When he died, aged 35, it wasn’t from MS (which he had, PPMS), it was from TB. His immune system was shot.
From what I’ve been told, he was a go-getting, cheeky, funny bloke with his whole life ahead of him.
Until, in the 1970’s, MS struck. Or, ‘creeping paralysis’, as it was known back then.
He was tossed in ice-cold baths to test his temperature tolerance. He was given a wooden stick and sent home.
He died and times changed.
Fast forward to 2011 and I now faced a future with MS.
We have a myriad of DMD’s. Support from MS nurses. We are lucky.
I remember, when we had to write about our parents in primary school, I would write, My Dad Is Dead and MS Killed Him’.
For that, I was called up to the teacher’s desk each year, to explain my single-parenthood.
I spoke to my mum before I wrote this. I was worried that by referring to my dad in my book, I was being mawkish or overly-sentimental.
So. I have MS. I wish my dad had lived long enough to see me now, and everything all of us who live with MS today are achieving.