The Condition: Six Months On.

So, here I am six months and a bit down the line from the 23rd of September last year when I noticed something was wrong with my left eye.

My eyesight is back to as normal as I could hope to expect.
It's changed significantly and I really need to get glasses.
Many years ago I was told that my eyes would change when I got to about 50-ish so I'm not sure if the changes are due to my MS or advancing years.
Both, probably.

To St. Richard's Hospital in Chichester for my appointment.
After negotiating the reception desk of misery (why are all the NHS receptionists I meet miserable?) I am ushered into the presence of the Consultant Neurologist.
The first thing the Consultant Neurologist does, after shaking my hand, is to apologise for having cold hands.
"Warm heart though" I reply and instantly regret trying to be jovial.
This is serious business.

The tricky question of blood tests arises and I admit to not actually having had them and apologise for wasting the NHS's time, but point out that my diagnosis came just before Christmas and times became difficult emotionally.
The Consultant Neurologist understands this.
I agree to have the blood tests done before I have to go to my appointment to discuss Disease Modification Treatment in June.

I'm shown images of my spine from the recent MRI scan.
I'm fascinated by them.
I'm especially fascinated by the white dot at the top of my spine which turns out to be the cod-liver oil capsule that was Sellotaped to me as a marker.
There's no problem with my spine.

The Consultant Neurologist wants me to consider having a lumber puncture for some obscure diagnostic reason that I couldn't grasp involving platelets, I think.
This procedure would mean having to travel to Haywards Heath to have a local anaesthetic, laying on my side in the fetal position, having a large needle inserted into my spine to draw of some fluid then laying on my back for three hours whist drinking lots of water in the hope I wouldn't get a headache.
I considered this carefully and decided it's not for me.

I am sent behind a curtain and remove several layers of winter clothing.
My reflexes are tested.
Several more functions are tested by lifting, pushing, pulling various bits of my anatomy.
I follow a pointed finger back and forth.
I touch my nose then the consultant's finger in rapid succession.
I am pricked with a small sharp thing in various areas of my body which makes me laugh.

I'm told to put my clothes back on and return to my chair.

The Consultant Neurologist seems quite happy with my progress and, because my relapses so far have all been sensory, doesn't see any necessity to see me again before this time next year.
Which is good news as far as I'm concerned.

This Multiple Sclerosis business is a puzzle and no mistake.
I seem to be getting off lightly.
Time will tell.

On my walk back to the car my mood lifted despite the gloomy overcast and cold day.
I ran into J a friend of mine from the world of folk music.
I told her all about my MS and what had happened during my hospital visit and just how lucky I felt.
We parted and I waved her off.
Then it suddenly hit me that I'd completely forgotten to ask about her husband, B, who is undergoing chemotherapy for prostate cancer.

I felt like an idiot.