First Person

Teaching With MS

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By Lee Anne Peck

It's the first day of the semester. The 36 students in my public-relations course sit waiting for me to begin. I need to explain the course goals and discuss the syllabus, but I also need to introduce myself to all those students who haven't had me before as an instructor.

To reveal or not reveal? Or is it how much to reveal? Those are the questions I toil with at the beginning of each semester.

As a college professor with multiple sclerosis, I have struggled with those questions for almost nine years. I have relapsing-remitting MS, which means I have "attacks" followed by partial remission. My symptoms come and go in no logical manner, and include tingling and numbness throughout the right side of my body, slurred speech, blurred vision, memory problems, poor balance, and bladder dysfunction. I sometimes use a cane. I am always exhausted; fatigue is a symptom that never goes away. But one learns to cope, and I can cope on most days.

During the past nine years, I have negotiated with sympathetic employers to find an academic situation that works for me. And then I stand in front of the class at the beginning of every new semester wondering how much I should reveal to my unsuspecting students. I do not want their sympathy. I just want their understanding.

Over the years, I have learned that not telling students about my disability is far worse than telling them because, all in all, I look pretty normal.

Those MS Moments

So what do I tell the students? I tell them the course goals, I go over the syllabus, and, finally, I say, "Another thing you should know -- I have multiple sclerosis, or MS."

I try to grasp the students' comfort level with that last piece of information and then decide how much more to say. Sometimes I share a few of my symptoms with the students and ask for their understanding, warning them, with a little laugh, that I occasionally have "MS moments."

"I might lose my place in my lecture to you, but, please, give me a moment because I will get back on track," I explain.

I might have to turn off the fluorescent lights because they are bothering my eyesight. I might have to sit during the entire lecture because I am having a balance problem. I might be a bit slow returning graded assignments. And so on.

I now live in Northern Colorado where one out of every 400 people in my county has multiple sclerosis, which means that many of my students know someone else who has MS.

Sometimes the students seem unaffected by my revelation, and I wonder if they will remember what I told them about the course goals, the syllabus, and my disability in a few weeks? After my brief introduction, I ask the students to complete "information forms" that include the final question: "Is there anything else you would like to share with me (that I should know)?" One semester, a male student wrote: "My father also has MS, so I definitely understand the challenges you might face." Someone was listening.

"As You Know ..."

I teach two public-relations courses and an advertising course, and the Americans With Disabilities Act is part of the subject matter in all three. Sometimes I use my own experiences to help make the point.

In one of my public-relations courses, when I cover a chapter on employee relations, I open the discussion about the disabilities act with a simple reminder: "As you know, I have multiple sclerosis." When I discuss the concept of "reasonable accommodations," I tell students that I should be judged by my ability to do the job for which I was hired, and if I ask for reasonable adjustments to my schedule or work area to do that job, that's my legal right. However, I explain, I cannot create "undue hardships," which could be disruptive or expensive to my employer.

Over the years, I tell students, I've had to educate employers, and when I was in graduate school, I had to ask for special accommodations such as more time for taking tests.

In my capstone public-relations course, my students work with nonprofit organizations on publicity campaigns. When we discuss volunteers, I mention my work for the local MS Society as part of its speaker bureau. That reminds the students of my disability and that I still need their understanding.

In all of my courses, if students believe that I am not performing the job as I should be, I explain that they are able to mention their concerns, if any, at the end of the semester in the course evaluations. No one, however, has written that my MS has affected his or her learning experience. Not yet.

Because I don't look as if there is anything wrong with me, often my students and colleagues forget that I am challenged. I take a variety of medications each day, and every other day I inject myself with interferon beta 1b, which can give you flulike symptoms. Sometimes I use my cane -- even if I don't need it that day -- to remind people that I have a disability. That usually takes care of any memory loss, so to speak, on their part.

How I tell my students and supervisors about my disability has changed over the years. In fact, years ago I chose not to disclose it. But I eventually accepted the fact that it was too difficult to hide, and I did need some special consideration.

When I decided to disclose my MS, my quality of life improved because I learned to be comfortable with who I am. I worry, though, that that means my standards are slipping. As a former newspaper copy editor, I now cringe as I distribute a test or a handout to the class and see a typo or two. Why didn't I see those mistakes before? Can I criticize my students as harshly as I should about their own writing? Would I appear to be a hypocrite? I hate to admit that I am not as militant about students' writing skills as I was in the past.

As my health deteriorates, I wait for the day when I can no longer teach, when I constantly lose my place in my lecture and constantly stumble over and slur my words, when I can no longer deal with the fatigue. With MS, it's difficult for me to say when that might be. For now, I believe I still have something to offer my students; I have to trust the course evaluations.