I was 33 years old and working the local news beat with the CBC's supper hour news cast when the universe hurled a wicked curve ball my way. On the Tuesday morning after the Canada Day holiday, I tripped and fell in the newsroom, scraping my knee. Forty-eight hours later I was admitted to Emergency in a Toronto hospital. And I learned that something was terribly wrong with my health. In the days and weeks following my diagnosis non-white friends, even my childhood pediatrician who was Indo-Canadian, wondered how it was I'd come down with what many considered to be a "White Man's Disease." By the end of the summer the initial diagnosis was confirmed by the neurologist who would become my MS doctor at St. Michael's Hospital.