I was a tenured professor, a published novelist, and a married father of two sons when I lost everything — because of a drug I was prescribed for a condition most people think is a joke.
Restless legs syndrome, or RLS, is often misunderstood or dismissed entirely. But for those of us with the severe form, it’s brutal: It feels like insects crawling up your bones from the inside. The only relief is movement. So you walk. All night. Until you collapse.
While the phrase “restless legs syndrome” accurately describes the condition, it is not a helpful name for the disorder. Most of the hundreds I’ve met with RLS cite the name itself as the biggest obstacle to getting the care and support they need. The silliness betrays the seriousness. Indeed, the Restless Leg Syndrome Foundation attempted a rebrand in the early 2000s — from RLS to Willis-Ekbom disease — but the new name never really caught on.
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