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As a child, Angela Meyer dreamed of horses. Poverty precluded owning any horses that weren’t palm-sized. So, Meyer played with her plastic ponies and dreamed big: of horse jumping in the Olympics, of owning horses too big to perch atop her dresser, and of becoming a veterinarian. She lost the Olympic and veterinarian dreams when she was the third car in a five-car pile-up in college. In the squeeze, her vertebrae and pelvis rotated and chronic back problems followed. That was just the beginning of having things taken from her, which is why today, Meyer has no distant dreams.
I’m in the second stage of Multiple Sclerosis, where my body starts shutting down. There’s no time frame for losing my vision. I might not be able to see tomorrow. It might be five years away.
Walking is already iffy for Meyer. There are days when she can walk. There are times when she is bed-bound or can only walk with a cane or walker. Following some of her grand mal seizures, she has had to relearn walking, as well as her name and date of birth. Such uncertainty means living in each moment.
You have to learn to live your life one day at a time. You can’t plan vacations or even an outing. I live hour by hour, minute by minute, second by second. You have to live every second and make the best of it.
A life without plans makes relationships problematic.
I lost a lot of friendships because I can’t make plans. I can’t plan something as simple as breakfast with a buddy because breakfast might not be doable tomorrow. I’m okay with the few friends who remain.
Some of the ones who remain are her husband, Anders, and his family.
I can’t be alone because of my seizures, so we sold our home and live with our in-laws. My husband’s
family has been amazing. They’re wonderful in-laws and we’re all very, very close. They take good care of me when I need extra help and they’re wonderful with my son when I can’t do what needs to be done.
Another source of comfort and joy are her horses, as her husband is a horse trainer and farrier, a person who trims and shoes horses’ hooves.
We have eleven wonderful horses now. We do ranch rodeos and give lessons, and I do English riding.
Her ability to ride and walk some days confuses some.
Some people look at me and because I largely look the same, they wonder why I don’t get back to the life I led.
However, walking will never be as it was, as the toes on Meyer’s left foot have curled, as well as the fingers on her left hand—symptoms that confused her doctors when they were struggling to initially diagnose her.
The curling toes and fingers on my left side and my left side weakness confused them because those aren’t MS
symptoms.
Meyer’s doctors eventually realized that previously-undiagnosed Cerebral Palsy was also in play. Meyer had been born tiny at three pounds and eleven ounces and her left side had always been weak, but CP was never named. Giving a name to Meyer’s MS also took time. Her array of symptoms—from blackouts to weakness to fatigue to numbness to pain—confused her doctors. They considered other causes, such as Lyme disease, and tested accordingly.
The initial event that triggered the testing came six months after giving birth to her now two-year-old son.
I awoke one morning and fed my little one. I just felt really tired. When I put his bottle in the sink, I fell over the sink; so I took a nap, thinking I just needed rest. I awoke to my child screaming and I was unable to get out of bed. I was just unable to move my legs. I always kept my phone with me, so I called my mother-in-law. I told her to come to me and to call an ambulance.
That weeklong hospitalization was the first of several. Following various tests, such as MRIs and video EEGs, she was told she had MS and then told she didn’t have MS. The roller coaster ride hit a low when one doctor said it
was all in her head.
My husband about choked him to death. He said, “You have no idea what she’s endured.”
Ironically, it was in her head, as one test revealed over twenty lesions in her brain.
The first time they said I didn’t have MS, it was disappointing. I knew something was wrong, but felt people weren’t listening. I went to the University of Minnesota and it came back 100% positive I have MS.
And how did Meyer react to such a certain diagnosis?
When I got the full diagnosis, I had a sigh of relief that it wasn’t just in my head as I look largely healthy.
A quick and casual look can deceive.
MS shut down my gall bladder; so it’s been removed. Due to my optic nerve damage, I’m slowly going b
lind. My left side will become weaker and weaker as I lose muscle mass. There’s long and short-term memory loss with no cure. Meds only slow the process. Now have a lesion on my lower spine, so I’ve 60% proper gait.
And what is causing her system-wide shutdowns?
MS destroys the myelin sheath of the brain. It’s a demyelination process. MS eats away at the coating that protects the nerves in your brain. Without the protective coating, the brain starts to malfunction. You might trip when you need to walk. It’s like a computer malfunction.
The malfunctions have taken much from Meyer.
I was a runner as a young adult. I did 5K events and donated my time to food pantries. I lived in a smaller town and volunteered for different events, such as cancer events. I worked as a physical therapist assistant, doing home care.
Now others help her, which is hard for her.
I miss my freedom. I hate that I have to have to ask for help. I’ve never been that kind of person. Asking kills me. People look at me and think, “You have your whole life ahead of you.” I don’t what to say. They have no idea. When I worked, I took care of people. I never imagined being the one needing help to shower, and I’m already there at 33.
Her family centers her.
When I was healthy, in a way, my life ended and my child’s life began because my new role was to care for him. I still need to 
be a mom and wife.
Others see Meyer’s determination.
I’m not going to let this disease destroy me. My friends and family will tell you I’m very determined.
However, she has her expected grieving, albeit behind closed doors.
I’ll have a good cry behind closed doors. I’ll be weak in the bathroom, but I’ll never be that way around my child and husband. It’s not just about me anymore. I’ll do my very best to be all I can be for my family and I will fight. It really gives you insight into appreciating what you have.
And when she’s out and about, not all giving has been taken from Meyer.
I was always compassionate when it came to other people’s pain, but MS has really shown me how precious life and people are. When I see someone struggling, I still open the door for them even though I’m sick too.
