from living, the depression and anxiety about what could happen do.*

We have a lot of fears about what a Trump presidency could mean. And we also have a lot of power over what happens next. We can stand by our values and by one another—or we can give in to what feels inevitable. Even this morning I had to force myself to eat, force myself to take a shower—because I know I will be more equipped to meet this day when I take care of myself…even though my inclination is to crawl back into bed and never come out.

When I asked a colleague what he would do if Trump wins, he said, “I’m going to go to school and teach my lesson.” In the moment, I admittedly found that to be an underwhelming plan. But now I see the wisdom in it. “I’m going to keep calm and carry on until I know what needs to be done.” I’m going to remember that I’m waking up today in the same country I woke up in yesterday, but with more knowledge and clarity about who and what that country is.

2.    This is the lowest, most dispiriting moment of the next four years.

I know that seems impossible, but it is. We now know what we’re facing. We have confirmation of our condition, but we don't yet know quite what it means. I remember my sister telling me after I was diagnosed, “A year from now, you will have medication that works, doctors you trust, strategies for managing your fears, habits for staying physically able. What is scary now is that all you know for sure is that the future won’t look like how you thought it would look; you don’t have clarity about anything—just a whole big pot of scary possibilities, only some of which might come to pass. But a year from now, you will be living in the future that you start building today, based on this new information about how the world actually is--not how we thought it was, not on how we hoped it would be.”

Right now we are all standing together on shifting ground. But a year from now—even a month from now—we are going to find our feet. And we are going to move forward with what is, not what we thought or hoped—and also not the worst of what we feared. We are going to deal with what comes, and we are going to do it together.

3.    Dire predictions don’t help because they discourage us at a time when we need courage.

My children have been wisely asking me for weeks to stop saying there will never be another election again if Trump wins, because they need to be able to cope if he wins. Similarly, my terrified predictions that I wouldn’t have the muscle strength to play with my grandchildren one day helped no one.

Living with uncertainty is a fundamental human condition—one that most of us dislike and try never to acknowledge.  The uncertainty and fear are what make this moment unbearable. But that’s because many of us live with the specious belief that certainty about the future is possible. What this moment does is give us insight into one of the most fundamental parts of being human—that what comes next is impossible to know. But what we do know is that we have met the challenges in our lives up until this point by building relationships, staying calm, clarifying our values, taking care of one another, and dealing with what is. And we know we can continue to do that no matter who is president.

4.    Crying and grieving can help us move forward.

I needed to cry and grieve a lot when I got this diagnosis. I hid in closets, waited till the kids were in bed, called a friend and cried until there were no more tears. Every day. I didn’t want to cry, but I had sadness that just couldn’t be contained. I hid it from my children because I didn’t want to worry them. I wanted them to feel their own emotions—not mine. But I had a seemingly endless well of sadness that I could not seem to empty. Sometimes I had so much sadness that I felt panicked it would never go away. But I was advised by a friend and therapist to “welcome all the emotions—including the panic.” She said, “Let it all have a seat at the table—the fear, the sadness, the panic—all of it. But tell it—and this part is very important—that it just gets a seat at the table. It doesn’t get to dominate the conversation. You also get to feel joy, love, humor, connection, and hope. All the feelings get a seat at the table.”

I cried for months. I cried so that I wouldn’t get depressed. I cried so that I could find my way back to laughter. I cried to connect. I cried, I mourned, I grieved. And then one day, the tears didn’t come. And mostly they haven’t come back.  

5.    Kids have predictable concerns at times like these.

When we told the kids about my diagnosis, they had three questions that we had been told to expect:

a.    Will I get MS? (i.e. Am I going to be okay?)

b.    Will you die? (i.e. Are you going to be okay? But also, am I going to be okay?)

c.    How does MS work? (i.e. What does this mean?)

These are the questions our children want answers to now.

What I told my children this morning is that no matter what happens:

• We will keep you safe.
• You are not alone.
• We cannot know the future. Half the people in this country don’t want this. And even many people who did want this wanted it because they can’t afford groceries—not because they are hateful.
• No matter what happens, we have our family. We have our community. You have your school. You have your friends.

By the time my 11-year-old got in the shower this morning, I heard this: “Even if Trump wins, we will still have D and D, will still have our cats, we will still have each other, we will still have our cousins. That’s something” (i.e. We are going to be okay).

And then, “I can’t believe half of our country is still so sexist” (i.e. What does this mean?).

I anticipate a lot of processing—back and forth. I expect there to be questions—and maybe tears—for a long time. But I need to keep coming back to what they want to know most, which is “Will I be okay?” And what I can say for sure is, “You are not alone. I am here with you. I love you.”

Today we wake up in the same country we lived in yesterday. But with more data.



*This is my personal experience of Multiple Sclerosis, which is a condition that impacts everyone differently. Many people get depressed when they have MS because of a real and irreparable loss of function, not only because of their fear of such loss. Many people are diagnosed late because of a lack of health care, or because of racism and sexism in our health care system. My own experience has been significantly impacted by my access to health insurance and high quality medication.

Ali Michael, PhD, is an educator and writer, who can be reached at alimichael.org.

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I highly recommend this blog by Daniel Hunter on How to be Prepared and Grounded if Trump Wins

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Photo by Jason Leung on Unsplash

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