There can be many ‘invisible’ symptoms of Multiple Sclerosis (MS) and one that has plagued me since the beginning of my MS journey has been problems with vision. Optic neuritis can be a common early symptom of MS and is caused by inflammation of the optic nerve. It usually starts with pain in the eye (it can feel like there’s grit in it), then the vision decreases over several days, colours can appear altered and then you wait…
You hope that after a few weeks the vision will gradually return until you can see clearly again. However, like many MS relapse symptoms the function doesn’t always come back completely, but that’s ok because you can function with reduced vision in one eye…and it usually only affects one eye…except for when it doesn’t! I had repeated episodes of optic neuritis in the early years after my MS diagnosis. Back in those days it was treated with a 3 day course of IV steroids, but this only helped to resolve the bout more quickly and did not change the outcome, so I only had them on two occasions before deciding it wasn’t worth the side effects and the upheaval of daily visits to the hospital.
It is hard to describe the vision loss after optic nerve damage. I can see everything, but the finer detail won’t come into focus. I can see the person walking towards me, but I might struggle to see their face clearly, I can see the specials board in the café, but might have difficulty reading what soup of the day is, I can see the car, but can struggle to read the number plate and here lies the problem. For many years at my annual eye test the distance I could read down the chart has reduced. My glasses prescription would be increased and I would carry on, but optic nerve damage is often not correctable by stronger glasses. In fact what I’ve found recently is they appear to magnify the deficit as well as what I can see.
So the day I had been dreading arrived. I’ll be honest and confess that I had been putting it off, but I knew I needed an eye test and when I finally had one it confirmed my fears. Even with a significantly stronger prescription in my glasses I was struggling to read the line on the chart that I needed to be allowed to continue to drive. I could do it…just, but was advised to stop driving whilst I was referred to the ophthalmology department at the hospital to check there was nothing else going on. However, after a morning of in depth testing a few weeks later they confirmed it was optic nerve atrophy caused by the MS. So although I’m not aware of having any specific bouts of optic neuritis in the past 10+ years, the disease activity seems to have continued to damage those particular nerves.
I was advised to notify the DVLA and await further instruction. Eventually I was invited to make an appointment for an eye test at one of their assessment centres (Specsavers as it turns out!) A very nice lady explained what would happen and asked me to read as far down the chart as I could…but it was not enough. In fact it was significantly below what I could see 3 months before. She was very sympathetic and asked me to complete the visual field assessment too. (For those who haven’t had this test, you focus on a central spot and then press a button when you see the lights that flash in a random pattern around it.) She was somewhat bemused when I passed that with flying colours. In fact “perfect” she said. But my visual acuity (how clearly I could see) was letting me down. They suggested another eye test, just to check they couldn’t improve my vision by further change in prescription. Again I saw another lovely lady, but it became apparent that I just couldn’t read the line required (well I got 2 of the letters right, but that isn’t enough apparently!) Tears pricked my eyes as she carried out the rest of the checks as the enormity of what this meant started to sink in. I had been clinging onto my driving licence for as long as possible, but it was finally gone. It felt like the last bit of my independence was being taken away.
But that isn’t the reality. It’s just different. I have my mobility scooter, taxis and some very kind friends and family who give me lifts to help me get to where I need to be. I’m also having to learn to be a whole new level of organised, because I can’t just jump in the car and pop to the shop when I’ve forgotten something for tea or need to post a parcel or buy a birthday present. I’ve also realised that I need to make sure I don’t become isolated, because sometimes, especially when the weather has been bad, I haven’t left the house for days!
What has surprised me is that I’ve also felt an element of relief. I put immense pressure on myself to keep driving, because as a single mum I perceived it was necessary to continue doing the things I do, but actually now I’m not, nothing bad has happened! Life still goes on, albeit somewhat differently. My teenage son is enjoying discovering the freedom of the bus network and loving getting out and about on his new bike (that I helped him to buy as a guilt present to compensate for me not being able to drive him to places anymore!) Although I still find it difficult to ask for help I have some lovely friends who I’m actually getting to see more often as they are kindly offering to taking me to places.
Although the biggest impact of my vision problems is obviously the loss of my driving licence, it does affect everything. However, thanks to technology, fonts can be made bigger, I can ask Alexa and Siri for help and watching York City FC in soft focus is not always a bad thing! I’m still adjusting to not being able to drive, but there is much I can still do with a bit of careful planning and the help of others.
Here’s a link to my first HuffPost blog!
I have a confession. I love football. I love watching it on the telly and I don’t mind who’s playing (a perfect Sunday afternoon for me is watching back to back football matches on TV), I love watching my son’s team play (even though their first win of the season is still elusive), but most of all I love going to watch a match in person.
