Fabiola Claret

Country: Argentina
Age: 37
Occupation: Social Communication Trainer, publicist, designer
Type of MS: Relapse remitting
Year of diagnosis: 2001

I was born in Gualeguaychú, in southern Entre Rios, Argentina, on 6 May 1971. I spent the first 17 years of my life in a small town called Urdinarrain, I then moved to Paraná, the provincial capital, to study Social Communication. At 21, I started working and I haven’t stopped since. I have worked in advertising, public relations and today I have my own small business dedicated to organisational communication and advertising. During my career I have undertaken many activities and this diversity has shaped and fulfilled me: I write articles and advertising pieces and speeches; I also design materials, develop strategies and work on creative ideas.

One of my unfulfilled dreams is to dedicate myself to writing: I dream of one day publishing some of the stories flying around inside my head and I feel that it is already time for me to put them down on paper.

I have shared my life with the same person since 1996 and I have two daughters, an eleven-year-old and a 4-month-old baby. Of course it has not always been easy: in the middle of our time together, and partly due to the unpredictable nature of MS and the strain it put on our lives, we separated and I returned to my hometown. Finally, in 2005, I returned to Paraná and my partner and I reunited and achieved our dream of keeping our family going.

2001, the year I was diagnosed with MS, was significant for all Argentineans and I cannot think of the disease but in the light of the huge amount of stress I was under and the emotional vulnerability I experienced that year.

I reached the end of 2001 totally exhausted; I hardly had the energy to walk. I experienced nausea and vertigo and felt a strange pain in my arms and legs as well as a tingling sensation in my right arm. My vision was affected and now and again it was like someone was repeatedly turning a light on and off and I wouldn’t be able to see for a short time. I experienced extreme emotional highs and lows, I felt totally unbalanced. Perhaps the strangest symptom was that I lost sensitivity to temperature in my left arm: I burnt myself but felt nothing. It was this symptom that alerted me and prompted me to think that it could be a neurological problem.

I was scared and confused. I consulted a number of doctors and a neurologist regarding my symptoms and they all came to the same diagnosis: stress. They all recommended the same therapies too, both traditional and alternative, to lower the anxiety levels that the 2001 crisis seemed to have triggered in me and many other people in my country.

My house was in the middle of being repossessed, I was working without being paid, the currency had been replaced with vouchers, my family was falling apart and I was mourning the recent death of my father in an accident. Did I need to see a psychologist? Of course I did! It is very difficult to see anything with the world collapsing around you.

But finally I was diagnosed with MS and – although this sounds strange – with the diagnosis came a sense of calmness and tranquillity; I was able to give a name to what I had been feeling and with this knowledge I was able to (or I had to) readapt my life and prioritise taking care of myself, something which I had not been doing up until then.

MS meant a profound change in my life; I was forced to take another look at myself, my body and my limitations. Before, I didn’t understand the importance of taking care of my mind and body. I changed my routine and the rhythm of my day-to-day life slowed down. I know that there are things that I cannot do, that I will become tired and it is a constant battle between my desire to do things and what I am actually able to do. I always recall what a psychologist told me that gave me the willpower to continue moving forward with my life: that my journey may take longer than other people’s and I would have to stop and refuel more often, but that I would reach my goals nonetheless.

Up until now MS has not had a detrimental effect on my working life, although it has forced me to make changes: even though I always had the help and understanding of my colleagues when I became sick, some months after I was diagnosed I decided to return to my hometown. There I found a calm, quiet environment conducive to my recovery and, when I felt better, I started, what I call the second part of my life. I set up my own business, which has great advantages for me because it gives me the luxury of being able to take time out when I don’t feel well and, at the moment with a small baby, I can dedicate all the time I need to her and to myself.

The decision to have a second child was not an easy one to make. We saw many doctors and sought a lot of advice. We were informed of the risk and, given that my MS was in remission, finally decided to go ahead. I knew that I wouldn’t experience any problems during the pregnancy itself but that the risk would come afterwards, after the birth, and although I am still at this stage, I remain hopeful that all will be well. I started to re-inject Interferon once a week immediately after the birth and apart from the day I inject myself, I breastfeed the baby as normal, this was a joint decision made by my doctor and paediatrician.

Today MS doesn’t cause me great problems, I don’t experience any side-effects and I have not had a relapse. MS is now a part of who I am, an aspect which defines me as a person, but not the only one. Although I don’t think my MS is a blessing, I do feel that it was a wake-up call as it opened my eyes to doing things differently. In spite of everything, today I am proud to be able to say that I live a better life than I did before, with a newfound awareness, and different values.

Life is beautiful and surprising and presents us with both good and bad news. Throughout our lives, with or without MS, we face frustrating situations, disappointments and sadness, but we always find a way to keep going. The key is happiness and to not allow yourself to give in, to never to pity yourself or allow others to feel sorry for you.

I wish to give courage to all those who need it. The difficult times will pass and you can always start over again. A big hug.