I’d Trade My MS for a Cure Tomorrow. I’m Still Proud of Who I’ve Become.
Disability Pride doesn’t require me to love my disease. It asks me to stop apologizing for living with it.
Jonathan Ramos is the creator of the blog 'Me, Myself, and MS', where he writes about life, family, mental health, and living with Multiple Sclerosis. His work combines vulnerability, humor, and real-life experiences to help others feel less alone in their own struggles.
There was a time when I felt like everyone was watching me whenever I walked.
“Look at this guy. He’s drunk, and it’s not even noon.”
As my symptoms worsened, I worried people would see me as weak, or worse, not see me at all.
I hid my falls. I blamed the carpet. If I woke up itching after a hot night, I blamed the cat hair on the bed instead of admitting my body was changing.
It took me a long time to admit I needed a cane. It took even longer to accept a wheelchair. I could have used that help a year before I finally bought what I call my Moon Rover. By the time walking around my own home became difficult, my rollator became my lifeline. It helped me get from the shower to my bedroom at something close to a normal pace.
I wasn’t lazy for waiting to use adaptive equipment.
I was too proud to accept the help.
Looking back, it seems foolish.
Maybe this was my personality. Maybe it was a man thing. I didn’t think I needed anyone or anything. In my mind, I was a manly man. El Mucho Fuerte. Men push through things like this. I convinced myself it would all go away. I kept pretending I was fine because accepting help meant admitting my body was changing.
What was I hiding from?
Who was I trying to fool?
For generations, people with disabilities were taught to hide. Stay quiet. Stay home. Don’t make people uncomfortable. I spent years trying not to make a scene.
“No, I’m good. I don’t need any help.”
If I fell in front of people, I’d crack a joke.
“Don’t worry. I’m a professional stuntman.”
Humor helped.
Pride kept me stuck.
Here’s where I see things differently. I don’t love having Multiple Sclerosis. I don’t wake up grateful that my legs don’t always cooperate. I don’t celebrate the exhaustion that steals an afternoon before it even begins. I certainly don’t enjoy planning my life around the nearest air conditioner, the closest bathroom, or whether the sun has decided to fight my nervous system.
None of that deserves celebration.
What deserves my pride is something else.
I’m proud I still show up.
I’m proud I learned to ask for help after spending six or seven years believing I had to do everything myself.
I’m proud I raised two incredible kids while my body quietly changed. I had no idea how much this disease would affect the people I love, yet we kept moving forward together.
I’m proud I still laugh.
Honestly, I laugh all day. I laugh at myself and at many of the ridiculous situations MS throws my way. Laughter may be the best medicine you’ll ever prescribe yourself, and it’s the only prescription with no refill limit.
I’m proud I still work a 9 to 5. I have a job that accommodates me when I can’t make it in the office, because my MS is acting up.
There was a time when I believed using a wheelchair meant my working life was over. I refused to let anyone see me in one.
I was wrong.
I’m proud I still dream about a cure, even after hope has disappointed me before.
Disability Pride doesn’t require me to love my disease. It asks me to stop apologizing for living with it.
Those are two very different things.
If someone offered me a cure tomorrow, I wouldn’t spend a second thinking about it.
I’d take it.
Not because I’m ashamed of having MS.
Because I’m tired.
Tired of planning every outing around the weather.
Tired of negotiating with my own body.
Tired of wondering whether today is a cane day or a wheelchair day.
I’d leave MS behind without looking back.
But until that day comes, I refuse to leave myself behind with it.
That’s what Disability Pride means to me.
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