My journey with MS is unpredictable, yet driven by purpose
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Shayna Goerdt, team captain for the Great Plains Chapter of Paralyzed Veterans of America, joins her kids — Zoey, 11, and Isaiah, 16 — at the National MS Society’s Walk MS Omaha to support the community and raise awareness. (Photos courtesy of Shayna Goerdt)
In recognition of Multiple Sclerosis Awareness Month in March, the MS Awareness Month campaign features a series of stories highlighting the real-life experiences of people affected by MS, written in their own words. Follow us on Facebook, Instagram, X, and Pinterest for more stories like this, using the hashtag #MSAwarenessMonth, or read the full series.
I was on a routine morning run in Monterey, California, when my life quietly, but permanently, changed.
In 2006, I was training at the Defense Language Institute as a National Guard soldier when suddenly I couldn’t lift my right leg. There was no pain, no twist, no warning. It simply wouldn’t move.
That moment marked the beginning of a journey that would take more than a year and a half to fully understand — and a lifetime to navigate.
At the time, I was in my early 20s. Over the next 18 months, I underwent a multitude of tests and appointments. Some results hinted at something serious, but they were dismissed. I was “too young” for the findings to matter. Eventually, I was medically separated in 2008, citing degenerative arthritis in my hip. It was the best explanation they could offer.
But my symptoms didn’t go away.
It wasn’t until I was living in South Korea with my husband, who was stationed there, that I finally received answers. One neurologist refused to stop looking. He insisted on starting with the most serious possibilities and working backward. After a year of testing, he gave me my diagnosis: multiple sclerosis (MS).
For veterans living with MS, research matters. Every advancement in treatment exists because someone invested in science, advocacy, and progress, Goerdt writes.
MS is defined by unpredictability. Some days, I feel completely fine. Other days, symptoms appear without warning. It’s transient, inconsistent, and impossible to forecast. You need a crystal ball to know what tomorrow will look like.
Early on, my neurologist told me something that stayed with me: Within five years, I could expect to have spent some time in a wheelchair, and by 10 years, I would be in a wheelchair daily. I’m now more than 15 years into my diagnosis. While I do own a wheelchair, I’ve never had to use it. I credit early detection and aggressive treatment for that outcome.
Treatment, however, is never simple. When I was diagnosed, there were only five MS medications available. Today, there are more than 20. Finding the right one often involves trial and error, and some come with serious risks. I’ve taken medications that increased my cancer risk or damaged my organs. Every treatment decision is a balancing act between quality of life, disease progression, and long-term consequences.
I stay active, monitor my health closely, and remain realistic about the unpredictable nature of this disease. I consider myself fortunate, but I also know that my experience is not universal.
For veterans living with MS, research matters. Every advancement in treatment exists because someone invested in science, advocacy, and progress. Continued support for MS research means better therapies, earlier diagnosis, and improved quality of life for those who will face this disease after us.
Our service didn’t end when our uniforms came off. Supporting MS research is one way we continue to serve each other, ensuring that the next generation of veterans has more answers, more options, and more hope than we did.
