When I got the letter through the door, it struck me how once this very small intrusion would have made my heart stop. I would probably feel sick, be filled with trepidation and probably just let my mum open it. Then that would cushion the blow. Nearly 7 years post-diagnosis, I'm a little calmer about those formal envelopes that follow me into my home a few times a year, taking the approach that there's nothing to deal with until the letter is completely read. On the letter; after another annual MRI, 3 years after my infusion treatment (Lemtrada), there's been no worsening in my lesions and no new ones. And I just thank God. The optimist in me wants to jump up and down, and bounce off the ceiling cheering. The realist in me tells me this was really lucky and it's a miracle and this will change one day, that this is temporary. I'm working to sit somewhere between these two voices; being grateful and working to keep myself well. Stress levels are the main reason I was