My MS Story

Some moments divide your life into before and after. For me, that moment happened on New Year’s Eve in 2001. I had just turned 20 years old two weeks earlier. That morning, I woke up and realized I couldn’t see clearly out of my right eye. The bottom half of my visual field looked like it had a faint black cloud over it. I kept blinking, splashed water in my eye, and eventually went to the store to get an eyewash kit, but nothing helped.

I called one of the major hospitals in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, where I lived at the time, explained what was happening, and was transferred to the on-call physician. He told me to come in immediately to be checked out. I had never been so scared in my life. I went to the hospital alone. After examining me, the doctor told me I had optic neuritis and explained that it was often associated with Multiple Sclerosis. Just hearing the words “Multiple Sclerosis” terrified me.

Two years earlier, when I was a senior in high school, I had entered a poetry contest hosted by Montel Williams after his diagnosis with MS. Even back then, the term “Multiple Sclerosis” sounded frightening to me. This was my introduction to adulthood.

Most people count down to turning 21 so they can celebrate and party. That never mattered much to me, but turning 20 did. For some reason, it symbolized becoming an adult in my mind. And then MS landed in my life—literally affecting my vision overnight. Leaving the hospital that day, I crossed busy Forbes Avenue. It was raining lightly. Tears streamed down my face as I walked to the bus stop. My right eye is my dominant eye, and I could barely see out of it.

As I stood there waiting, trying to avoid eye contact with everyone around me—I was extremely shy and introverted back then—I noticed something at the far end of the street. Something was floating toward me.

At first, I couldn’t make it out. I wasn’t even sure if it was real or just something in my distorted vision. But as it got closer, I could see that it was a single helium balloon. It floated across the street while buses and cars passed by, slowly drifting in my direction. As it came closer, I could see the words on it: “Get Well Soon.” The balloon came straight toward me and gently hit me in the chest. I may have been legally an adult, but in that moment I was just a frightened young girl—alone and overwhelmed.

I had been trying to reach my mother all day without success. But in that moment, I felt that balloon was a message from my father, who had passed away in 1989 when I was just seven years old. It felt like a sign telling me that somehow, I was going to be okay. I cried the entire bus ride home, but I kept the balloon.

For the first decade after my diagnosis, I kept my MS a secret. At the time, I was working full-time for a major communications company, and it was not an environment where I felt safe sharing something so personal. I was raised to be careful about what you tell people, especially in professional settings where personal information can sometimes be used against you. Unfortunately, that proved to be true once a few people did become aware of my condition.

It wasn’t until MS Awareness Month three years ago that I finally began speaking publicly about my MS on social media. I started sharing my experiences, posting about participating in MS Walks which I started doing in 2019 and stepping into an advocacy role after personally experiencing the lack of support and resources available to people living with MS—especially those who look like me.

Stress isn’t good for anyone, but it can be especially difficult for those of us living with MS. Over the past five years, I have experienced some of the highest levels of stress in my life and, at times, a painful sense of being overlooked or disregarded.

At one point, I found myself thinking: If this is difficult for me while I’m managing my MS relatively well, how much harder must it be for someone whose MS is more severe? That thought changed everything for me. I knew I wanted to help others living with MS in any way I could.

During my years as an introvert, I developed a deep love for writing. I wrote my first book at age six, had my first poem published in a collection at thirteen, and self-published a book in 2016. Recently, I’ve begun using my writing in a new way—as a songwriter. Under my pen name Tata Wicc, I have released music written entirely by me across multiple genres, because I draw inspiration from many styles of music.

However, my true goal is not to be in the spotlight of the music industry. My passion lies in songwriting itself. I hope to collaborate with artists as a songwriter and ghostwriter—creating lyrics and concepts that they can bring to life in their own voices and styles, while I maintain songwriting credit and royalties for the work. I am also passionate about placing my music in film and television so that it can live beyond a single performance and create long-term residual income.

For someone living with MS, building sustainable and flexible sources of income is incredibly important. Music licensing and songwriting offer a path that allows creativity to support stability. A percentage of every dollar earned from my music will be directed back into the MS community, helping support individuals living with MS who need resources, assistance, and encouragement.

Because if my story can inspire even one person living with MS to believe their life still holds purpose, creativity, and possibility—then every word I write has done exactly what it was meant to do.

You can find my music on all major streaming platforms under Tata Wicc, and on social media at @tata_wicc on YouTube, Instagram, and TikTok.