"Pumping Yourself Up?": The Less Glamorous Side of Steroids

This was to be the first time in over three years that I had been an inpatient at a hospital. Previously, I had dabbled with surgeries for breaking a kneecap and tearing a cruciate ligament, so the luxury of personal TVs was a new experience for me. As it was quite late in the day, I was set up in my bed and told that someone would be calling to see me in the morning. I was tired, and the allure of having my own TV was not enough to keep me from shutting down for the day and trying to block out the myriad thoughts running through my head. Tomorrow would provide me with more answers.

It was the following day when high-dose steroids and I would be introduced for the first time. A doctor called and informed me that I would be getting an IV set up for the next three days before a neurologist would come and speak to me on Monday. I had chosen to be admitted on a Friday, which dictated that a weekend of wondering was in order.

Steroids like this are not pleasant, and as soon as the transparent liquid started dripping into my cannula, I could taste it. To this day, I still can’t quite describe what it is like and have settled on it being akin to licking a rusty, metallic birdcage. It’s foul! I wanted to eat like a horse and felt a general sense of nausea for the duration of the treatment. Whenever I’ve told people that I’m going to be taking steroids, the response has often been, "Oh yeah, pumping yourself up, are you?!" The only problem is that these aren't the steroids that give you "Ben Johnson eyes" – I describe them as picking your body up whilst beating the shit out of you at the same time.

My family came to visit and brought with them the usual items that you give to people in hospital: food. With the increased appetite the steroids gave me, this food didn’t stand a chance of lasting long! With the benefit of hindsight, I’d have asked for healthy food only, as the combination of boredom, insomnia, and worrying about what lay ahead made eating a great and easy choice to pass the time. Well, that and the cigarettes that had been delivered to me during one such visit. I remember being chastised by a nurse for wanting to go outside to smoke as, “You know they’re bad for your health.” I answered this revolutionary information by saying, “Yes, and so is MS, so give me a little rope.”

During one of my visits to the designated smoking area, I saw the doctor who had performed the neurological test on me during my time in A&E and told him about my diagnosis. He wasn’t surprised, and I made a point of thanking him for his care and his efforts towards getting me some answers as to what was going on, to which he humbly replied that I was welcome and wished me well.

I had two more doses of steroids on Sunday and Monday morning prior to speaking to a neurologist who was coming to see me—a gentleman by the name of Dr Malcolm Steiger. He was kind and compassionate, explaining what MS was, why I had been given a lumbar puncture, and what the result of the MRI scan showed. He also introduced me to the analogy about an electrical cable that had been stripped of its protective coating, and the implications this meant for the humble kettle. The next step would be for me to “go home”, which took me a little bit by surprise, as I was certain that I would stay in hospital for a bit longer. No, I was to go home to concentrate on getting better, and a referral to the Walton Centre had been made.

So, after three days of treatment, I was allowed to wobble my way out of the hospital and continue my recovery at home. I had no job and, still not understanding my condition, I began to read about it and what it could mean for my future. The power of Google!