So it was fortuitous that it could take time out from a hectic schedule to settle down for a cosy chat:
MS: How’s things? Bad, I hope? Any more nerve pain?
Me: Funny you should say that, but yes. Don’t you ever give up?
MS: Short answer: No.
Me: Long answer?
MS: Well (long pause). It’s interesting, don’t you think? Push you just that little bit more?
MS: I’ve always said – and no word of a lie – you have to be tough to live with MS. I have, haven’t I?
Me: Erm, yes?
MS: So. The way I see it, I’m doing you a favour? So, it’s bad, it’s sad, it’s painful, it’s isolating. And?
Me: What do you expect me to say? Thank you?
MS: Actually, yes. Whoah, stay seated and put that vase down. Listen. If I’m honest, it’s fun – all that freaky tiredness, making you walk funny, seeing you drop stuff. It makes me laugh. And?
Me: And what?
MS: Well. Let me think. You were diagnosed in – hang on – 2012? Yes?
MS: And what’s happened since then? Still with that bullying boss? That useless boyfriend? Still harbouring a vague notion of, and I quote, being a writer?
Me: I know what you’re doing.
Me: You’ve ruined my life. I went through hell. My son was scared. I was scared. My future is uncertain.
MS: I haven’t ruined your life – you have a different job now and you love it. Your son is doing brilliantly. You’re not scared, you’re fearsome. And like anyone else on this planet, your future will always be uncertain. Deal with it.
Me: Why do you pop up so unexpectedly? Cripple me with absolute fatigue when I least expect it?
MS: Like I said, it’s fun.
Me: That’s unfair.
MS: Life is unfair. Are we done now? I’m very busy you know.
Me: I hate you.
MS: I hate you too. So we’re quits.
And with that, MS leaves.
But not quite …