‘I longed to play the Bach violin double with my daughter – but then I got MS’

A Mother’s Musical Journey Through Multiple Sclerosis

Wanderstayfinder.com – When the neurologist finally delivered the MRI results, the author had already convinced herself she was suffering from anything between a brain tumor and severe stress. The official verdict—remitting-relapsing multiple sclerosis—arrived as something of a comfort. At least her eight-year-old daughter, Adalya, would not lose her mother to an unknown illness. Disease-modifying treatments offered hope that future flare-ups would become less frequent and less devastating.

The deterioration had been gradual, almost imperceptible at first. The violin had begun producing notes that felt wrong, yet the author dismissed these tuning problems as mere carelessness. More pressing concerns occupied her attention: a peculiar exhaustion that doctors could not categorize as ordinary fatigue, and mysterious bicycle accidents that left bruises and confusion in equal measure. Nothing connected these symptoms to the increasingly erratic sound of her instrument until the right side of her body essentially abandoned her central nervous system. Without a walking stick, movement became impossible. Without concentration, even holding a pen felt like an insurmountable task.

Eventually, the disease settled into remission. Her body recovered enough to discard the walking stick between episodes, and she returned to typing the PhD thesis that had languished for too long. Balance and fine motor control, however, remained permanently compromised. Cycling disappeared from her life entirely. The violin followed suit, gathering dust inside its case while she contemplated whether a world without spontaneous musical gatherings was truly livable.

Violin had never been my main occupation, but I could not imagine a life in which there were no more impromptu jam sessions with friends, family and sometimes total strangers.

The instrument had accompanied her since childhood, yet she never considered herself anything beyond an average player. Still, the absence of music hurt more than she anticipated. As a single mother with limited finances, she used to perform on street corners while Adalya danced to the melodies. The young girl had insisted on owning her own violin as soon as she could grip the neck, and the author dreamed of sharing the Bach double violin concerto with her daughter someday.

She and her friend Althea had performed that very piece during their high school years. After the MS diagnosis, however, even simple Mozart duets from primary school lessons became challenging. Watching Adalya practice from the sidelines became her new reality. Accepting that her own playing days were over took considerable time. When she finally handed her violin to her daughter, she purchased an inexpensive replacement, convinced that her motor skills would one day recover sufficiently to play alongside her child again.

One day, I told myself, I will play the Bach double with my daughter, even if it’s just once, even if Bach turns in his grave at my discordant double stops.

At a rehabilitation clinic, an occupational therapist asked patients to identify activities their condition prevented them from pursuing. Field research in Pakistan topped the author’s list, but the therapist prioritized more immediate goals: playing the Bach concerto with Adalya and returning to cycling. Alternatives emerged—a tricycle instead of a bicycle, perhaps a guitar rather than a violin. She rescued a guitar from discarded household items and attempted to follow this advice. While a poorly played guitar sounds less painful than a badly played violin, the experience quickly shifted from enjoyable to frustrating. Frets kept her in tune, but her fingers continued stumbling over brain commands.

Eventually, she gave the guitar to a friend rather than letting it join the violin in storage. The memory of tabla players from childhood visits to India resurfaced twenty years after her diagnosis. She recalled watching Ustad Zakir Hussein perform during one of his Australian tours and remembered purchasing a dholak—a South Asian drum—while traveling in Pakistan. Learning a stringed instrument like the sarod or sitar had once been part of her plans for deeper engagement with South Asian music, but the tabla, a pair of drums requiring coordination between both hands, seemed like a more achievable goal given her current physical limitations.

Multiple sclerosis affects approximately 2.8 million people worldwide, with symptoms varying dramatically depending on which nerve fibers become damaged. The remitting-relapsing form, which the author received, involves periods of symptom improvement followed by new episodes of worsening. Modern treatments have significantly altered the disease trajectory for many patients, though permanent damage to motor function remains common. For someone whose identity intertwined with musical expression, losing the ability to play an instrument represents not just physical limitation but emotional loss.

The author’s story illustrates how chronic illness reshapes daily life in unexpected ways. What begins as minor coordination problems can escalate into significant mobility challenges. Yet adaptation remains possible—through alternative instruments, modified activities, and shifting expectations. The Bach concerto may still be years away, but the desire to share music with her daughter persists, undiminished by diagnosis or disability.