I must have been about 12 or 13 when my dad took me and my younger brother to our first football match at Spurs and from then on my love of football grew. We became members and went to most home games. I loved the ritual of getting dressed in the colours of my team and the excitement of walking down Tottenham High Road with all the other fans who had the same hopes for the match ahead. We would buy a programme and maybe a copy of the fanzine, then take up our position on the terraces. Dad would bring a bright orange plastic milk crate for my brother to stand on so he could see the action over the heads of those in front of him (different times…you can’t even take a bottle of water with the lid on into a match now!) We would stand in the same spot every match. There may not have been seats, but we all knew where to stand and we would get to know those around us and see the same characters every time. The 2 older ladies who would come together and be as vocal as any of their younger, male counterparts (one in particular would shout loudly to encourage Gary Linekar whenever he had the ball!! “Come on Gareeeeee!”) and the man who would walk around the terraces selling small, white paper bags of roasted peanuts. “Peanuts, get your roasted peanuts!” he would shout (Not sure that would get past health and safety these days.) And the singing. I love the singing. There is nothing better than thousands of people singing the same song to encourage their team (or put off their opponents!)
I may enjoy the matches at the time, but I can rarely remember the scores and goals like my brother and dad can. They can remember a match from 20 years ago, what the score was, who scored and sometimes describe the goal in detail too! However, one match I do remember well is the 1991 FA Cup semi final against Arsenal which was the first to be played at Wembley (we won 3-1 and Gazza scored a now infamous free kick!!)
My love of going to see live football could sometimes be a little controversial as for a time in my teens I only seemed to pick boyfriends who were Arsenal fans! So I would get the chance to go and watch Arsenal home games sometimes too and because I loved the football I didn’t actually care who I was watching (unless of course it was the North London derby when my loyalties were firmly in the Spurs camp.)
I moved away from London in the early 90’s so don’t get to many Tottenham games these days and more recently I get my live football fix from watching York City as me and my son have become season ticket holders this year. Now that is a very different experience to watching a premiership match. It is a crowd of around 2000 and there is a 50/50 prize draw at half time! And as they are currently playing in the National League North against teams like Blythe Spartans and Curzon Ashton, many of the teams are part-timers who earn their main wage as plumbers, postmen and teachers. This version of the beautiful game is often not pretty and can be frustrating to watch, but I still get the same feeling of anticipation on match day.
As I put on my 17 layers of clothing to keep warm and wrap the red and blue scarf around my neck I am filled with the eternal optimism that we will be victorious even if the opposition, form and league position suggest otherwise. At the beginning of the 90 minutes the slate is wiped clean and anything is possible.
I enjoy the camaraderie too. The discussions about the team selection, new signings and where on earth this particular team come from? (Where actually is Curzon?!) The faces around me are different from my days on the Tottenham terraces, but the characters are still there. The lovely chap who always has a bag of mints to share, the voice of the man who sits a few rows back shouting loudly…generally at the referee pointing out where he’s going wrong and the steward with the fabulous purple hair! The bags of peanuts being sold on the terraces of my youth have been replaced by shared bags of sweets passed up and down between those we sit with.
So as another match day looms and the fight to remain in the play-off places continues, I have the familiar sense of anticipation for the match this afternoon (home to Chorley if you’re interested). I will put the layers on, find the season tickets and pack the sweets in my bag, filled with the optimism of a win…that will last at least until kick off.
Sometimes I feel a bit like Goldilocks when it comes to finding the right temperature. I easily get too hot and I easily get too cold, in fact it can be rather tricky getting it just right!
It is well documented that heat can make MS symptoms worse. Usually only temporarily, but worse all the same. In fact in times gone by, before MRI scans and the like, the test for MS was to put the patient in a hot bath and see if the symptoms got worse. If they did you had MS and if not you’d didn’t. A bit like how they ‘identified’ witches! Except without the risk of drowning as hopefully they pulled people out if it made their symptoms too bad!
But a lesser known fact is the effect of the cold on MS symptoms. For some MSers that can be a real problem too. As the autumn starts to change into full on winter this is becoming rather difficult. I live in fear of snow and ice. It’s hard enough to walk with MS and a stick on level, dry ground, but to negotiate icy pavements or walk in the snow is a whole new level of challenge! And just generally trying to keep warm in winter is tricky. It’s ok if I’m at home with access to jumpers, thick socks and the central heating thermostat, but dressing to keep warm outside…especially watching football (either my son’s team or the mighty York City) is something I haven’t quite mastered yet. I’ve experimented with different types of thermals, socks, layers, gloves and hats, but to no avail. I’m seriously contemplating some heated gloves and I’ve seen a fabulous jacket with a rechargeable battery pack that powers heat in different sections…it’s a bit pricey though!
When I get cold it’s not just the usual unpleasant feeling of being cold, it actually makes my symptoms worse. My legs stiffen up, the tremors start, the pain gets worse and the fatigue hits me and because my internal thermostat is faulty due to the MS it takes a long time to get warm again. I usually dive under the duvet, fully clothed with a hot water bottle and wait for the thaw to set in…
I have recently found some hand and feet warmers (called Hothands) that are activated by the air once opened and last up to 10 hours. I tried them last weekend at a very cold football match and they helped a lot. I’ve just found that M&S do two different thicknesses of thermals too so I’ve ordered a thicker top to try. I’ve also bought some new thermal socks that have a Tog rating! Like duvets! Now surely they will do the trick!
