"Gilenya. Your medications have names that sound like characters from a Gaellic fairy-tale," said my friend.

And the scene at the hospital did look like a magical ritual as the nurse passed each patient a pill and a glass of water. A magic pill -- which will hopefully stall my multiple sclerosis (I hate using the word "my" in relation to multiple sclerosis, as though it is a possession rather than something I would prefer to discard) and at the very least has provided me with some respite from a skyrocketing level of stress as I spent months trying to decide between treatments.