I pay a visit to the Neuro today. Four years ago this month I saw The Grossets for the first time. The Grossets are a fantastic husband and wife team that run the Movement Disorder Clinic at Glasgow’s Southern General Hospital. That first visit was taken seriously; a day off work, a list of questions, a comfort trip to M&S planned afterwards to get something nice for tea.
I remember little of that first visit other than being delighted that I didn’t have to start taking the meds (in those days I didn’t realise I was in charge of such decisions). I was so excited I got on the phone and told everyone. I soon realised that standing in the ladies’ underwear department at Clydebank M&S shouting “I am not on drugs” into my phone was not advisable (for the avoidance of doubt, I was not in the underwear department on my own, Vicky was with me and she was looking for those big pants that hold your tummy in. For someone else obviously. Me perhaps.)
At the mention of drugs the local blue rinse brigade turned as one in my direction and looked at me threateningly. The old biddie in the Clydebank M&S is a much more formidable sight than her equivalent in the Bearsden store. In Bearsden, the typical old biddie would slowly put down the salmon roulade she was holding and shuffle off to tell the spotty sixteen-year old security guard. In Clydebank, there is no need for security guards. All I could see was a huge frozen salmon coming towards me at a rate of knots.
Now, four years on, I am more relaxed. In control as much as I can be, accepting that I won’t win them all and the drugs are there to make it an even fight. I think they will see a deterioration in me. I have exercised little (other than climb the World’s largest free-standing mountain) and have let myself go somewhat. I will recover the situation however. Starting to look for possible marathons in 2012!