My first visit to the Neurology Out-Patients Clinic at Northwick Park Hospital in Middlesex in late 2000 was a sobering experience. I sat in the sterile hospital corridor that acted as a waiting room for an appointment with a Neurologist. Many of the waiting clientele sat in wheelchairs or came with their walking aids. Some were accompanied with their Carers. They were all incapacitated physically, mentally and emotionally by their chronic neurological conditions. ALS or Lou Gehrig’s disease, Multiple Sclerosis, Parkinson’s disease and many more, gave you exclusive membership to this particular group of chronic ailments. Nearly every one of these conditions is without a cure. I took a look around; depression was a given amongst these folk in the waiting area. The loss of independence was self-evident. The toll of suffering was not always so apparent, but it was there nevertheless. There was not much sign of hope amongst this group of patients. The impact of seeing these fellow sufferers hit me hard.

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On my second visit I received my diagnosis, Early Onset Parkinson’s disease. My future was laid out for me, a life ahead with an incurable, progressive and degenerative neurological condition, a life where I would eventually lose my mobility and my independence. I took a good look around me, here was my future, walking aids, Zimmer frames, wheelchairs, daily medication, a life of suffering and struggle, guaranteed till the day I died. My future did not look too rosy.

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Receiving a diagnosis is not a death sentence- no, it is a life sentence. You stand in the dock accused of ill-health and you have been found guilty of not being well. You listen carefully as the verdict is announced, Parkinson’s disease. Sentence is passed. You are condemned to a life of suffering, there is no parole, no remission, no time off for good behaviour. You take a sharp intake of breath. You will serve your sentence to the day you die; fate and fortune will rub a little more salt in your already weeping wounds and as the years advance, your life will become more difficult. The doctor signals the end of the consultation, you are dismissed, and in a daze, turn away from the person you had hoped would be your salvation who is already busily removing the black cap. His or her mind now dwells on more important matters, like tonight’s dinner or maybe planning the next holiday or golf club membership renewal.

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My neurological time bomb had been stealthily ticking away unseen and unstoppable. My ship of dreams and carefully laid plans for the present and for my future had no idea of the iceberg waiting ahead. Life does not prepare you for illness. Finding myself faced with a serious neurological chronic illness at the age of forty qualifies the event as being worthy of being labelled ‘life changing’. This was my personal tragedy, and with it came a great sense of loss, loss for the life I had and the plans I had for my future. Yet there was nothing unique about it. Hospitals and clinics, Care homes and family homes are full of sick people, and each one has to face up to the fragility that ill health has heaped upon them. Chronic Illness is an everyday occurrence, and I became one of the many millions who live with one. That is reality. I was confronted with a future that could only be described as bleak yet I failed to see it in these terms.

I was doomed to serving a life sentence of illness and struggle, a dismal existence of ever increasing difficulty. The quest was clear, I had to change the course of my life. I threw all caution to the wind and left one life to find another. From that moment I embarked and embraced the challenge. I was determined to find a path that gave me life.

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My journey over the past twenty years has been an extraordinary adventure, taking me to four countries across two continents; learning to adapt to different cultures and environment with each move. It has been a journey of psychological self-discovery, and always aware of the presence of my Parkinson’s clock ticking away at my neurology. Acceptance has opened the doors of the prison of chronic illness. I chose how I would live with my illness. I chose life, and life has rewarded me with so much in return.