So, I will continue to hunt for things to keep me warm, pray for another mild winter and look forward to warmer, but not too warm, summer days.
When you have lost someone significant in your life it is only natural that there are things that remind you of them. In the early days it feels like everything reminds you of them. Every song that comes on the radio seems to hold a memory or significance, every TV show or sporting event a reminder of the person who is missing it. Another series of Strictly. Another Olympics. Another cup final. As time goes on these instances become less frequent as new memories are formed. Not that they are forgotten but it is not so all consuming.
So, I have been somewhat taken by surprise with recent reminders of my late husband 4 years on.
A frequent one is seeing offers on multipacks cans of Diet Coke! My hubby loved Diet Coke. He drank buckets of the stuff and would always be excited when he found a good offer. So when leaflets drop through the door with offers from local supermarkets, my eye is still drawn to the Diet Coke ones!
The next is smell. My son has taken to using the same deodorant as his dad, so in the morning the landing smells of my hubby. I’ve got used to this now, but I was taken aback a while back when I was scanning my shopping at the self checkout in Sainsbury’s and the man next to me was wearing the same aftershave that my husband used to wear. For a split second I thought he was there. It’s the strangest feeling. And then a couple of months ago I was sat at a Neil Diamond concert and the man who sat down next to me was also wearing my husband’s aftershave. Smells are so evocative. You can’t rationalise them or filter them. If a smell reminds you of a person or place you are transported there immediately and without warning. No time to say ‘no not at the moment thanks I’ll think about that later…at a more appropriate time’. Nope you’re whisked off there even if you are sitting in an arena or standing in the middle of a shop!
Which brings me to the most recent incident. Walking through M&S and seeing a mannequin wearing a dressing gown.Nothing unusual in that you might think, but there was something about the style of the dressing gown and the pose of the mannequin that reminded me of him. I automatically thought ‘Oh he’d like that. I could get him that for Christmas’. This will be the 5th Christmas I haven’t bought my husband presents, yet the thought is still automatic if I see something he would’ve liked.
As the years pass and the feelings aren’t so raw it surprises me even more that these emotions still hit hard at times. That gut wrenching feeling in the pit of your stomach that the person you loved isn’t there anymore. You get caught up in the routines of daily life, but just occasionally these moments come out of left field and floor you! However, you pick yourself up, dust yourself down and get on with things again. Acknowledging the feelings, the grief, the sadness, the loss, but remembering with affection the happiness in those memories.
I love the TV programme First Dates. For the uninitiated it is a Channel 4 show where singletons are matched up for a blind date at a restaurant in Covent Garden, looked after by the rather suave French Maître d’ Fred and his impossibility attractive waiting staff. We, the viewing public, then watch the date unfold, with all the awkward introductions and initial polite conversation that becomes more relaxed as the wine starts to flow. We cringe when it all goes wrong and we delight when it’s a perfect match. And this is n
So as I watch these strangers embarking on their dating adventures it got me thinking…am I ready to start dating?
It’s a topic that comes up occasionally when I’m talking to my widow friends. I’ve been widowed for over 4 years and I’m really very used to being on my own now. There are things I miss about being part of a couple, like having someone to share things with, to go places with and to stop me feeling like the odd one out at social gatherings when it seems like everyone else is part of a pair. I do miss having someone to share the driving duties with and who will cut the lawn for free and I think the young man in my life would quite like a man around to do boy stuff with.
But would I feel like I was betraying my husband if I looked for love again? I’m not sure. I don’t wear my rings often these days, but to actively seek someone new just feels a bit weird.
Not least because I haven’t dated for well over 20 years and without wishing to sound incredibly old, a lot has changed since then! We just about had brick-like mobile phones with pull up aerials and dial up internet on a big beige box of a computer kept in the corner of the room. There was no swiping left and right and ‘Plenty of Fish’ was where you found cod and chips wrapped in newspaper,not a potential partner. I met my late husband at Uni where there was a ready made social scene and I was young! And healthy and active. But I’m now a disabled single mum in my 40’s, with a little more glitter (ok, grey! ) in my hair than I would like. I’m just not sure who would want to sign up for that? My son said ‘maybe there’s a nice man out there who would like your personality and not mind about the MS’ (but this is the same boy who thinks I would make a good teacher because I have a ‘good shouty voice’ so I’m not sure how reliable his opinions are!)
And you see, I’m a suspicious sort and I really don’t think I could ever do the internet dating thingas I would never believe what any potential date said! I’ve heard too many stories of men not being who they say they are, not actually being single, being downright creepy or thinking the best introduction is to send a photo of their boy bits! (Why?! Just why?!) I know it’s not all like that and I have heard of success stories too, but I’m not sure I can be bothered. It’s tricky enough balancing what I have to do now with the energy I have available, I’m not sure I have any spare for dating.
I don’t doubt there are some great single men out there…somewhere…and if I happen to stumble across one (possibly literally!) then maybe I’ll think about it, but if not, that’s fine too.
So am I ready to date? Probably not. I’m certainly not going to be actively searching anyway. Not unless they start holding singles nights in Paperchase…;)