Good points. Think of the outcry and the backlash if god forbid, someone dies on AZT(does that happen?) - or suffers permanent damage. She seems to think the drugs are pretty safe but they do come with pretty hefty warnings. She clearly thinks the medical community has been too cautious. I imagine they wouldn't be if they were as convinced as she is that XMRV is it. I hope she does well.
Well, every drug I've ever taken comes with some pretty hefty warnings. It becomes a matter of living life from your bed, and doing so while every single person around you screams that you are just lazy, that you aren't trying, etc., or actively trying to get out of that bed. And mind you, there is no one among us who wants to live life from our beds. Anyone who has lived with this for more than 2 years just plain wants out. That isn't to trivialize anyone who is in the first stages- for me, they may have been the worst because I just plain had Mono (Glandular Fever) straight through, and yet I was told "Mono lingers, get out and do stuff" so I did it. I forced myself. I paid a hefty price. So I know those first two years are hell enough. At least in my case, though, I kept being told it would pass. So maybe that allowed me some more hope than someone today feels when they get this diagnosis within the first two years.
That said, with a small child now and with one on the way, I can't take a drug that has such a hefty side warning anymore because it could be a matter of me living 10 more years (or possibly more), even this way, or me possibly taking a pill that could make me worse or end my life sooner. At some point, my daughter may see me as a burden. I don't know if that will be mitigated by her having Down syndrome, or if it will make her angrier. But for the most part, kids want their parents to be alive more than anything else. So I have a duty to wait until there's proof enough that if I take something that strong, it is justified. But sure, I was one of those who rushed out and pressured a doctor to prescribe Valcyte. Sure, if I didn't have a child right now- and of course, if I weren't pregnant- I'd be discussing this with my doctor seriously right now.
I may have managed to be more active in my life than some with this disease, but it's been done under serious, serious outside pressure and always with serious, serious consequences, but those consequences have always been underplayed by those around me. Instead of them being consequences of doing too much, they are seen as me giving up, just when I was finally fighting. After 25 1/5 years, I still can't decide if my life has been made better in balance because I have pushed myself so hard and have at times held a job and seemed perfectly fine, or if it has been made much worse because instead of resting and possibly recuperating, I've pushed. Mind you, to everyone else, my life is still a shambles because of all the jobs I have lost, because of the things I don't do (my daughter probably has more canceled play dates than any other child on the planet). But compared with some with this disease, I've heard it looks pretty good.
And just in case this post shows up some time in the future and my daughter or future child reads it, I am not implying that pushing myself for their sakes isn't worth it, or that God forbid, I regret having them. My daughter is the first time I've felt happiness since very early in this disease, when I still thought one or two more nights of good sleep would cure me. And it wasn't the unqualified joy she has given me. Without them, I'd be clamoring for the drugs even though to some, I appear sometimes to be in perfect health. Briefly, but still, I know there are many worse off than me. So I can't qualify all of this by saying, "Only the worst of the worst should get these drugs." No one can measure the suffering I've been through, the shame of calling in sick to a job over and over again because I can't make it through another day. I know that someone who cannot get out of bed from day one of this disease is worse off than me. But then again, while recovering from West Nile Virus in 2002, my husband pushed me to drive a car halfway across the country and the whole way, all I could think about was if I was going to kill someone. I couldn't read a map then, I could barely think, so I had to follow the moving van closely or else I would have been lost somewhere along the way. Still, while recovering and my husband treating me like I was just being a baby- and I had entirely lost the ability to sleep at that point (and I had no doctor in this state) so I was appearing pretty much catatonic and severely depressed- I was walking the dogs. With my face half paralyzed. Without having gained back much feeling in my hands or my feet. And I wound up entirely bedridden for at least a year and a half after a month of that, and 75% percent bedridden for another year after. But all that anyone else sees is that I was "fighting" in the beginning. Then I gave up.
And I do apologize for the length of all my posts. I am a writer by nature, but I know these are very hard to slog through for someone with this disease. I can attain brevity when I speak, but when I write, forget about it! It's the only time I really express myself anyway.